CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Lucas
The kids don’t care who I am.
That’s the best part.
They care about whether I can catch, whether I can throw the ball, and whether I’ll laugh when they trash-talk me like they’ve been doing it their whole lives.
Some of them are damn good at it too.
The field smells like grass and mud and hints of something fried from the concession stand on the other side of the bleachers.
The lights are on and the bugs are out—gotta love Texas.
The Rebels logo hangs crooked on a banner behind us right above a table where some of our players are giving out free team stickers and Rebels merch.
There are ten of us here—my group for the time being—of Rebels players. Each group is scheduled to attend one community outreach event at different times during the season.
Community outreach. Image management. Whatever they want to call it.
I call it necessary.
A girl no older than ten plants herself in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You gonna actually try this time or just keep embarrassing yourself?”
I grin. “Careful. I’m fragile.”
She snorts. “My grandma’s fragile.”
Touché.
My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I’m lining up another pass. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again.
And again.
I make the pass, let the play run out by pretending I’m sacked, and while all the kids are celebrating having taken me down, I step to the side to look at my phone.
Unknown number.
Then a text.
It’s Lamar. You need to come get Cole. Now.
Lamar. A teammate saying something’s up and it’s bad if they’re asking?
I don’t hesitate.
“There’s an emergency,” I tell the kids, already grabbing my keys.
“Quitting already?” someone yells.
“Never,” I call over my shoulder. “Just need to handle something. Dante’s a great quarterback. He’s going to step in for me,” I say of one of our running backs who looks at me with confusion etched in the lines of his face.
But he steps onto the field without asking.
The minute I’m in the parking lot, heading to my truck, I call Lamar.
“Where is he?” I ask when he picks up.
“Sixth Street. Making an ass of himself. Picking fights. People are filming with their phones and shit. It’s not going to look good.
He won’t do shit for us, and short of us hauling him out of here over our shoulders and causing even more of a scene, we decided to call you.
You’re the only one who seems to be able to put him in his place. ”
Fuck. “Which bar?”
A pause. “All of them. The fucker’s a one-man wrecking crew right now.”
“I’m on my way. Just stay until I get there.” I hang up, hating to leave the kids behind but knowing that something like this could fuck up Cole’s career before it even starts.
This is the last fucking thing we need going into our last preseason game before the season starts.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out what bar they’re in. There’s a crowd outside with phones up, and I can hear him shouting through the bar’s open windows.
Bad combination.
That motherfucker is loud.
That’s my first thought when I spot him—shirt half untucked, hair damp with sweat, and a grin a little too wide as he argues with a bouncer who looks ready to lose his patience.
A small part of me wants to let him. The other part knows just how bad that would look for the team.
I step into the open space between the crowd and Cole. There are a few whispers of my name.
“He’s with me,” I say calmly to the bouncer. “I’ll get him out of your hair.”
Cole turns to look at me, wobbles, and then squints. “You’re not my dad.”
“True. But you’re done here,” I say, as I stuff a twenty-dollar bill in the bouncer’s hand for his troubles.
Cole laughs and sways again. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I know,” I say evenly as I put my arm around his shoulder and he jerks away from me. “You can walk with me, Cole, or I can carry you over my shoulder, making you look like the brat you’re being. Your call.”
Cole studies my face as if he’s seeing two of me. Probably is. But the challenge of a fight he’s most likely looking for, he doesn’t find.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever.”
Why was it that easy? I find Lamar and a few other guys on the edge of the crowd, and the look Lamar gives me says he thought Cole would fight a lot harder too.
I guide Cole out with a hand at his back. Not forceful. Just there. And I’m grateful the crowd parts and lets us through, but not before they film us.
No doubt by the time we get to my truck, footage will already be uploaded and shared all over social media.
God knows what’s going to be said, but that’s not something I can control.
This is though.
Within minutes, Cole is slumped against the window in the passenger seat of my truck, mumbling shit that doesn’t make sense, as the city blurs past us.
“You puke in my truck, I’ll kill you,” I mutter more to myself than to him.
“Why did you come?” he asks.
“Because I was called.”
“And just like that”—he tries to snap his fingers and fails drunkenly—“you came?”
“Yep.” I tighten my hands on the steering wheel.
He chuckles derisively and I know I’m about to get smart-mouth Cole. “Such a good little mentor.”
I grit my teeth and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “It’s called being a good teammate. You should figure out how to be one.”
“Fuck that.” He laughs and it sounds chaotic. “Can’t a guy go out and have a good time without Father fucking Time rushing in with his judgment and moral high ground?”
Father fucking Time?
“Yeah, I’m talking about you, Pops.”
He’s not the first mouthy drunk I’ve known who wants to start a fight.
I keep my eyes on the road, not taking the bait.
“Not sure what you’re talking about but no judgment here,” I lie.
“Yeah. Right. You think I’m fucking this up. That I’m a fuck-up.”
“I think you’re young and have a lot to learn.”
He scoffs. “I’m not stupid.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s the problem.”
I glance over to see him staring at me, eyes red and a scowl on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I pull into my apartment complex and cut the engine.
“It means you have immeasurable talent.” He blinks as if he can’t believe I’m saying this.
I can’t either. “I’ve watched you. How you read the field, how fast you adjust, your uncanny timing.
That doesn’t just happen. That’s instinct and intelligence. ”
“Are you sure you’re Lucas Hale?” He snorts and laughs.
“Talent isn’t enough, Valor,” I add. “You’ve got to look like you care more than you do. Coaches don’t bet on ability. They bet on reliability.”
He grunts but the silence stretches. The cab of my truck smells like a bender gone wrong.
I look around the parking lot. Why did you bring him here, Lucas? Probably because I have no fucking clue where he lives. “Shit,” I mutter and then sigh.
It takes me a few seconds to get him out of the truck and into my apartment. We must sound like a herd of elephants walking down the hall to the other residents. Every time I shush him, he tries to shush louder in a battle I willingly lose after the third or fourth time.
I get the door open and push him inside. “Wow. Why do you live in this shithole?” he asks, the alcohol only emboldening his candor. “Did you lose all your money or something? Father Time is broke.”
“No. It’s just temporary until I know if I’m staying or going.”
He’s too drunk to catch the meaning. To understand that he can pull a stunt like this and keep his place on the team while I’m fighting to prove that my most recent injury won’t deny me being an asset.
“Look, dude. If you want to get shitfaced during the season, go right ahead. At your house. At a friend’s house. Not somewhere where what you say or do could risk the good of the team.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand and flops down on my couch. “You think you’re better than me.”
“No,” I say. “I think I’ve been you.”
By the way his head snaps up, I’m pretty sure that lands. For the moment, at least, because who knows how much—if any—he’ll remember in the morning?
“I’m not here as a threat. I’m here to help you. To teach you how to survive this. So that fifteen years from now, you can be sitting where I am, pulling some kid out of a bar before he ruins his shot.”
Cole exhales, long and shaky. Our eyes meet and for the first time, I think he really sees me. I think he actually hears me—drunk or not. “I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Then don’t. Let someone help.”
“That’s nice. You said nice things to me.”
“Yep. Good thing you won’t remember them in the morning.”
I don’t know if he heard that last part because when I come in from the kitchen with some water and the trash can, just in case, he’s passed out cold. I grab a blanket, drape it over him and stand there a moment.
What I’d give to be able to do it all over again. The things I’d change. The things I wouldn’t.
A bittersweet smile is on my lips as the memories flash by when a knock sounds at my door.
Definitely management coming to issue a warning about the elephant stampede that someone must have called in.
I open the door, prepared for that and am met with Emery. Her hair is down with a pair of mismatched pjs on, and I can see the curiosity in her eyes. But her question about the noise doesn’t come out when she glances over my shoulder and sees Cole on the couch.
She looks back to me and nods. Understanding flickers across her face. Something else too—respect, maybe?
“Night,” she whispers and steps back without a word.
I close the door softly.
And for the first time since I arrived in Austin, I think I’m doing this right.