Chapter Twenty-Five Cash
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cash
Winning the conference meant a bye for the first round of the playoffs.
The time off gave us all a chance to rest and recharge.
It also meant we could take finals on a regular practice schedule.
Staying on campus for Thanksgiving was less of a bummer than I anticipated, though, since my parents surprised me by joining the team for the community dinner my teammates had informed me was a Wildcats tradition.
The moms of several of the players, the partners of some of the coaching staff, and members of the booster club combined forces to put on a proper Thanksgiving feed: turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie among assorted additional goodies.
I rolled out of the gym where the meal was served and worried that while a hangover couldn’t put me off my game in the film room, Thanksgiving dinner very well might.
The second tradition of the day was to watch one of the pro games in the state-of-the-art film room at the facility.
The game we watched was the Denver Broncos versus the Chicago Bears.
From the way the coaches asked us questions and pointed out plays, a guy would have been excused for thinking they were dissecting our last game.
Still, it was instructional, and I saw a few things I wanted to run past Coach Wiley in practice.
Fortunately, my food coma didn’t kick in until near the end of the fourth quarter.
After we’d finished with the football portion of the day, (read: most of the day), I met up with my parents at our house.
“Thanks again for coming out. It’s one of your best surprises,” I said as I hugged them hello.
“With your brother spending the holiday with his girlfriend’s family, we were at loose ends. Joining the team for dinner sounded like a good time,” Mom said. “It was. Jeri Ellis is a lovely woman. We had a nice visit.”
“Hello, fellas. Great game against the Bears,” Dad said to my roommates, who were sprawled across the chairs making up our living-room furniture.
Taco was sitting nearest the front door. “Thanks, Mr. Donovan. Thanks for the special dressing, Mrs. Donovan. Yours was my favorite.”
“You can stop gushing, dude. It was gone before the freshman finally made it into the gym,” I said, ruffling his brown curls on my way past him.
“Hey!” he yelled in protest as he ducked his head. “I worked all morning getting my hair exactly right.” His laughter only punctuated the lie in that statement. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Taco’s hair in anything other than disarray.
Dally and Dalton added their hellos and thank-yous to the chorus as I led my folks into the kitchen where we could actually talk.
My roommates were watching the latest Mission Impossible installment, which Dally had accurately described as “James Bond, only serious” when he’d suggested it after we all arrived home from the facility.
“Is Saylor spending the holidays with her family?” Mom asked as I set the teakettle on the stove for her.
“Yeah. Thanksgiving is her family’s favorite holiday together.” I pulled a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to my dad. “Her brother is a college prospect at safety, so her parents wanted to make the most of what will probably be their last Thanksgiving together as a family.”
“You like her a lot,” Dad said after swallowing a pull from his beer. “Which is good. She suits you.”
A memory of our night together before she headed home to Kalispell flashed in my head, Saylor smiling down at me as she rode the hell out of my cock. I shot back a long drink from my beer to cool myself down.
“Saylor’s great.”
“Uh-huh. I think I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
Mom had always been hyper-perceptive about what was going on with me. She’d figured out things with Gillian, my previous girlfriend, were on the rocks before I’d fully processed that I was over her.
With a heavy sigh, I admitted, “She’s not on board with us being a couple. She thinks if she lets herself feel what I know she’s feeling, she’ll have to give up her rock ‘n’ roll dreams to follow me through my NFL career.”
Dad’s black eyebrows shot to his salt-and-pepper hairline. “NFL career? What’s going on, son?”
Rolling my beer can between my palms, I said, “After that last game, I started hearing from some NFL scouts. Initially, they were here scouting the big dogs—Callahan, Bax, Finn, and Dally.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the living room, where my roommate was watching TV.
“But my stats have their attention now too, which—I’m not gonna lie—has me cautiously optimistic I might get the chance I thought I lost at Washington. ”
“Saylor isn’t excited for that for you?” Mom asked as she rejoined us at the table with her steaming mug of tea.
“She was commitment-averse from the get-go. I haven’t told her about the scouts yet.”
“Because you’re scared she’ll walk away.”
Mom’s perceptiveness was starting to grate on my nerves. Still, I couldn’t hide from the facts, so I nodded.
“For the first five years after we married, our marriage was long-distance,” Dad said. “Maybe you should tell her about that.”
“I did. Your story didn’t have the confidence-building effect I’d hoped for.” I stared down at my beer as more thoughts crowded my brain—thoughts of Saylor trying to distance herself from me, avoiding me, going stiff in my arms whenever I referred to us as more than friends-with-benefits.
“You’re in love with her.”
Fuck! Dad too?
“I’ll figure it out. So you’re making another trip out here next weekend, huh?”
Though my parents exchanged a look—one I’d seen on many occasions growing up: one that said they’d communicated pages of thoughts—they let me deflect.
“That’s the plan. Playoffs and pro scouts.” Dad tipped his head in a sage nod. “How’s your head? This situation with Saylor isn’t messing with it, is it?”
“I’ve learned to compartmentalize like a boss, Dad. I’ll be in top form,” I assured him.
Mom rested her hand on my forearm. “You truly can have it all, you know, Cash. I did.” She sent a fond look across the table to Dad.
“It’s a matter of determination, planning, and commitment.
And love. Love most of all.” Patting my arm, she added, “The two of you were trying hard to act casual at dinner last week, sitting apart, keeping your hands to yourselves. But neither of you were good at hiding your feelings. Both of us”—she exchanged another soft glance with Dad—“caught you looking at each other the way we look at each other.” Giving me a little pat, she smiled. “You’ll figure it out.”
Even though we’d had the mother of all Thanksgiving feasts, around dinnertime, my stomach started growling, which signaled my parents to take me out for dinner.
Afterward we said our goodbyes at their hotel, and I ended the evening in bed, scrolling through my phone. At last I gave in and texted Saylor.
Me: Happy Thanksgiving. How was your day?
She must have been waiting for me, because the three floating dots popped up on my screen immediately.
Saylor: Happy Thanksgiving! It was awesome. Mom pulled out all the stops on dinner, and I won the poker tournament.
Me: You guys play poker on Thanksgiving?
Saylor: Just my dad, grandpa, and uncles. Oh, and Mason, but only when Dad will stake him. He has a terrible poker face.
She added three laughing emojis, emphasizing what she thought of her brother’s card-playing skills.
Me: That’s how you became a card sharp?
Saylor: Pretty much.
Another laughing emoji.
Saylor: Joke’s on them. I’ve won the tournament for five years running. They’re threatening not to let me play next year.
Me: Brutal, babe. Remind me to wear extra clothes when we play strip poker.
Saylor: You’re hilarious. How was dinner with the team?
Me: Excellent, actually. Especially the part where my parents surprised me by showing up among the servers. Mom made her famous sausage dressing, and all the underclassmen are lamenting I’m a senior since they only got to have it once.
Saylor: Your parents came for Thanksgiving with you? That’s wonderful, Cash. I’m glad.
Me: Since I have practice and film for the next two days, they’re headed back home tomorrow, but we had a nice visit.
I hesitated, but then thought, What the fuck, might as well go all in.
Me: They were asking about you. You left a good impression last weekend.
It seemed an age before she responded, and I worried I’d made a big mistake.
Saylor: Your parents are nice people. Listen, I’ve gotta go. The annual movie marathon is about to start, and I’m on popcorn duty. Have a good night, Cash.
Me: Good night, Saylor.
Yep. That calculated risk hadn’t paid off. At. All. My parents’ words echoed in my head.
“You’re in love with her, son.”
“You can have it all, Cash.”
I just had to figure out how to convince my girl we could both have our dreams—and each other.
“That asshole! That complete fuckface!” Saylor fumed as she stomped down the stairs in front of the Film building where I was waiting for her.
“Hey, babe. What’s going on?”
She grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me up the sidewalk in the direction of the Union. Snowflakes fluttered through air so cold we could see our breaths. Saylor’s anger was so hot, I was surprised the snowflakes didn’t hiss into steam when they landed on her.
As she marched us along the sidewalk, she muttered unintelligible curses through her clenched teeth, and I decided the better part of valor was to wait her out.
When we arrived at the Union, she skipped the cafeteria and her usual caffeine fix, instead dragging me through it to the lounge on the other side.
Once she’d found a quiet spot on one of the love seats facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, she sucked in a deep breath and stared at me, rage turning her amber eyes almost black.