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Chapter 6
Cullen
“How was training?”Mom asked cheerfully as she set the dining table.
“Good,” I said brightly, my mood transformed the minute I entered the house. I’d had nine minutes on the drive home to forget about practice, about Dad making me train a little longer, for acting like a baby.
Yeah, Dad was right—my head wasn’t in the game today. I threw terribly, I fumbled catches, my timing was off. I deserved the extra laps, the push ups, the wall squats.
I deserved the pain.
I’d been in a weird space. You see, after Saturday’s victory party, I found two donuts wrapped in a red napkin on my bed, next to my bear, Brady. I wanted to think Mom had put them there to show her disapproval of Dad’s strict diet plan during football season. It was one thing that she and Dad disagreed about. So, occasionally she’d leave things on my bedside table, a sliver of cherry pie or a slice of carrot cake. If she was caught, she was prepared to justify herself by saying that cherries and carrots were full of antioxidants and vitamins, essential to an athlete’s diet. She reasoned that a boy needed his treats, that I couldn’t exist on salad and pasta and chicken.
But that was the thing—Mom left things on my table, never on my bed. And when did Mom have access to Sierra’s donuts? Sierra had taken charge of her own donuts and offered them around to everybody.
I’d ruminated on it as I swallowed them whole and brushed the crumbs off of my bed cover. Dad had embarrassed me by calling me out at the party, but I was used to it. He seemed to pick on me purposely to prove to the team that I didn’t have special privileges, and that my selection as captain had been earned. For that, I knew I had to be the hardest worker, had to make the most sacrifices.
Still, made to stand in a wall squat holding a thirty pound weight overhead nearly broke me. I’d feared dropping the plate on my head and smashing my skull and my brains pouring out. My arms had quivered more than my legs, like blades of grass swaying in the breeze. And like he said, I was weak, I was pathetic. And worse was me pleading for mercy. That was the ultimate in cowardice, according to Dad.Take the pain like a man, not a mouse, live the pain, love the pain. It only hurts for a short time.All mantras that I recited on repeat and usually with conviction.
But when Sierra arrived at training with her hair tied up under her cap, and her vest falling off of one shoulder, I couldn’t focus. I wanted to know if she had given me the donuts. Had she been into my room, or had she asked Sawyer to take them? Surely, Sawyer would have said something if he had.
But Red Phillips was the first to the bottles, and she was preoccupied with him, sharing a cozy conversation so that I’d had to get my own water. It was the strangest thing, seething at his very presence. Up until the party, I’d actually liked Red, had been proud of the progress he’d made in the team. But seeing him devour her donuts and drape his arm around her, he was the epitome of the enemy, my arch-nemesis.
The situation required that I exercise my captaincy duties and order him back to his drills. Leaving Sierra and me alone.
She’d given me a sports drink, held the bottle for me even, and that was the reason the rest of my training was doomed. Her hand on mine was enough for my mind to cease functioning, plays to be forgotten, fingers to stop working.
My best friend’s little sister with a hold on me that I couldn’t explain. She’d had a chance to mention the donuts—but only if she’d been the one to give them to me, right? Obviously, she hadn’t.
“Did you leave practice early?” I asked Mom as she served up the pasta and chicken dish that I ate every Monday night.
“Yes, I had a few errands to run. Did someone help Sierra with the carts?”
That thing happened again—the mention of her name sent my pulse racing. “Yeah, I think so.”
Unfortunately, Dad had sent me for laps by that stage, so I hadn’t seen Sierra packing up.
I ate my dinner quickly, hoping I could get up to my room before Dad came home. I wasn’t in the mood to face him again, plus I had a lot of homework. The week was going to be manic, entering territory which was unknown. Dad’s reputation was at stake. Mine, too. Was Cullen Mercer able to step up, lead his team to the state championships, or was he going to crumble and fail at the final hurdle?
From this afternoon’s episode, the latter was most likely.
And the consequences from that weren’t worth thinking about.
I’d known from a young age that my best would never be good enough for Dad, but that didn’t stop me from trying. Always eager to please, to make him proud. Maybe I equated pride with love, if Dad was proud of me, he’d love me more.
In that respect, I was exactly like Dad.
My Mom’s parents were very wealthy. The Stanhope family was an institution in Covington Heights, old money, banking, finance, stocks. Dad had an inferiority complex when it came to Granddad Evan and Nana Nat, always uncomfortable in their presence. He even hated going to their house. Dad had come from a small rural town and believed he’d failed Mom and disappointed the whole Stanhope family, that his injury had prevented him from reaching the heady heights of football fame that he’d dreamed about and wanted so badly.
