52. Mason #2
After Simone walks away, I don’t walk over to where my dad is right away.
I watch him walk toward the stadium tents and wait until he’s busy shaking hands with some booster-looking dad before I turn in the other direction.
My car is parked near the entrance, but it feels miles away as I walk over.
I keep looking around to make sure no one sees me.
I press my palm to my head, trying to rub the tension away before popping my trunk open and grabbing the three small shot bottles of Jameson I had tucked into the side compartment.
I twist the first one open, and it burns on the way down.
My throat tightens, and my eyes water a bit.
I tip back the second one faster this time.
Then the third. I tilt my head back and let it drain, not missing a drop.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stand there for a second, staring at the empty bottles in my palm.
The dull warmth washes over me, and I roll my neck in relief.
There’s a little hum under my skin that says, there you go, buddy.
We got you. I toss the empty bottles back into the trunk and slam it shut harder than I mean to.
Then I move around to the driver’s side door and yank it open, digging through the center console, looking for some gum, but all I find are several empty containers.
Shit.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter.
I let out a frustrated breath, but it’s already hitting—that floating feeling, that slight tilt to the world. The edge is gone. I don’t even care about the damn gum anymore. I just lock the car and head back toward the stadium.
By the time I find my dad again, he’s already in full performance mode. He’s talking to Coach near the bleachers, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing in the air like he’s telling him all about his glory days here.
Coach sees me first. “Sinclair,” he nods.
“Coach.”
My dad turns, looking at me. “There he is. The man of the hour.”
It sounds like praise. But it isn’t.
He claps a hand on my shoulder harder than necessary. “I was just telling Coach about my junior year. And I was about to tell him how I broke the receiving record my senior year.”
Coach smiles politely. “Oh yeah? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah,” my dad says easily. “Had scouts at three games. Could’ve gone pro if I wanted to.”
I keep my face blank.
He looks over at me. “But I knew I wanted something bigger than just five minutes of fame, you know? I wanted to focus on building generational wealth. Stability. A legacy.”
Coach nods. “That’s impressive.”
My dad shrugs modestly. “It’s all about discipline. Focus. Not letting distractions derail you.” His eyes flick to me, knowingly, then back to Coach. “If this one right here would get his head on straight, he’s probably got the talent to reach that level too.”
Coach looks at me, giving a small, proud smile. “Mason’s been working really hard here.”
“Good. He just needs to keep pushing those limits, not get lazy and let the distraction of college get to his head.”
My jaw tightens. I just want to roll my eyes, but I hold it in and look away instead.
They keep talking as my eyes find Simone’s across the track. She’s standing with her parents and a couple of Gamma girls. She smiles at me, giving me a small wave, and I shoot her a wink, smiling—letting her be my favorite distraction.
That’s when my dad sees me looking off, and his gaze follows mine.
He sees her, then looks back at me, and leans in slightly, his voice lowering just for me to hear. “See,” he says under his breath, “if you weren’t so distracted and unfocused over pussy, you’d be a lot farther ahead in life already.”
I don’t respond. I just turned my attention to Chase beside me, who just walked over with his parents. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander,” I say, forcing a grin and ignoring my dad’s presence. “Are y’all ready for the game tomorrow?”
Chase’s mom beams. “So excited. We watch every game online.”
“Just try not to screw the win up for us,” Chase mutters to me quietly.
“Shut up,” I say, elbowing him lightly.
I can still feel my dad’s eyes on me, but I continue to ignore him as he talks to all the other parents, showing off every chance he gets.
A few minutes later, Simone walks over with the Gamma girls she was just with.
Tank spots her first. “There she is! Current Ms. Edwards, future Mrs. Owens.”
I glare at him, tilting my head and crossing my arms. “Are you trying to die, Tank?”
“You know I’m just messing around,” he says, pulling Simone into a side hug. “Plus, you already tried. Remember?” he jokes.
She hugs him back, laughing, then hugs Chase too.
Tank and Chase are already turned to all the other girls, flirting with them when Simone gets to me. She steps into my arms without hesitation, and I hold her tighter. Longer. She just fits there too easily. I can’t help it.
“You okay?” she murmurs against my chest.
“Yeah,” I say automatically.
She pulls back, smiling. “All the moms are so obsessed with each other and won’t stop yapping, so we escaped.”
“Smart,” I tell her, smiling.
We all fall into easy conversation, talking about the game, about how weird it is having parents everywhere, making everyone feel like they need to be on their best behavior.
It almost feels normal.
Until my dad joins the circle.
He looks over at me. “You know, when I was your age, I didn’t have time for all…this.”
“All what?” I ask calmly, confused by his constant and extremely unnecessary input.
He gestures vaguely at Simone and at my friends. “Distractions.”
Simone stiffens slightly.
“It’s family weekend,” Chase says lightly, trying to diffuse the tension.
My dad ignores him. “You’ve already lost one season to stupidity. You’d think that would humble you.”
I hate the embarrassment that washes over me in front of all my friends.
I’m so tired of it, tired of him.
“Why don’t you go back over to the other parents and relive more of your ‘glory days’ with them?” I tell him with a bite to my tone. “You know…the years that you peaked in life.”
I hear a low oop from Tank off to the side.
My dad looks around behind him, then back at me. “Who are you talking to?”
“…You,” I say, like he must have some kind of comprehension problem.
“How about you watch yourself and remember who signs the check that pays for your tuition here, okay? Stop trying to embarrass me like you’re constantly embarrassing yourself on that field and in the classroom.”
His jabs are getting sharper now, more desperate to assert his dominance with me.
“I’ve earned my spot around here with my own talent. Ask anyone.”
He leans in. “You inherited it.”
The whiskey flowing through my system makes the words hit different, makes everything harsher, louder, more ugly and painful.
I just stand there, staring at him, wondering why the fuck he’s even around when it’s so obvious that he hates everything about me.
Simone steps forward slightly, standing closer to me now, like she wants to protect me. “He works harder than anyone on that team and in his classes. He’s very smart, and you should be proud of him.”
“Simone,” I warn under my breath.
“No, it’s fine,” she says softly to me. Then to my dad, “He doesn’t deserve to be talked about like that.”
My dad looks at her like she just amuses him. “Sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping condescension, “You should maybe mind your own business.”
“Maybe if you didn’t talk down to him in front of people who actually care about him, I wouldn’t have a reason to insert myself into your business with my friend.”
Chase mutters, “Oh shit.”
My dad smiles slowly. “You’re very bold.”
“I just don’t like bullies,” she says evenly. “Especially ones too old to be doing it in the first place.”
A couple of nearby parents glance over, and my dad’s eyes narrow.
“You should be careful,” he says coolly.
“I know girls like you from…lesser backgrounds tend to forget their place and start to feel entitled when they get around the proximity of wealth and successful men they think want them for anything more than just an easy lay.”
I step in front of her instantly. “What the fuck did you just say?”
He lifts his hands mockingly. “Relax.”
I’m inches from him now, anger radiating from my entire body.
The only thing holding back my fist from connecting with his face is the amount of people standing around us.
“I don’t want to hear you ever talk to her that way again, or anyone else for that matter.”
He leans closer, no doubt to land another emotional punch.
And then he stops.
His nose wrinkles slightly, and then he lets out a small laugh.
“Is that…whiskey?” he whispers for only me to hear.
I look around, finding Simone, praying she couldn’t hear him, then glare back at my father.
“You just can’t help it, can you?’ he snarks. “You’ll never be anything more than a disappointment…no matter what I do to try to change you.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
He stops, looking around at all the eyes currently on us.
“Unless you want me to air out all your dirty laundry right here in front of your friends and your little girlfriend,” he says mildly, “I’d advise you to step away from the crowd and talk to me privately.”
I don’t falter or stand down. I won’t let him intimidate me. “What is there to talk about?”
He chuckles. “Trust me. I have some things to say. Things you’re gonna wanna hear.”
My stomach twists, and he smiles, seeing my reaction. “Let’s go.”
I glance around. Tank looks ready to throw a punch, and Simone just looks worried.
I go to walk away with him, but Simone’s hand reaches out to grab my arm, stopping me.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “I’ll be right back.”
We walk toward the far side of the stadium parking lot—out of earshot—and then he stops near the fence, leaning against it, and crossing his arms.
“I knew the drinking was getting bad, but this is just sad, Mason. It’s the middle of the fucking day.”
“Yeah?” I shoot back. “What do you care?”
I wish he cared. My dumbass heart wished he cared. But I know that’s not what this is.