Page 34 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“That’s my son. A hot dog just like his old man.” Dad’s done waiting his turn and slaps me on the back as he approaches. My throbbing shoulder tenses up.

“You made it,” I say to my dad by way of greeting. It’s a dick thing to say, but I console myself that he deserves it. Until Mom pokes my back because she taught me better than this. So I turn to his new wife as he introduces me.

“Welcome to St. Paul U football. Hope you enjoyed the game.” It’s the best I can do because I can’t bring myself to utter the words nice to meet you. It would feel too wrong. It would make me puke to say such a lie in front of Mom.

“How could I not enjoy it? You put on quite a show.” She keeps it light and polite and I appreciate that. Dad eyes me.

“How are your classes going? I still don’t know why you’re taking finance—”

“Because it’s important to know your way around money in this world, Dad. Like for instance, you should know that taking out a second mortgage was going to put a strain on Mom’s finances—”

“Now wait a minute,” he says, his face looking more panicked than angry at me for calling him on his bullshit in front of his new wife. To her credit, she hangs back and says nothing. There’s no animosity in her stare, only curiosity and what looks like sympathy. She’s not as young as I imagined she would be, not as old as mom, but old enough so I don’t feel like he’s married someone who could be my classmate.

“Let’s not talk about that now, Dylan,” Mom says and she’s right. But there’s not going to be another better time.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I can help you with money. I can earn some money doing sponsorships."

“The fuck you can.” Dad explodes with his male pride wounded. His new wife cringes and puts a hand on his arm. He swallows and continues. “That’s against the rules. Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“He’s right,” Mom says and I know it costs her, but she has her heart in her eyes, all concern about me, not herself. That’s how she is, who she is. Always giving to me. Used to give to Dad too.

“She can sell the house," Dad says without looking at Mom and I see the guilt on his face, hear the defensiveness in his voice, a hesitation there, knowing he’s in the wrong, that he’s played unfair.

“She’s not selling the house. I’ll get her the money she needs. The NCAA changed the rules. I can get an alumni loan or sponsorship.” I’m talking out my ass because I have no idea if I really can, whether there are any opportunities since no one’s made me an offer. Not that they could since I still haven’t decided on an agent. I stare him down.

“Don’t do it, Dylan,” Mom says. “Not on my account. I can sell—”

“No, Mom. Don’t sell—at least not now. You need time to think things through.”

“Sure,” Dad says. “Didn’t you know your son’s going to be a big shot and bail you out as soon as he signs his big NFL contract?” Dad should be saying this with pride, but his words taunt me. If there’s any pride in them, I don’t hear it.

Aunt Viola says, “That’s right. Dylan’s going places. I’m so proud—we’re all so proud of you.”

Mom looks at me with sorrow and pride, but she slips her arm through her sister’s and straightens her spine.

“Who says I need anyone’s money after all. Never mind about it. I’ll figure it all out myself.” She looks at me with a brave smile. “You don’t worry about a thing, sha.” She winks the way she always did when she sent me off to school in the morning since I was a little boy and I thought I was the luckiest kid in the world to have her as for my mother. She always knew how to make me smile and I find myself grinning back at her right now.

There’s not a fucking thing I wouldn’t do for her. Whether she thinks she needs it or not.

“Is that Coach Ryan?” Aunt Viola says. “Let’s say hello.” She and Mom lead us in his direction. They’ve met Coach Ryan and Coach Radz and gotten to know them over the past few years, coming to every home game and some away games too.

My shoulders tense up because Amanda’s still talking with Coach Ryan with her group of people in an animated huddle, laughing while Coach motions his arms as if he’s communicating in a wild form of sign language. But it’s not Coach who grabs my attention, it’s the guy who must be Amanda’s date that my eyes zero in on. He has a possessive hand on the small of her back like he’s staking out his territory. I recognize the move because I get how he feels. I’ve been there. I want to be there right now, want to barge in, sweep her away from him, and wrap her in my arms to claim her. But that’s all in my fantasy world, the stupid irrational world of my crush. The crush that needs to be crushed. We join their group and I hang back as Mom and Viola exchange hugs with Coach Ryan and he introduces everyone around.

I examine Amanda’s date as he’s introduced and we exchange nods. He’s too short for her. She can do better.

She could have me.

But no, she can’t. Fuck.

“And this is Dylan’s father,” Mom says. Dad steps up and introduces his new wife. People nod in the awkward void, suddenly unsure what to say next. Coach slides a glance at me and I meet his eyes. I swear I see sympathy there and I double down on my game face, showing nothing, because sympathy is the last thing I want or need. And accepting anything but the tough football coach-player relationship between me and Coach Ryan is impossible. I don’t want to think of him as a man with a heart. Because he has his eye on Amanda. Of course he does.

“Impressive run into the end zone, Jonesy,” Amanda says, obliterating the awkward silence. Coach Ryan snorts. Dad raises his brows. My dick tenses and I try focusing on Coach Ryan to calm it down.

“That’s funny,” Dad says and I want to clap my hand over his mouth or punch it in because I know what he’s going to say. “I didn’t think Dylan let anyone call him Jonesy. He hates the name, says—”

“Not a big deal,” I interrupt a beat too late, heating up inside. “I’ve been called worse.” I cut Dad off before he gets into deep TMI territory. Though judging from the smirk on Amanda’s face, he already crossed the line. Now she knows I let her get away with something and I have a feeling that makes me the vulnerable one in our non-relationship. Fuck. I’m going to have to work hard at being cool, at diffusing my crush, because it’s like a bomb that could blow up my whole life if I don’t.

“Of course you have,” Dad says, grinning, pretending like we’re a close father-son pair. “I should know. I’ve called you worse myself. Got to keep you grounded, keep that head of yours from getting too big.” I ignore him because that’s as civil as I can keep it, but I can see the distress on Mom’s face. Viola rolls her eyes, but it’s Amanda who jumps in to prevent the tension from breaking into discomfort.