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“You know that’s over.”
“I told you it was coming if you kept staying down here working with him. Which is why I told you to come up to Chicago. Told you I’d make sure you had the same job and more pay up there.”
East and Quentin’s eyes flash to me, and I feel the heat rise up my neck. It was an offer I’d never even been willing to consider, so it hadn’t been worth mentioning.
“Well. I like my job here.”
“You mean you liked wading back into the trash here.”
“Dad,” East warns my father with a look that’s almost as frightening as the one my father makes back.
“Son, I know he’s your quarterback, but let’s be honest, shall we? I don’t think Quentin will begrudge us honesty. Will you, son?”
“Not your son,” Quentin replies tightly.
“And like I told you once before. You never will be.” My father grins like he’s just remembered that tidbit of information. His eyes shift to me. “Because you see, Madison, this desperate fucking felon’s child was only too happy to be bought off to stay away from you. I just had to flash some money and few connections in front of him and suddenly you were the least shiny thing he was interested in. But then we all know that’s why you wanted her. Thought her money and connections would solve your problems for your lazy ass.”
“I’m well aware you tried to manipulate him. And you should be aware that if you speak about him like that again, what little speaking we do currently will end,” I warn.
“Be smart, Madison. I don’t know what his interest is in you right now. I’d guess the fact that your last name and your brother are currently saving his career from the death spiral it’s been on the last two years. Thanks to his uncle. But I promise you he’ll be balls deep in some trailer-park princess the second the chance presents itself.”
“I—” I start but Quentin squeezes my hand.
“Madison is the love of my life. Making her happy—that’s my only interest in her. The only one I’ve ever had and ever will have.”
My dad laughs, loudly. So loud it echoes off the wall. “You couldn’t make her happy if you tried. The only man who ever could, she couldn’t catch because she already fucked his best friend.”
The tears choke my throat, and I cover my mouth. Wren gasps and she moves back between East and me, her eyes turning on them as she grabs my free hand and squeezes it.
“That’s it. Get the fuck out of my house!” Easton bellows.
“Don’t speak to your father like that,” my mother scolds.
“You’re going to let my father speak toyourdaughter like that?” East never, ever contradicts our mother, and her eyes go wide at the realization.
“It was crass but he’s upset.” My mother defends him, and I shake my head, the tears falling hard. Quentin wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me close, clinging tightly to me.
“You heard East the first time. Get out,” Wren repeats, holding ground beside me. My mother’s brows lift, and my father’s face darkens. They’ve never been particularly fond of Wren. They wanted my brother to marry a trust-fund princess or the daughter of another sports dynasty like ours. But my brother never saw anyone but her, and since he’s long been the favorite, she’s been accepted despite what they felt were her perceived shortcomings. My mother in particular has grown fond of her and the look of shock on her face tells me that Wren has been far too nice to her for far too long.
“We’re going to discuss this later. When you’ve calmed down and can think rationally.” My father acts like he has any say at all, and then storms back into the living room and out through the front door. My mother hurries behind him like she’s been forgotten to the wolves. He’ll probably lecture her on the ride back to the hotel about how her calling him “crass” undermines his authority over us. It was the kind of thing he always did to her. The kind of thing I always hoped she could escape, and my heart hurts to watch her follow him.
When they’re gone, the house turns into a flurry of activity. My brother and sister-in-law reassure us both that my father and mother are awful people who we shouldn’t listen to, reminders that they treat everyone this way and we can’t expect anything different. There are lots of promises to one another over dinner that we won’t let them ruin anything else in our lives going forward. But something in my gut tells me that it’s not the last we’ve heard of my father on this front.
41
Madison
My suspicionsabout my father are well founded. The next day at the game it only takes minutes, barely halfway into the first quarter before I start to see his plan unfold. One that involves a singular goal—sacking the quarterback as hard and as often as possible. His defense is leaving men wide open and making rookie mistakes. Ones that have us climbing the board with an early lead but leaving Quentin on his ass on the ground more than he has any time this season.
It starts that way at least. Legal hits that just have them focusing so hard on the pass rush that our offense is trying and failing to adjust. But by the second quarter, the hits have come harder. Guys are leading with the crown as Quentin goes to shield the ball and take the sack, slamming into him helmet-to-helmet in a way that threatens to snap his neck. His body hits the turf again and again, even on the plays he manages to getthe ball off to his receivers, he’s being hit late and not a single ref is making a call.
I’m on my feet more than once, screaming through the glass in the box. First cursing their names and then begging them to do anything to protect him. Anything that even remotely resembles throwing a flag has my attention, but again and again, they let him fall. A direct hit to his knees, gloved hands that reach inside his facemask and drag him down to the ground, and a brutal late hit that sends the back of his helmet bouncing on the turf are all ignored.
Bea’s up on her feet screaming along with me, and the home crowd boos again as the refs ignore what should be easy penalty calls.
“This is insane. It’s like they’re doing it on purpose. I can’t believe the refs aren’t calling it. It’s blatant.”
My heart sinks in my chest, and I stare down at the small figure of a man on the sidelines. A man so small that he would do something this fucking cruel. Another play has Quentin launching the ball down the field and one of our receivers catching it to run it in for a touchdown. But it’s impossible for me to celebrate as I watch a defender headhunting Quentin after the play.
