Speaking of family time…I cleared my throat. “So where’s Mom? And the boys?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “They stayed home this time. Long drive.”
My stomach sank. “Mom never misses a home game.”
“She needed a break. She’s been taking on more shifts,” he said easily, already turning toward the doors. “Let’s go. Your sister’s starving.”
I followed him out, any more words sticking in my throat.
Except when we stepped into the night air, it wasn’t his old beat-up pickup waiting by the curb.
A black sedan idled under the stadium lights, sleek and glossy with tinted windows and a uniformed driver standing at the door.
Lizzie was already bouncing beside it, wide-eyed. “Whoa. It’s like a movie car!”
I slowed. “What’s with the driver?”
Dad’s tone was casual. “It’s Kenton’s. He offered.”
Of course he did.
My jaw flexed as I stared at the car. Men like Kenton didn’tofferanything unless there was something in it for them. And my dad didn’t say yes unless he’d already figured out how to make that favor work to his advantage.
The whole thing reeked of performance—his cleaned-up look, the too-nice car, the timing. Like he’d staged the evening before I even stepped out of the locker room.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I can just meet you there. Need to grab something from my car anyway.”
Dad glanced at me with a tight, annoyed smile. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Before I could reply, his hand landed between my shoulder blades, the kind of gentle shove that wasn’t really gentle at all. “Get in, Matthew.”
It wasn’t a request.
So, I did what I’d been doing my whole life—I followed his orders.
The driver opened the door, and Lizzie climbed in first, still marveling at the leather seats. I ducked in after her, sliding to the far side, and Dad took the spot beside Kenton, who looked perfectly at home.
The door shut with a quietthudthat sounded…ominous.
Cologne and the smell of old money lingered in the car, and the hum of the engine filled the silence until Dad started talking,loud and confident, like he was pitching a deal instead of sitting in the back seat with his kids.
“You should’ve seen his last drive against Alabama,” he told Kenton in a voice full of rehearsed pride. “Fourteen yards out, double coverage, still found the opening. He’s always been good under pressure.”
Kenton made an approving sound. “Impressive.”
Lizzie tried to jump in. “And he promised?—”
“Best completion percentage on the team,” Dad cut her off, not even glancing her way. “And his yards after catch are ridiculous this season.”
She slumped against me, quiet now, tracing little circles on the back of my hand with her finger.
I stared out the window, watching the city lights smear against the glass as we sped through downtown.
He kept going. Stats, rankings, scouting reports.
Kenton nodded along, polite, smiling when appropriate.
Lizzie didn’t try again.
