“Well that’s not true now is it? Seems like it’s interfering with everything.” Keller frowns. “I’ll be at the meeting you have with the dean tomorrow, and I’ll fight to keep the blowback from this minimal.”
“Thank you, sir.
“And I want you to show up there with proof you’ve quit that damn job, like a copy of your letter of resignation,” Keller demands as he sits back behind his desk.
“I don’t know if it’s the type of job that requires a letter,” I say quietly. “Most guys just stop showing up.”
“It may not require a letter, just like it doesn’t require pants, but you’re giving them a letter so we have the proof we need,” Coach barks and shakes his head.
“Yes, sir.” I nod. He flips open his laptop so I assume I’m dismissed and start for the door, but he calls my name gruffly before I can leave.
“I’m sorry about your family’s hardship Tate,” Keller says, the hard lines of his face barely visible because his expression is softer than I’ve probably ever seen it.
“We’re managing to hold on,” I say even though my shiny new plan for the farm’s future was stabbed through its heart, just like I was when that photo hit the Jumbotron.
“You know, if you can just stay focused, as soon as you enter that draft your financial troubles will be over,” he tells me firmly. “I believe that, Adler. You’ve got what it takes.”
“Thanks, Coach.” His words should be helping me feel better, bringing me some kind of relief, even minimal, but they feel like they’re falling through me instead of filling me up.
I make my way out of the locker room the long way, making sure not to use the main entrance where Lex said Maggie was waiting. Instead I head out the back exit that no one ever uses. Someone else is waiting for me there. It’s Patrick. Or Paxton? Telling them apart in the moonlight is even harder than the sunlight—until he speaks. “It’s time to drown those sorrows in tequila and a good pair of boobs.”
I should decline but Patrick wraps an arm around my shoulder and drags me away, and I decide to let him. Chances are Maggie will show up at the hockey house sooner rather than later, so the longer I stay away from there, the better. And although boobs is the last thing I need, a shot of tequila or six might numb the ache in my chest.
* * *
Two hours later, I fall off my chair.
Patrick and the rest of the team cheer like I just scored another goal. Assholes.
“Okay, I am officially cutting you off.” Hank’s voice floats into my ears from somewhere behind me, and then I feel his hands under my arms as he pulls me to my feet. “And I’m getting you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I tell him.
“I don’t care,” he replies and points at me. “You’re eating.”
“The staff here is so bossy,” I mutter and Jace chuckles.
On the way to the Biscuit I realized I had seventeen text messages. Ten from Maggie and seven from family members. Mostly Jace, but even Grams texted me. And someone—likely my dad or mom since they were both at the game—left a couple voicemails too. I only responded to Jace, telling him I was going to the Biscuit and then I turned off my phone so I couldn’t look at Maggie’s messages at all.
Was it infantile? Maybe. But I didn’t care. I was like a wounded animal, and I just needed to crawl off and lick my wounds. Jace showed up about an hour ago after he settled my family down and promised them he’d get answers. They were all at the game and according to Jace their reactions vary from irate to confused and everything in between. He’s been trying to get me to go back to the farm to explain myself but I won’t leave, so Jace is drinking pop and waiting until I’m drunk enough that he can force me into his car. That time has probably arrived, but I still don’t want to go face my problems.
The guys, thankfully, have done a great job of distracting me. We talked about the pictures, and I explained everything to them when I first got here. Everyone seemed to be relieved when they found out I wasn’t instantly expelled and that Coach would go to the meeting with me. I tried to absorb their confidence and their positivity, but all I really absorbed was tequila.
Hank drops a giant basket of fries in front of me and a pint glass filled with ice water. “Eat and drink nothing but this. Got it?”
I try to salute him but judging by his face it’s not the best impression. He rolls his eyes and walks off but not before pointing at the other guys. “No more booze for him guys. I mean it.”
Everyone nods. Jace steals a fry as he jumps off his seat. “I’m heading to the can and then I’m gonna take you home. To the farm. Dad made me promise, so eat up.”
I groan. The last thing I want to do is head to the farm, but I know I don’t have a choice. My family needs an explanation for what they saw tonight. I shovel two fries into my mouth and chew.
“Tate.”
Shit.
“Sorry Maggie, but he’s not in a good place to talk to you,” I hear someone say—it might be Paxton.
“Tate. Please,” Maggie says but I refuse to look at her. It’s going to hurt to look at her. That ache in my chest will start to overtake the blissful numbness of the tequila if I look at her. “I had no idea. I swear.”
