Chapter 30 #2
Whoever had taken this had been there. Had been watching. Had been close enough to get that angle on both of us.
No one should see Hadley like that without her permission.
There was only one girl on campus I knew who was that good with a camera, and I’d just left her in the stadium, and the stadium was exactly where I was heading.
I exchanged a few barbs with teammates as they left, and I went back inside. I was going to be late for class, and I didn’t give a shit.
Briar could wait. If someone was using a photo of me as leverage, Coach needed to know first. I headed straight to the coach’s office. Coach Hembry was in the middle of the open-plan space, talking to one of the assistant coaches.
“Slater? You need something?”
“I was looking for Coach Sutherland.”
“He’s in a meeting, heading out myself, he won’t be free until four.”
Jesus, what was the meeting? To solve world hunger? “Right.”
Hembry noticed I didn’t look happy. “Can I help?”
“No, Coach.” I gave him a wave. “See you at four.”
I headed out and noticed one of the boosters walking in. Almo Gomez, ex-pro, Hall of Famer, and a damn good running back in his day. He saw me.
“Dustin Slater,” he said with a grin. “How you doing?”
We shook hands. “Yeah, I’m good,” I told him. “You?”
Still standing.” He laughed and checked his watch. “Got a booster meeting with your HC. I told him I’d come because I missed the last one, but if he shows me those plans one more time, I will fall asleep.”
“The plans?” I asked curiously.
“For the stadium upgrades.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Damn expensive.” He clapped me on the shoulder and then nodded toward the doors. “I’d better get in, looking forward to seeing the Slater Success at the spring game in a few weeks.”
God, I hated that phrase. I’d been hearing it since junior year in high school, and it still made my skin crawl.
“I’ll be bringing it.”
I hesitated at the doors of the athletic building. Now I had two problems: someone sending a dick pic that I may never recover from, and knowing about a stadium improvement plan that didn’t exist.
“Fuck.”
I texted Dante as I walked away from the stadium.
Me: Need you at the dorm room. Now.
Spence: I’m in class.
Me: I don’t care
Spence: I’ll be there in ten
“All I wanted was one fucking good day,” I seethed. I texted Savvy next.
Me: Social media marketing people, where do I find them?
She didn’t answer. Unlike Dante or me, her phone would be on silent and in her bag during class. I headed home, rage burning in my veins. Once inside, I threw my backpack at the couch, grabbed a water, dug into the third drawer down, and pulled out my peanut butter cups.
When Dante walked in, I was on the kitchen counter, an empty bottle of water on the floor, and a bunch of candy wrappers beside me.
“What’s happened?” he asked as he closed the door. I was weirdly grateful he was alone.
“How’d you get out of class?” I asked sullenly.
“Stomachache. No one believes me either.” He watched me closely. “What is it?” he asked me quietly.
“All I wanted was a good fucking day.” I pushed off the counter and started to pace.
Dante sat on the chair and watched me. “You picked the team up, they appreciated it. Hell, I appreciated it. It was good.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. I didn’t know which problem to share with him first. “Ran into Almo Gomez on the way back to the stadium.”
“Why were you going back?” he asked curiously. “Why is he here?”
“I need to find the social media girl.” I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Fuck, I hate this fucking school.”
“Hey.” Dante was on his feet and at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Dust, man. C’mon, tell me what happened. Did Almo say something to you?”
“He said he was here for a meeting with Head Coach.”
“NIL?”
Name, image, and likeness deals had been legalized by the NCAA a few years ago.
Suddenly, college athletes could sign sponsorships, appear in ads, partner with brands, and get paid without losing eligibility.
Wrighton didn’t actively chase NIL deals for their players.
Only the real stars in college football ever landed them anyway.
Some people said NIL was a distraction; others said programs that ignored it were being shortsighted.
I didn’t have a strong opinion either way.
“He’s here for the stadium upgrades.”
Dante frowned. “What upgrades?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that was my reaction.”
Dante stepped back. “Well, I mean, maybe it’s legit.” He and I exchanged a look. “I mean, we’re just players, so we don’t know everything in the program.”
“You think they wouldn’t have dragged your ass to a fundraiser yet for donations for a ‘very expensive upgrade’?”
He frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He looked at the pile of wrappers. “You had a sugar craving for an upgrade?” He tried to ask it lightheartedly, but it landed flat.
I tipped my head back and looked at the ceiling. “Just . . . keep the smart comments to yourself.”
I handed him my phone.
He winced when he saw it, then took in the details, realizing it was from an unknown number. “Who the fuck took this?”
I looked at him, feeling defeated. “I dunno, but I don’t think I’ll get a NIL contract, do you?”
He looked at me and then the phone, blanched, and handed it back. “We need to find out who sent this. Did you reply?”
“I’d ask if I looked stupid, but clearly I am.” I threw the phone on the couch. “What the fuck am I going to do?”
Dante sat down and put his head in his hands. “We should have declared for the Draft when we had the chance,” he muttered bitterly. “Even if the stock wasn’t there yet.”
“Yeah.” I sat down beside him. “I think I’m fucked, Dante.”
He looked at me and didn’t say anything, but the answer was in his eyes.
He thought so too.