34. A Victory & An Unpleasant Confrontation
A VICTORY calls are made, instructions from Tristan to the team before the final call, and then there’s the snap.
Just like that, I spring into action with the rest of the bodies around me.
A clash of titans as I fall back towards Tristan, while the rest of the line moves forward to stop the opposing team from coming after me.
Tristan fakes the handoff to Hayes–our running back–before turning slightly and pitching the ball to me.
My fingers curl around it, nestling it tightly to my chest, while my legs pump towards the end zone.
I’m flying with one destination in mind.
I can hear a confused grunt here and there as the opposing team scrambles to make up for their misstep, but it’s too late.
There’s nothing left but my feet steadily pounding into the turf and the wind whistling past my helmet.
I feel the brush of a hand across my back as an attempt to tackle me misses its mark and soars past me, not even breaking my stride.
It happens once more, and then the crowd goes wild.
My feet land in the endzone, and the score is ours.
A shutout down to the final seconds of the game.
I don’t even have my arms in the air before my team crashes into me, hauling me up into a mass of arms, jostles, and back pats. Suddenly, Tristan is in my face, grabbing my helmet and yanking me into a bone-crushing hug.
I scored the only touchdown in my first game as a college starter. My best bro is right beside me, cheering with me, and my love is in the stadium, cheering for me. My eyes scan the crowd, a sea of people, but I know where they’re sitting.
It takes a moment, especially with all the jostling around, but eventually I find Qiang. Our eyes meet, and theirs are shining with happy tears; a smile spreads across their perfect face, and it feels like I’m flying all over again.
Between a quick celebratory moment with Coach and the team, a shower, and a few interviews, it takes about forty-five minutes before Tristan and I are finally walking out of the locker rooms to meet up with our families.
We barely even make it out of the door before the Jiang siblings come running at us. Qi jumps in the air and wraps their limbs around Tristan’s waiting arms, and Qiang matches their energy as they leap into mine.
I may have really believed this love shit wasn’t for me for most of my life, but coming fresh out of a huge win and having Qiang running into my arms right after is some next-level cosmic kind of amazing that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go without now that I’ve felt what this feels like.
“You were so amazing out there,” Qiang breathes against my neck while I wrap my arms tighter around them.
And I’m so fucking elated. Their body against mine, their praise in my ear, and all I want is to kiss them. Right here in front of everyone, I don’t care, and neither does Qiang.
“That was one hell of a touchdown,” a voice to my right says, interrupting my moment with Qiang.
The older man is as tall as I am and a bit bulkier.
He has a square jaw and salt-and-pepper hair.
He’s a decent-enough-looking man, a bit too bland to be striking in any way.
A face that would easily get lost in the crowd if it weren’t for the cruel glint in his eyes and the overly expensive accessories he wears.
Qiang looks over, and their face crumples for the barest of seconds before their mask slides into place to hide their emotions.
If there were a way to snap this fucker’s neck without paying for it for the rest of my life, I would do it here and now, but that’s not how the world works, so I swallow it down while I narrow my eyes at him.
“Do I know you?” I ask, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s important enough for his reputation to precede him. That, and I don’t want to give away that we’ve been investigating him for weeks until it’s time to unveil all that we’ve uncovered.
“Sterling Adair, I’m Kingston’s father. And Qiang, it’s been a few years. How nice to see you again. Seems my son lost out to Bauer here in more ways than one,” he says, whispering out the last part while reaching his hand out to shake.
I make absolutely no attempt to shake his hand; I just stare at him until he curls his fingers inward and drops his arm, that cruel glint in his eyes flashing. I’ve pissed him off. Good.
“Ah,” Sterling nods knowingly, before turning his attention back to Qiang. “I see.
“I had hoped after so many years you would have learned to put blame where it’s due, but it seems you still blame me for my son’s rather crude sense of humor,” he says in a way that thinly suggests he’s questioning Qiang’s intelligence in the delivery.
It makes my back bristle. I’ve had people talk down to me like this all my life.
The presentation of kindness, even paternal guidance, that thinly veils the deliverer’s disdain.
It’s sickening to be condescended to in a way that makes it hard to call it out.
And I’m not here for it. I don’t do well with it when it’s directed at me, and I’m sure as fuck not gonna let it stand being directed at Qiang, especially not by this sick fucker.
“In this case, a crude sense of humor is a rather tasteless way of saying cruel and unnecessary,” I point out.
Not that I honestly think a man like Sterling could ever possibly understand exactly how cruel what his son had done to Qiang really was.
Sterling’s eyes narrow exponentially. I’m doing a good job at pissing him off today, but really, he should have just stuck to Kingston, or really not been here at all, because it’s not like he cares about Kingston either. He’s just pissed that his son didn’t get the position.
“Let’s let bygones be bygones. It was so long ago, and it looks like you’ve made out just fine, unnatural tendencies and all,” he says, gesturing towards the obvious closeness between Qiang and me.
This man doesn’t make me frustrated and angry like Kingston does.
He makes me sick. There’s a sense of absolute wrongness about him that’s so viscerally pungent it makes my stomach twist. I don’t know if it’s because I know what he is, or if I would have sensed it regardless, but there’s something in the cruel set of his eyes and the sneer that gives off a predatory vibe that Kingston has never come close to even trying to give off—the difference between a rich prick and a real predator.
Qiang snorts in derision before Sterling turns his attention away from them and fully onto me.
He assesses me openly and crudely, like a buyer assessing the goods before purchase.
It’s equally tasteless and demeaning, but I hold my head high and refuse to give him the benefit of a reaction from me.
So far, I’ve gotten more out of him than he’s gotten out of me, and I’d prefer it to stay that way.
“I knew you had to have talent to have such a lack of training and be able to bypass those that have been training for years,” he says in the most insincere, backhanded kind of way.
I scoff at that. “Like father, like son, you both seem to be under the impression that time and money are the only things that count. I may not have trained for as long as Kingston, but I’ve trained as hard, if not harder, because I never assumed I was owed a position.”
Sterling’s lip curls slightly, marring the friendly demeanor he’s failing miserably at trying to present.
Before he can say anything else, Qi steps up to us, his eyes on Sterling in a wary, disgusted manner, while Tristan is right on top of him, one arm curled around him and tucked up tight against him.
Can’t blame him. I know, regardless of knowing what Sterling had wanted from Qi when he’d only been fourteen, that there is still no universe in which he’d ever let Qiang be anywhere near this man without stepping between them.
Self-preservation just doesn’t exist for the Jiangs when it comes at the cost of another Jiang being in danger.
And Tristan respects Qi enough to understand his need to do this, but he also knows what that man wanted from Qi, and there’s no universe where he’d ever let Qi this close to a known predator without making damn sure he was protected.