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“What?” Scott stiffens, eyes narrowing to slits. “You keeping tabs on me?”
Coach’s lips lift slightly at the corners as his dark eyes harden. “I’ve been at the last two parole hearings, so I think we both understand that I’ve made it my business to be involved.”
What?
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
My gaze shifts from one man to the other before refocusing on Coach. Barely am I able to find my voice. “You know him?”
He glances at me for a moment before his attention resettles on my father. It’s like he understands that it wouldn’t be prudent to take his eyes off him, even for a second. “Yup. Made it my business to know.”
“Why?” My mind spins out of control. I’m almost dizzy with the sensation.
“You’ve overcome a lot of challenges and worked hard to get to where you are. I wanted to make sure nothing interfered with that.” Nick Richards levels a hard look at my father, and it becomes clear that what he didn’t want interfering in my life was this man.
“I spent the last decade rotting in prison,” Dad hisses as if answering the silent accusation in the other man’s eyes. “Don’t you think I’ve paid my debt to society?”
“That’s not my decision to make.” Coach shrugs and steps closer to me before settling a hand on my shoulder. The heavy weight of it anchors me to the earth, leaving me to feel less vulnerable. It’s the first time in my dad’s presence that I’ve been able to suck in a full breath of air. “Why are you here, Scott?”
My Dad’s lips thin before he bites out a response. “I wanted to see my son. It’s been a long time. The ungrateful little shit didn’t visit me once while I was in prison.” He stabs a finger at Coach before hocking a loogie and spitting it at his feet. “I bet you had something to do with that.”
“Nope.” Nick shakes his head. “Rowan makes his own decisions. You may not realize this, but he had to grow up awfully quick after you got locked up—probably while you were around. And look at him, he’s done pretty well for himself.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Any man would be proud to call him son.” Before my father can respond, Coach continues. “But here’s the thing, you only seem to come around when you want something. And I’m guessing that what you want right now is money. I won’t put Rowan on the spot by asking him, all I’ll say is this—if you truly want to build a relationship with this young man, then you need to make some positive changes in your life, and let him come to you when he’s ready. Maybe that won’t ever happen. What I do know is that you need to stop coming around campus and harassing him.”
My father takes a menacing step in our direction. His hands tighten into fists. “That’s not what I’m doing!”
“Isn’t it?” Coach raises a brow. Instead of being intimidated, the guy is calm, cool, and collected. “You’re a grown man. If you’re intent on turning your situation around, you need to prove that to Rowan by standing on your own two feet instead of looking to your twenty-one-year-old son for handouts. Now, if you’re ready to make those changes, I would be more than happy to steer you in the right direction as far as jobs go.”
“I don’t need any charity from the likes of you,” Dad snarls.
“Suit yourself,” Coach says as if it doesn’t make a difference to him one way or the other. “But I think this conversation is over, and it’s time for you to leave.”
Dad bares his teeth. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. You step foot on university property again, I’ll call campus police and tell them that you’ve been harassing one of my players. Then I’ll personally call your parole officer and fill him in on what’s been going on.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “Because we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve contacted Rowan.”
“You son of a—”
“Yup,” he agrees easily, cutting off the tirade, “that’s exactly what I am. I’ve got no problem playing hardball with you.”
Dad grits his teeth as rage flashes in his eyes before they slide to me. “You gonna let this asshole talk to me like this?”
Ignoring the question, I say instead, “I don’t want you coming around here anymore, and I don’t want you calling. If I want to talk, I’ll get ahold of you.” Although we both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Whatever bridge could have been tentatively built between us has been destroyed.
Dad opens his mouth to argue when Nick cuts him off. “Your time is up. You can leave on your own volition or,” Coach nods toward the tunnel and the security guard who lounges there, “you can be escorted out. The choice is yours.”
