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Mum walks out of the kitchen, a fake smile pasted on her face. Dad follows, devoid of any emotion. Something shady as fuck is happening.
“You all ready to go, sweetie?” Ellie simply nods in response. Mum then turns to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Great. There’s leftovers from last night in the fridge. We’ll be home late.”
“No sweat,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m just going to watch a movie and crash anyway. Have fun, Jelly.”
Without acknowledging Dad, I head upstairs to my bedroom, closing the door and dropping down onto my bed. I stare at the ceiling, mulling over what just happened. What the fuck was that conversation about? What contract? What mistakes?
I stay on the bed until I hear the car back out of the driveway. Just to be safe, I give it an extra couple of minutes before I get up and go downstairs to Dad’s study. Usually, I avoid this room like the plague. Being in here while everyone’s gone and the house is silent makes me feel… wrong. Dad is meticulously neat, so I try not to leave any indication that I’ve been in here.
A pile of papers sits neatly in the middle of the desk–school budgets. My eyes widen when I see how little my poor old history teacher makes. That dude does not get paid enough to put up with all the shit we used to give him in class. No wonder he hasn’t retired.
I carefully pull open the top drawer, but it’s just full of stationary–all laid out in neat little lines. Fuck, does the man have OCD or something? I’m tempted to mess it up, just to make his eye twitch, but it’s honestly not worth the satisfaction to give up my hand this early.
The next drawer only has one thing in it–a little black book. Casting a quick glance up at the door, I grab the book and sit down in Dad’s chair. I flip the cover and realise it’s a scrapbook. There are newspaper clippings of both my brothers’ league careers, dating back to when they were teenagers. I’d made the same accomplishments years later, but there’s no evidence of that. It’s just a shrine to Wes and Ryker–and another kick in the guts to me. I return the scrapbook and move on to the drawers on the other side of the desk.
The top one is scattered haphazardly with photos. Ellie with her netball grand final medallion from her under seventeens premiership. Wes and Ryker holding the District School Rugby League Cup in their final year of high school. Photos of the three of them receiving their diplomas. Wes and Ryker signing their deals with the Bronco’s. Fuck. Each one is like another blow. I know Dad thinks I’m a screw up, but this makes it feel as if I never even existed.
I return the photos to their drawer, pushing my hands through my hair. What the fuck is going on? I still have no idea what I’ve done to deserve this blatant disregard from my father.
Or better yet, what Mum has done.
ELEVEN
CONRAD
I STIFLE A yawn as I lean my shoulder up against the wall outside Coach’s office. I stayed up late to raid my parents’ offices and after coming up with fuck all, I didn’t sleep very well–-but I’m not going to let it rest. Something’s being hidden from me, and I’m determined to find out what.
“Foster,” Coach grunts in form of a greeting as he heads up the corridor toward me.
I straighten up. “Coach.”
Neither of us say anything as he unlocks his door. I follow him in, surprised when he bypasses his desk to sit in the armchairs under the window. The feeling in here today is a lot more casual than it was the last time we met.
As I take a seat across from him, my eyes drift over to the trophy cabinet and the large premiership trophy sitting front and centre. It’s from two years ago–when Wes was the captain of the team. Coach follows my gaze and lets out a soft chuckle. “It was a good year, that year. I had two cocky first year upstarts who were determined to do whatever it took to get off the bench and onto the field.” When he gives me a sad smile, my gut twists. I know I’ve let him down, and for some reason that hurts more than letting my own dad down.
I drop my gaze to my lap. “I’m sor–”
“I know you’re sorry, son. And I’m not gonna sugar-coat it; I was disappointed. But it took guts for you to come to me, and I appreciate that.” I nod to show him I’m listening, but I still don’t feel any better. “Have you spoken to Jasper?”
“His parents won’t let me talk to him. They said it would be ‘detrimental to his treatment.’ They won’t even tell me how he is.”
Coach sighs. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be frustrating.”
“It is what it is.” I shrug. It’s funny, he only ended up in this situation because his parents didn’t give a damn. Now, they’re a real Mr and Mrs Smith.
I miss him. I know he did some really messed up things, what he did to Ronnie being the worst of it all. I should have stepped in before things got that far. I could see he was spiralling, but I didn’t know what to do.
Coach rubs a hand over his face. “I wish there was more I could do.” I grunt, not really sure how to respond. He reaches over and claps me on my shoulder. “I’m glad you spoke up.”
I clear my throat, desperate to change the subject. “So, this voluntary community service?”
Coach claps his hands together and walks over to his desk. He shuffles some papers before selecting one out of the pile and returning to his seat. “I’ve organised for you to help my brother-in-law with the junior school holiday program at the surf club starting Monday.”
He passes me the sheet of paper and I run my eyes over it. As far as community service goes, it’s not a bad deal. One week hanging out on the beach babysitting a bunch of kids sounds pretty sweet to me.
“This sounds too good to be true,” I say, arching a brow at Coach. “I thought I’d be spending a week picking up rubbish or something. What’s the catch?”
“I don’t want to punish you, Conrad. When you came to me at the end of last season, I know you were reeling from everything with Jasper. You told me you were doubting your ability as a leader. Be honest with me, son. Have you touched drugs since our last meeting?”
