Page 22 of I Want to Know What Love Is

Randy Bane sits slouched in the back and I eye him in the rearview mirror.

“You have anything to say seeing as we’re all weighing in on my life decisions as if I’m a group project?”

“Testy,” Shelby says, giving me a side-eye. I turn in my seat and look at Bane. He’s surprised, but he plays it cool.

“You do what you have to do. You’re lucky you have the option.”

There’s something going on with that kid and I need to find out what it is. No way I can let him fester in unhappiness, because as far as I can see, that’s what he’s doing. Shelby pulls up to the curb at the main entrance for the field house where the offices are.

“Don’t sign anything,” Shelby says. “At least not before you have my dad look at it.”

I nod because it’s good advice. His dad’s a lawyer and a stand-up guy, but I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do and not anxious to make a big deal about it. I only want a quick, one-time deal for enough cash to last my mother six months. Enough time for her to figure out how to put her life back together since my dad blew it up.

“See you guys later.” I get out of the car and jog to the door without looking back. Not even when I hear the screech of Shelby’s tires. I shake my head. He’s a weird mix of old soul and immature adolescent, but one thing is certain. He’s a good friend.

Coach Radz’s office is the first one down the coach’s corridor in the right corner, spacious with tall windows. The door is open, but I knock anyway. Coach Lake’s office is almost all the way down the other end of the hall and I resist looking. Coach grunts for me to come inside, so I do. He looks up from his computer, takes his glasses off, and pushes away from his desk, relaxing back in his big-ass executive chair.

“Have a seat, Jones. What’s this all about? Everything okay?” I sit down and school my expression because I’m not going into my problems with Coach. I don’t want to give him any reason to waiver in his confidence in me.

“Things are fine.” I pause, not sure how to broach the subject, but he waits me out. “Look I was interested in a possible alumni sponsorship. You mentioned potential opportunities and I wanted to follow up with you.”

“You need money, son?”

“Who doesn’t?” That’s as much as I’m giving him, but he studies me for several beats and I’m wearing my game face, so he can stare away. “Do you have anyone interested?”

“In you? Sure I do. But I don’t like the idea. Not everyone on the team has the same opportunity so this kind of thing can put some distance between you and the others, fracture the team. You’ve done a good job up until now keeping your ego in check, holding the team as more important than individuals.”

“I promise you this won’t change anything.”

“Not for you, but it might for others.”

Bane. He made that comment about me being lucky to have the opportunity. I swear I didn’t hear any resentment in his voice, but maybe all he needs is time to work up to that. I nod.

“We could keep it quiet for now.”

“Sure. I suppose you could try.”

“Look, Coach, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need the money.” He nods.

“I figured as much.” He takes a card from his drawer and picks up his phone. “This wealthy gentleman is a trustee and a fan and said he’d be interested in talking with you about an arrangement if you were interested. It’s not an investment for a piece of a future contract, but it’s not exactly a grant. Some kind of promotional or public relations thing he said. I forget exactly what he called it. A goodwill ambassador maybe? I’ll call him. Set up a meeting for you.” He taps the number into his phone and hands me the card. I take it and I don’t know what to say. My heart beats fast as I listen to Coach’s conversation because I’ve never gotten anything for so little effort before. He sets up a dinner for me next Monday night and I nod when he looks at me for confirmation. I don’t have the deal yet.

But if I get it, it’ll be because I’ve worked very hard to be where I am today and this, along with my SPU scholarship, is part of the reward. I bust my ass every single day for it all, in practice, the games, for my team, and in class. I have a right to it. Coach hangs up his big black desk phone.

“You’re all set to talk. Hope you don’t mind meeting him at his house over dinner, but he’s a busy man.”

“Not at all. Thank you for arranging it, Coach. I appreciate it.”

“You’ve earned it. That all? How’s classes?” The question pulls me up short and I realize Monday night—the night we just scheduled the sponsor meeting—is my night for tutoring with Coach Lake. Fuck. I’ll just have to reschedule. Or skip next week. I’d skip the tutoring all together if I were smart. I clear my throat to answer him because he’s staring, waiting with that unnerving patience.

“Classes are fine. I heard from Coach Lake. She’s tutoring me in finance. Said you set it up.”

“Least I can do. You’re welcome. Make sure you make your grade.”

“You know I don’t need a tutor. Understanding the material wasn’t the problem.”

“Maybe not, but it can’t hurt. And it helps with the optics in dealing with Dean Lassiter.”

I nod and stand. I’m about to leave, but I turn back to him.