Wait, Ryan? That’s me. I’m not supposed to say anything, but I can’t ignore a direct question from the commissioner. And what am I supposed to do? Tell him the truth? He wouldn’t believe me, and on the slim chance he did, that would put Father in a spot.
Which I’d like to see.
But I’m in no fucking position to do it.
As for Tate, he can’t think I’d help him with this, or does he? This can’t be the moment he expects me to have the conversation with my father. If this is his brilliant plan to get me out of North Point, he’s failed in the proof department.
God fucking damn it. I want to claw my own face off.
I clear my throat. “I’m proud to be in this conference, sir, and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss out.”
“Well, there you have it,” the commissioner says.
My thoughts tumble and tangle in my mind as my stomach does somersaults. Father still hasn’t said a word, and no wayam I looking in his direction. The other board members fire questions at Tate. He uses fucking McKinnon as his example for everything, quoting all the media attention Shadowridge has gotten because of him, and how their fundraising efforts this year were off to a brilliant start because, you guessed it, McKinnon.
“Wasn’t McKinnon involved in some sort of a scandal recently?” Father finally says.
“Scandal? No, nothing that serious,” Tate says. “It was a simple case of usual frat boy antics, and a bored student journalist.”
Father purses his lips.
There are another twenty minutes of questions for Tate, which he volleys and blitzes through like a racehorse to the finish line. But he couldn’t have missed that none of those questions came from my father, who’s been silently seething through all of it.
“If there are no other questions for Tate, I think we can move on to player safety,” James—finally caught the commissioner’s name in all that—says. He and Tate are on a first-name basis.
“Actually, I have a question,” Tate says. “More of a proposal, I guess. It’s for Henry.”
Father grits his teeth.
I close my eyes and draw a breath before opening them again.Don’t say anything stupid, VanCourt.
“McKinnon is unprecedented. So many teams want him, the media’s on tenterhooks waiting to hear who he’ll play for. If Ryan came to Shadowridge, even just for one term, the attention we’d generate in a multitude of ways would spill over to the whole Pacific Conference. I know how much your legacy means to you, but this would have a real impact.”
Like that. Don’t say anything stupid like that. The need to facepalm is almost insurmountable.
James clears his throat. “Shouldn’t that question be for Ryan?”
Tate chuckles. It’s fake as hell, but I seem to be the only one who isn’t fooled by his faux charm.
“Howignorantof me. My apologies, Ryan. I’m used to speaking to your father at these meetings. But you’re an adult. You make your own decisions,” Tate says.
No, I don’t. He knows that much. Unless … is this his way of testing me? Seeing if I’ll make a loyal husband? If it is, fuck him. I don’t have loyalty to him. We fucked around a few times, and yes, I’m stupidly attracted to him, but this is my fucking life he’s playing with.
He doesn’t get it.
No matter what I have to do, even if Griff’s not communicating with me anymore, where Griff goes, I go. If he’s at North Point, I stay at North Point.
“I’m afraid you’re too late, Coach VanCourt. My family’s already gotten to me. I’m loyal to them for life.”
Tate’s face doesn’t give away anything. Did I say what he expected I would, or not? He smiles. It’s his fake I’m-coach-of-the-year-smile. I wanna rip it off his face. Then he shrugs. “Well, we won’t get ’em all, James, but we’ll get more than if we don’t try.”
Tate does a brief talk about player safety, securing permission from the commissioner to hold audits as he sees fit. I stew, hating Tate, wanting Tate. Hating that I want Tate. The meeting ends with Father excusing himself,hoping to get a few private moments with the commissioner. Tate leaves without a word or a look. I get that he can’t exactly kiss me goodbye, but a text would have been nice.
Whatever.
Father will be a while, so I’ll find the restroom. The hallway is empty, but the windows shake, a storm rumbling outside. I relate to the storm, letting the noise fuel my rage. I think … fuck, I think a small part of me was beginning to trust him. Or more like, beginning to hope I could trust him.
It’s clear that I need help. That I can’t get Griff or me out on my own. My family’s reach is too big. But the only person willing to help me is Tate. A monster to fend off the other monsters. With no promise that once he has me, he won’t release his monster on me.
