“Dad?” I ask, needing someone to confirm it—to say it out loud.
He lifts his head from his hands, his face serious, his eyes narrow and angry. Chad Prescott doesn’t get emotional, but he does get pissed. Whatever this is, it’s moved beyond that.
My dad’s eyes meet mine, and he works his lips, sucking in the top one and letting it go with a slow nod.
“It’s done,” he says.
My mom gasps and covers her mouth.
“What’s done?” Nico asks.
Shifting his focus to his young quarterback, my dad stares at Nico hard. He doesn’t blink and he doesn’t speak.
“Coach, what…what happened here?” Nico asks.
My dad’s head falls slightly to the side as he exhales through his nose, his mouth still a hard line.
“It isn’t Coach anymore, Nico. On Monday, you’ll be playing for Jimmy O’Donahue. Don’t worry, though. You…you’ll be all right,” my father says.
Nico’s feet shift where he stands, and his hand grips mine harder.
“I don’t understand. We…we won. We’re winning,” Nico says.
“It wasn’t going to matter, Nico. This…it isn’t your fault,” my dad says.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” my mom pipes in, her words coming out raw, through a stifled cry. “And it isn’t fair. I hate this place! I hate their rules! You lose once…once! They hold it against you forever. I…I need to go talk to Noah.”
“Noah was here?” I ask, my mom holds up a hand, covering her mouth with the other one as she excuses herself down the hallway. I turn my attention back to the room.
“He was. He had just come in, left the dance early—just like we asked him to. He pulled up right before Jimmy,” my dad says, shaking his head as his eyes move toward the still-open door. My father stands and walks toward us, continuing on to the door so he can push it closed. As soon as it clicks in place, his fist comes down against the panels hard, rattling the door, frame, and wall that surround it. “Those goddamned assholes!”
I move my touch to Nico’s arm, gripping it and holding him close to me, but he pulls loose, looking at me and holding up a finger. Nico walks to my father and puts his hand on my dad’s shoulder, and that small touch pushes my father over the edge, his head falling forward into his palm, his body sinking into the door before silently quaking. Nico leans into him, resting his forehead on the place where his hand rests on my father, and I stand alone, watching.
“I’ll quit sir,” Nico says.
My dad straightens instantly, turning to face Nico as he runs his thumbs under his damp eyes.
“No,” my dad says, shaking his head. “No. Absolutely no, you will not.”
“I won’t play for someone else,” Nico says.
My father takes in a deep breath, his eyes at Nico’s feet at first, then gliding up to look his prodigy in the eyes. My dad lifts his hand and rests it on Nico’s shoulder, squeezing and forcing a hint of a smile to cross his lips.
“Nico, you play for you. You…you have never played for anyone but you. And…Jesus Christ, son, you frustrate me. Frustrated me, but hell if it didn’t work. It was the right way to coach you. To let you fly. You play for you, and you will continue to play for you. You’ve got six games—six! You win that championship, and you go play for some big school that you deserve. And then you give those fuckers the middle finger, because they’ll still be right here. Without you, Nico? They’ve got nothin’.”
Nico’s silent, and I can read him more than I’ve ever been able to before. His jaw works, and his brow pulls in as he stares at my father, breathing in and out through his nose until he finally nods.
“I’ll play, Coach. But I can’t be quiet out there. I can’t just pretend any of this is okay. I’ll play, but I won’t keep my mouth shut,” he says.
“I wouldn’t expect you to, son. I wouldn’t expect you to,” my dad says, his mouth curving a hint more, this smile born from pride.
My father’s eyes move to me, and he holds them there for a beat before they drift back to the ground, his hand falling limp at his side.
“Reagan, go check on your mom and brother, would you? I’m…” he chuckles. “I’m going to go have a drink. A hard one. A few hard ones.”
“Dad,” I start, but he holds up a hand.
“Alone,” he says. “I’m all right, and I’ll figure this out, but right now, I just need to go be mad as hell, all right?”
I pull my lips in tight and my eyes flit to Nico. He nods to me, but I can tell from his face that he’s still processing, too.
“All right,” I say.