Chapter 12
CALLUM
“Your dad is giving me shit.”
“When does he not?”
Callum’s already tired of whatever his coach is going to tell him before he even says it.
There’s always something after every game. His coach never gives him a hard time on his own. Coach Meyers knows Callum is his star player, and all he does is keep him on track. But since his dad is keen on attending every single game, there’s always something better that Callum could have done.
Hell, he could win the championship game, get drafted, and play the whole game by himself and win, and there would still be something wrong with how he played by his dad’s standards.
He’s sick and tired of it.
“Was it when I threw the ball too far that one time? It was that, wasn’t it?” Callum says as he stalks the field next to his coach as he heads to the locker rooms.
“No, actually. He was even less impressed today.”
“Then it had to be—”
“Callum. It’s nothing to do with the game. It’s about that kid.”
Callum frowns. “What are you talking about?”
Coach stops and sighs. “Look, don’t make me say it. You know who I’m talking about.”
Callum scoffs and puts his hands on his hips. “I most certainly do not know who you’re talking about.”
“The kid with the glasses, Cal.”
Callum goes cold. A chill runs through him.
Not the kind of invigorating, electrifying chill he gets when autumn comes around, but the kind of familiar, terrifying one he used to get as a kid when he hung out with Mason.
That terrifying dread, that at any second, his dad might find them and tear both of them to shreds.
“He—he saw that?”
“He was in the stands, Callum! Now, I’m not sure if you were doing that gesture to the kid, but I’m assuming you did.”
Callum’s hands start to tremble. They never do. Not even during games.
“He saw you talking to him after the game. He was furious. I don’t need that, and neither do you. So whatever it is you’ve got going on there—cut it out. Got it?”
Callum gulps.
“But—I was just talking to him about his articles about the team—”
“You think your dad cares? You think I care? I have a team to manage, and having your Dad getting spit all over my face after every game is something I’d like to avoid as often as possible!”
Callum puffs a long breath out. “Okay—okay. I get it. I screwed up. I won’t talk to him after games anymore.”
Coach relaxes. “And no more showboating for him, okay? Just—act normal, okay? You’ve been doing great, but something’s been distracting you. Figure that shit out before your dad has another hemorrhage, okay?”
Callum hangs his head and nods.
Coach walks off and Callum looks at the scoreboard.
They won in a landslide, and all he wants to do is celebrate. For some reason right after the game, he felt drawn to Mason to celebrate.
Maybe it’s the fact that he was cheering him on and watching.
Maybe it’s the words he wrote about him in the paper, but he’s feeling increasingly drawn to him.
“Cal.”
He freezes. His jaw clenches and his joints lock.
He slowly turns around to see his father standing behind him.
“Dad,” Callum replies, just as curtly.
“What were you doing talking to that Fanning kid?”
“He wrote the player profile about me, Dad. I was just thanking him.”
His dad purses his lips, his eyebrows furrowing because he’s enraged over an innocent conversation, like usual.
“I told you to stay away from him.”
“I had to do the player profile, Dad. He’s with the press. I have to work with him.”
“Work is fine, but running off to him after a game? What kind of message does that send to everyone? To the scouts? To your teammates? That you’re some kind of soft boy who associates with other soft boys?”
Callum closes his eyes. It’s a ridiculous idea that anyone would care who he talks to, but of course, his dad has this paranoid idea of the world where everyone watches and cares about his every move.
Sure, he gets a lot of attention, but he talks to all kinds of people, and his dad is just centering on Mason because he hates him and the Fannings.
“He could advance my career, Dad, don’t you think I should be nicer to him? Getting on his bad side could turn into a hit piece…”
It’s a lie. He has no need to benefit from Mason’s writing, but it’s enough of a reason to talk to him and stay in his good graces.
His dad takes a menacing step forward, and Callum immediately falls silent.
He glances at the stands, seeing people pass by, giving him some smiles as they leave.
“I told you to stay away from him, simple as that. You focus on football and football alone. Got it?”
Callum nods. “Your wish is my command.”
His dad’s displeasure is immediately obvious, but he doesn’t say anything. Callum has to take advantage of the fact that people are around and watching to let himself bite back.
“I’ll see you at home next weekend.”
His dad stomps away, and Callum watches him.
He doesn’t want to go home next weekend. He doesn’t want to be in that house with his father and commemorating the anniversary of his mom’s death with his stepmom trying to comfort him and fill her shoes.
He’d rather be at Montgomery, pretending like he never lost his mom and that she was cheering for him in the stands. Usually, he gets away with it.
He looks up to the bleachers and pretends she’s a random woman, with her wavy black hair and tortoiseshell glasses cheering him on from the complete opposite end of the bleachers, and he wholly believes she’s there.
But now, it’s someone else. Mason’s there, and he’s a bittersweet reminder of his mother.
Today, he saw them sitting next to each other, imagining her with her arm wrapped around Mason’s shoulder, holding him like she used to.
He used to make fun of their glasses, calling them “eight eyes” whenever he referred to them as a duo as a kid. He thought it was funny, instead of calling both of them “four eyes,” he just decided to combine the two and make eight.
He wonders if Mason remembers that nickname.
He picks up his helmet and makes his way back to the locker room, biting his lip as tears start forming in his eyes.
He blinks them away, refusing to let his teammates see him cry, especially after they just won a game.
As he passes the big “Montgomery” banner into the locker room, he’s reminded of how tired he is.
He’s tired of everyone trying to tell him how to act, what to say, who to talk to, who not to talk to.
He just wants to be Callum, without anyone else’s input.
He wants to be this successful quarterback who can also be vulnerable and be a real-life person.
Someone who makes mistakes. Someone who lost his mom. Someone who regrets ever listening to other people dictate his life in the first place. It’s all he does now.
He knows his future is at Montgomery, but for some reason, the past keeps wanting to pull him back to who he was.
To show him what he’s missing and never should have left behind.
Maybe he should let it.