I keep my gaze on Coach, but I catch a glimpse of Sam out of the corner of my eye, and he’s listening intently.
“That Emily and I are dating,” I admit. Fuck if I’m going to apologize for dating his daughter. Sure, I understand he’s protective, and I don’t blame him. I’m going to have Sam do background checks on guys when Phoebe is old enough to date.
Coach doesn’t even blink. “I’m not really pissed at that.” He pushes to his feet, clenching his fists at his side. “Do you know what I’ve been through with my daughter? Do you know how hard it was to get her to stop doing drugs? And now I find out she’s back on drugs again.” He takes in a gulp of air. “And you’re her fucking supplier?My QBis selling drugs.” His fists ball up at his sides. “You’re done, Adam Miller. You’ll never be drafted. You’ll never see the inside of an NFL stadium as a quarterback or any player. Not if I have any say in it.”
The room spins again. My blood freezes. And something vile and insidious eats at my gut.
Emily told him I sold drugs.
All because I wouldn’t give her Molly.
Fuck me sideways. It’s clear to me she loves Molly more than she loves me.
I’m so fucking stupid.
I believed she changed.
I truly did.
Now, I wonder if I was ever anything more than the means to an end.
I whip my head at Sam, more to quiet the pain that’s pressing on my chest as though an eighteen-wheeler just ran over me.
“Don’t look at me,” he says. “You and I have some talking to do, but I didn’t tell him.”
Coach turns to Sam. “If you had—”
I shoot to my feet just in case Coach has any ideas of taking his anger out on him. “He didn’t know I was selling drugs. Don’t bring him into this.”
“You’re done, Miller. Clean out your locker. You won’t finish the season.” Rising, he stabs a finger at me. “My daughter is off-limits. If I see you anywhere near her, I will have you arrested. Are we clear?” His voice booms in the room.
All I can do is nod. I have no words. It’s my own fucking fault.
Hey, asshole. You did what you had to do for Phoebe.
Coach might understand that if I didn’t supply Emily with drugs.
He storms out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.
Sam rubs his hands down his jeans as he folds his body into the chair Coach just vacated. He looks calm, and I’m not surprised. Sam isn’t one to throw things or blow up when he’s mad.
“Do your worst,” I say, sitting back down on my bed.
“Drugs? Why?” he asks.
I lower my gaze to the floor. “Phoebe. We needed the money.”
He sucks in air. “Dude, if you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?”
“Do you want to support my mom and sister? Do you want to pay all our expenses, including Phoebe’s medical bills?” Sam will be rich one day when he’s CEO of some high-tech firm he owns. But right now, he gets money from his parents and from his tutoring job, and he’s hardly flush.
“What about a legal job?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes, only because he’s smart. He knows that a legal job wouldn’t put a dent into paying Phoebe’s medical bills. And that I don’t have time for one.
Or at least I didn’t before Coach booted me off the team.
“Phoebe needed her vest repaired. End of story.”
