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PROLOGUE
MIGUEL
Four years ago
“You can’t do this, Miguel!” my father yells, his brows pulling in that familiar scowl that he wears only for me.
The family disappointment.
The black sheep.
“I’m not going to pay for you to go off to college and play some stupid game.”
His words shouldn’t hurt.
After all, this isn’t the first time he’s thrown them at me. I’ve stopped hoping that things would change and he’d finally see me for who I am. That he’ll at least try to understand what football means to me. What it could mean for our family, but no. My father only ever thought of football as a silly kid’s game.
“I’m serious, Miguel,” Dad continues, clearly on a roll. “You have to stop playing games and do what’s right. Get a degree and find a real job so you can take care of your family. I’ve supported this nonsense up until now…”
“You’ve supported what exactly?” I scoff, pulling the zipper on my duffle bag and throwing it over my shoulder. “You haven’t supported anything, Dad! We’ve been having the same ol’ fight for as long as I can remember.” I shake my head, done with this conversation. “Besides, I don’t need your money. I’m going to Michigan State on afullfootball scholarship.That’s right. That little game, as you call it, is paying my way for the next four years,and I’ll do my best to go all the way.” I give him a pointed look. “With or without your approval.”
No matter what I do, say, or accomplish, my dad will only see football as a stupid game played by his immature son who isn’t ready to grow up and be a man.
I don’t want to care what he thinks. God knows it would make things so much easier if I didn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. That little boy inside of me still craved his father’s approval. I’ve tried to turn off this part of me, but it’s not as easy as flipping a switch.
Grabbing the second duffle, I go toward the door where my dad’s standing, his tall frame filling the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
He always seemed larger than life, with his wide shoulders and grim face tanned from all the hours spent out in the sun, working in the fields. But somewhere in the last couple of years, I’ve outgrown him, and now we’re standing eye-to-eye. He’s become older, too. There’s more gray in his hair, and the lines around his eyes and mouth are deeper.
“You do that, and you’re on your own. I mean it, Miguel. I will not support this foolishness.”
“I don’t need you to support anything, Dad!” I yell right back, running my hand over my face in frustration. “Didn’t you hear a word of what I’ve been telling you for the last few months? I got ascholarship. And not just any scholarship. A full ride at the Michigan State University. All because of this silly game, as you like to call it. I’ll come out of college debt-free, andif I’m lucky enough with an offer to play pro just like I’ve always wanted.”
“But what if you don’t?”
I grit my teeth, my stomach clenching with unease. I didn’t allow myself to think about the what-ifs. About what will happen if things don’t go as planned. I’m going to college. I’m going to graduate. I’m going to play football professionally. Not succeeding wasn’t an option.
“But what if I do?” I challenge.
Dad shakes his head. “Be realistic, Miguel! You’re living in a fantasy world. One day, that bubble will burst, and you’ll be left with nothing.”
My fingers clench and unclench around the strap of my duffle as I try to keep my cool. I needed to get out of there before saying something that I’d regret. “At least I’ll know that I tried.”
Pushing past him, I start toward the stairs.
“If you leave because ofthat, don’t bother coming back.”
My steps falter as his harsh words echo in the hallway around us, the soft hair at the nape of my neck rising.
I expected the fight. I expected him not to agree with my decision or support it. But I hadn’t expected… this.
For a while, neither of us says anything. It’s like time has stopped altogether.
If you leave because ofthat,don’t bother coming back.
My fingers tighten around the handles of the duffle bag. “Then I guess I won’t be coming back,” I say softly, surprising even myself.
I don’t allow myself to turn around and look at my father. Instead, I take two steps at a time, my eyes focused on the path in front of me.
