CHAPTER 12 #2
I looked down at her. She was practically bouncing, tugging at my arm with both hands, her face glowing with that mix of hope and sugar-fueled joy that made her impossible to resist.
“Please?” she begged again, her grin wide. “You have to come with us!”
I couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at my mouth. “When do I not, princess?”
She squealed, wrapping her arms tight around my waist. “I knew you’d say yes!”
“I’m predictable,” I said, smoothing a hand over her hair again.
Dad’s smile returned, faint but satisfied. “Car’s waiting out front.”
Lizzie skipped ahead toward the exit, humming. Kenton followed at a polite distance, clipboard still under his arm, every inch the polished stranger.
I lingered for a second, my gaze drifting back to Dad.
He did look good…sharper than I’d seen him in months. The kind of detail work he only bothered with when there was something to gain.
The sight made something tight twist in my chest.
I always went to these dinners. Every home game. They were never about celebration—just long, uncomfortable nights at overpriced restaurants where he ordered the steak, the wine, the dessert, and I paid the check without argument.
It was routine by now. A quiet transaction disguised as family time.
Speaking of family time…I cleared my throat. “So where’s Mom? And the boys?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “They stayed home this time. Long drive.”
My stomach sank. “Mom never misses a home game.”
“She needed a break. She’s been taking on more shifts,” he said easily, already turning toward the doors. “Let’s go. Your sister’s starving.”
I followed him out, any more words sticking in my throat.
Except when we stepped into the night air, it wasn’t his old beat-up pickup waiting by the curb.
A black sedan idled under the stadium lights, sleek and glossy with tinted windows and a uniformed driver standing at the door.
Lizzie was already bouncing beside it, wide-eyed. “Whoa. It’s like a movie car!”
I slowed. “What’s with the driver?”
Dad’s tone was casual. “It’s Kenton’s. He offered.”
Of course he did.
My jaw flexed as I stared at the car. Men like Kenton didn’t offer anything unless there was something in it for them. And my dad didn’t say yes unless he’d already figured out how to make that favor work to his advantage.
The whole thing reeked of performance—his cleaned-up look, the too-nice car, the timing. Like he’d staged the evening before I even stepped out of the locker room.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I can just meet you there. Need to grab something from my car anyway.”
Dad glanced at me with a tight, annoyed smile. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Before I could reply, his hand landed between my shoulder blades, the kind of gentle shove that wasn’t really gentle at all. “Get in, Matthew.”
It wasn’t a request.
So, I did what I’d been doing my whole life—I followed his orders.
The driver opened the door, and Lizzie climbed in first, still marveling at the leather seats. I ducked in after her, sliding to the far side, and Dad took the spot beside Kenton, who looked perfectly at home.
The door shut with a quiet thud that sounded…ominous.
Cologne and the smell of old money lingered in the car, and the hum of the engine filled the silence until Dad started talking, loud and confident, like he was pitching a deal instead of sitting in the back seat with his kids.
“You should’ve seen his last drive against Alabama,” he told Kenton in a voice full of rehearsed pride. “Fourteen yards out, double coverage, still found the opening. He’s always been good under pressure.”
Kenton made an approving sound. “Impressive.”
Lizzie tried to jump in. “And he promised—”
“Best completion percentage on the team,” Dad cut her off, not even glancing her way. “And his yards after catch are ridiculous this season.”
She slumped against me, quiet now, tracing little circles on the back of my hand with her finger.
I stared out the window, watching the city lights smear against the glass as we sped through downtown.
He kept going. Stats, rankings, scouting reports.
Kenton nodded along, polite, smiling when appropriate.
Lizzie didn’t try again.
And I didn’t bother stopping him.
Because I already knew this wasn’t about football.
It was about whatever deal was waiting for us at the end of the drive…and the part of me my dad was trying to sell.
The restaurant was even fancier than the usual places my dad found for me to pay for. Low lights pooled over linen, servers moved like rehearsed ghosts, and the menu read like a challenge. I’d eaten in plenty of nice places since coming to college, but this one didn’t feel like a restaurant.
It felt like a negotiation waiting to happen.
We were led to a corner table that was tucked away from the rest of the dining room.
The leather banquette was soft enough that Lizzie flopped back into it and squealed.
“Look at the lights!” she breathed with huge eyes, staring up at the giant chandelier above us.
“Can I get the cake and the ice cream for dessert?”
Dad chuckled, sliding the menu toward her. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want.”
The way he said it made something sour rise in my throat. Both he and Kenton seemed to be trying very hard to pretend like this was all normal.
And for a while, it all was normal.
Lizzie chattered about the mascot, asking why I had kissed it, and I let myself briefly smile at the thought of Ophelia.
Dad chuckled. “That was one hell of a touchdown celebration, son. The crowd loved it. Stuff like that sticks. It’s great for your brand.”
I didn’t bother correcting him. Let him think it was about publicity instead of the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about.
It was easier that way.
Kenton made pleasant noises while Lizzie continued to chatter throughout dinner, nodding at all the right places.
He asked, offhand, about her teacher and whether she liked school.
There was something too smooth about it, like he’d practiced being kind just enough to make people trust him.
I didn’t buy it, but Lizzie beamed at the attention, and I let her have it.
We ate. The food arrived like small sculptures…
seafood that tasted like the ocean had been edited for flavor, steak sliced thin and served like an afterthought to the sauce.
Dad made more small talk by asking me about our championship chances, while Kenton complimented me on my “marketability,” and all the attention I was getting.
When the waiter finally walked away after dropping off our desserts, Kenton turned his glass in his hand, the reflection of the candlelight glinting off his watch. “You’ve built quite a reputation for yourself, Matthew,” he began. “It’s impressive. The kind of thing people notice.”
Dad smiled like he was being complimented, too. “He’s worked for it. Always has.”
“Discipline like that,” Kenton said. “It’s rare. And valuable.”
There it was.
I kept my tone flat. “I’m sure it is.”
He smiled like he’d been waiting for the cue. My eyes flicked to my father, who was sitting there, his face eager, practically leaning forward in anticipation.
“Which brings us to why I wanted to take you to dinner tonight.”
Lizzie’s spoon clinked against her bowl. I felt her eyes flick toward us but she stayed quiet, distracted by the tiny dish of ice cream the waiter had just brought to go with her cake.
Kenton leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice lowering.
“You’ve got something most people don’t—access from inside the team.
You see things before anyone else does. A guy limping in practice, a tweak he’s hiding, who’s not running full speed, who’s taking extra treatment.
Little details, nothing major. But information like that…
” He paused, smiling faintly. “It’s worth a lot. To the right people.”
My grip tightened around the fork.
Dad spoke next, clearly trying to tamp down his excitement and pretend like this was no big deal. “He’s not talking about anything dangerous, Matty. Just…strategic insights. You could help us all out.”
I stared at him. “You want me to feed you information about the team?”
“Not just us,” Kenton corrected, still calm. “We’re a network. Think of it as…risk assessment. A way for investors to make informed decisions. No harm, no foul.”
“That’s betting,” I said flatly.
Kenton smiled like I’d said something quaint. “That’s business. And in business, information is currency.”
He let the words hang there.
My pulse thudded in my ears. “You’re asking me to sell out my teammates.”
Dad frowned, like I was being dramatic. “Don’t say it like that.
You wouldn’t be hurting anyone. Just letting us know when something might affect a game.
If someone’s ankle’s bothering them, if Parker’s shoulder’s tight before kickoff, if a starter’s not at a hundred percent.
The coaches already know—this would just—broaden awareness. ”
Broaden awareness. Fucking hell.
Kenton folded his hands neatly, looking every inch the businessman instead of the criminal he was. “All you’d do is send a text. Quiet. Anonymous. You’d be paid well for it. And you’d be helping people place smarter bets, which keeps the market stable. It’s all aboveboard in its own way.”
I almost laughed. “‘In its own way?’”
He ignored that. “You’d be surprised how many athletes are already part of it. We don’t ask anyone to throw games, Matthew. You’d never compromise play integrity. We just need information. Early information.”
Dad nodded, like this was all perfectly reasonable. “You could make a lot of money, son. More than most players see in their first five years in the NFL.”
I dropped my fork, the sound loud in the quiet room. “You’re out of your damn mind.”
Kenton didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to decide tonight. But I’d think carefully before saying no. It’s not illegal to talk. And people appreciate loyalty.”
The word loyalty landed like a threat wrapped in velvet.
Dad leaned closer, his voice soft, persuasive. “Think about your future, Matty. All it takes is one injury, and the NFL’s gone. This? This could set you up for life. You’ve got to be smart.”
I stared at him. “Smart isn’t selling information to a bookie.”
Kenton’s mouth twitched. “That’s a very narrow way of looking at it.”
My blood was roaring now. I could feel it under my skin, that familiar storm I only got on the field. “You’re talking about gambling rings. You’re talking about manipulating lines and insider trading on people’s injuries. You want me to spy for you.”
Dad’s expression hardened. “Lower your voice.”
“No.” I stood abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor. Lizzie jumped, spoon clattering against porcelain. “You brought my little sister here to make this look like a family dinner. You dressed up. You waited until dessert to pitch me like I’m a fucking mark. I’m not doing it.”
“Matty—”
“I said no.”
Kenton’s tone stayed infuriatingly calm. “You’ll want to be careful about closing doors too quickly. The people I work with value cooperation.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “So do I. Which is why I’m not getting into business with an asshole like you.”
Lizzie’s lower lip trembled. “Matty, don’t go,” she whispered.
I crouched next to her, brushing her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry, princess,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Finish your cake, okay? You deserve it for being my number one fan.”
“Don’t leave mad,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks.
I smiled, even though it hurt. “I’m not mad at you.”
Dad was gaping at me in shock. Kenton just watched with cold eyes.
I turned and strode out before either of them could say another word. The air outside hit hard, cutting through the heat still crawling up my neck. My pulse was still hammering when I heard it behind me.
“Matthew!”
My father’s voice filled the air, sharp and authoritative…like I was still fifteen and supposed to come running.
I didn’t slow down.
“Don’t walk away from me, young man!”
The sound of my name was swallowed by the wind, and I started to jog, knowing he wouldn’t be able to catch up with me.
A second later, my phone buzzed in my pocket with a call from him.
Of course.
It started ringing again the second after I sent it to voicemail. Then again. And again.
I clenched my jaw, hit ignore, and kept going until the lights from the restaurant were a smear behind me. I didn’t even know where the hell I was headed. I just knew I needed distance, asphalt, and air that didn’t smell like him.
When the screen lit up for the fifth time, I thumbed to Jace’s contact and hit it.
He picked up on the second ring. “What’s up Matty-kins?”
“I’m walking,” I said.
“Walking where?”
“Along the road. Somewhere between downtown and losing my mind.”
That got his attention. “Everything okay?”
“No.” My laugh came out hollow. “Not even close.”
There was a pause, then his voice shifted, serious now. “You want me to come get you?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “And bring alcohol.”
“Bad night?”
“Worse,” I muttered, staring at the long stretch of highway ahead. “I need to get drunk before I start breaking things.”
Jace exhaled softly through the line. “Alright. Stay where you are, bubs. I’m on my way.”
The call clicked off.
A second later, my phone buzzed again—Dad. The name lit up the screen like a warning I didn’t need.
I let it ring until it stopped, shoving the phone deep into my pocket as the night stretched out in front of me.
Shit. What the fuck had just happened?