Page 50 of Hard to Score

“There’s more there.”

My father’s sigh fills the room. “Drew came to me . . . after. He was all hot under the collar. Accusing me of things. I don’t remember the whole of it other than the fact that he was angry and all over the place with what he was saying.”

“Why was he angry at you? Did you have any part in it?”

“No. I didn’t even know Gary was gambling. How would I have been privy to him trying to throw a game? I mean, when we were in the Keys he was super stressed over something, not acting himself, but I just chalked it up to the mounting pressure for him to perform in the coming season. I never thought he was gambling or anything like that.”

“But Drew confronted you?” I meter my reaction and the shock hearing it brings me.

“He did.” His eyes go dark as he remembers. “He was seventeen or eighteen and fuming. Looking for answers as to why his life irrevocably changed. The kid idolized his father and seemed so damn lost trying to understand what had happened just like we all were. I just figure Drew needed answers, so he came to the only other male figure he could trust.”

“But you gave him nothing.”

“I had nothing to give him but a shoulder to lean on and an ear to listen. He wanted neither.”

“And you haven’t spoken to any of them since?”

“I have not.” He looks out to the city beyond, lost in thought for a beat, a soft smile on his face.

I try to fathom how that happens. How two families who are like one, simply disintegrate at a time when they needed the other the most.

But then again, isn’t that what we did when my mom died? We closed ranks and took care of each other. Isn’t that what happens?

To Drew, a part of his life died that year too.

“The past is the past. What happened is what happened. We don’t talk about it, we don’t pick it apart. It’s history for a reason.” Is that why?

Does he still carry that same anger? And if he does, what can that possibly mean for us?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DREW

9 years earlier

“WHO WAS THAT?”

I look over to my dad standing in the doorway of my bedroom, shake my head, and sigh. “USC.”

My dad nods but doesn’t speak. I’m sure the defeat that owns my posture says it all. Another rejection. Another hollow explanation about how my stats are incredible but . . .

“He said I was a gamble.” I chuckle but it lacks amusement. “That’s an apropos choice of words, don’t you think?” I ask, baiting him. I’m pissed and hurt and defeat is starting to wear me down. “A gamble. Wonder why he used those words? The same goddamn words almost every other coach has said to me in some way or another over the past few weeks.”

I roll my shoulders and shove up off my bed as it really hits me. My dream school. The same one that recruited me eagerly a year ago as a freaking junior, made all kinds of promises, now is treating me like I’m some run-of-the-mill quarterback who doesn’t deserve their time.

My dream school . . . now gone.

“I told you football was a pipe dream, Drew.”

And I don’t know what it is about his comment—the passiveness in his voice, the underlying disapproval, something—but it sets me off.

“A pipe dream?” I turn and shout at him. “A pipe dream?” My voice screeches. “Here I thought you were going to be disappointed in me, and instead you’re telling me I need to give up the one thing I have?” I meet his eyes and feel like the man I once knew is no longer there, lost in this hell we’ve been living in for the past six months. “I don’t understand you anymore. Not a fucking thing about you, Dad.”

“Watch your tone with me.”

I laugh. “That’s funny. You think I give a damn about what you think of me? You walked away from this game—from everything you loved—and we’ve never been the same since. None of us! Not Mom, not Maggs, and sure as fuck not you!”

He doesn’t flinch at my accusations, nor does he move from his spot in the doorway, almost as if he’s standing there willing me to use him as my punching bag. “It wasn’t everything I loved, Drew. You guys are what I loved. Who I love. You guys are—”