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Mom’s in the formal living room when I pass through. “How was the dance?”
“Great. Where’s Dad?”
“He said he was heading to Saint Juliet for a few hours to catch up on work.” Hm. That’s out of character because any other day he’d be at Crescent Fleur. “Morgan,” Mom calls behind me.
I impatiently turn to face her, “What?”
“If you want to talk later about the dance, I’m here.”
“Talk to Thatcher. I’m sure he’ll give you all the details.”
I park in the employee lot next to Dad’s car. So at least I know he’s here. I’m still not sure why I am. There’s no leverage to gain, he’ll give me to end the season. Maybe that’s it. Instead of pushing his buttons and getting him pissed at me, I need to get closer to the source. That’s how I’ll find the real weakness to bring down the entire season before we even qualify for state.
Fucking Cade. If it’s left up to him, I have no doubt we’ll get there, and it still scrapes on every single one of my nerves. He’s too good at it. He’s supposed to fail. This would’ve been so much easier had he been a shitty player. But that fantasy sailed although I consider stabbing him “accidently” while I walk into the locker room and find it empty. Surely Dad hasn’t left yet. He would have noticed my car parked next to his. On second thought, that probably would’ve made him leave faster.
As I walk down the admin corridor, I have to say I like this place much better without all the dumb asses in it. Though, it’s just a little too quiet. So quiet I can hear my footsteps on the floor as I approach the front office, but then I hear voices I can’t quite make out. It has to be Dad and Thatcher. How many meetings do they need to have about football games where Dad says they’ll win and Thatcher says they’d better? I glance behind me and don’t spot anyone. Paul is the someone I need to watch out for because last time he snuck up behind me. Won’t happen again.
I make my way across the office and notice Thatcher’s door is barely cracked open, so I’ll have to be close to hear. And once I get positioned next to the door, my eyes pointing in the direction where I can see someone walking up, I listen. Definitely Dad and Thatcher. Talking about football… well, more like arguing about the game. And almost losing it. Dad goes into a two-minute bitch session about the halftime homecoming antics that ruined his game. Yeah. That’d be me getting a stupid tiara, and I agree it was unnecessary. Though I did enjoy getting it simply because I knew how much Ava wanted it. What a miserable loser; even after everything that happened, she’s still calling and messaging my damn phone.
My attention snaps back when I hear my name.
“She won’t be a problem,” Dad says, and I hear the frustration clearly. “Crawford won’t let us down. And if she gets to be too much of a problem, I’ll forbid the relationship.”
How fucking comical. Because I’d listen so well to his parental instructions.
“Do it now. There’s too much on the line to let it collapse over something so insignificant. This is my career.”
“Blah, blah,” Dad mocks, and I can visualize the annoyed expression to accompany it. “I’m tired of hearing it. I have more on the line than you do. Millions more. So shut the fuck up about it.”
What does that mean? Why would a high school game have millions riding on it? Maybe a higher-level coaching job… That’s about it. But when I hear the answer, I don’t believe it. Thatcher makes no sense at all. “You got me into this. And now your fucking wife won’t leave me alone.”
“I need a little more time, and we’ll have everything we need. You’ll get your money.”
“You have the infidelity proof now. The prenup is void and done. She won’t get shit.”
“There’s more to it than that. Lots more. The trust funds are harder to get access to. Her daddy made sure of it. So shut the fuck up and let me get your winning state title, your promotion to whatever the fuck job you’re after, and your million-dollar cushion for campaigning. But don’t forget, this can’t happen anymore. Morgan already caught us talking once. She knows about the affair and knows I’m aware. I can still play it off, but if you keep calling these stupid little chats, we’re fucked, and all this work is for nothing. I need this to be over finally so I can get the fuck away from here, that slut, and those ignorant fucking brats.”
My head is buzzing. The words aren’t processing as fast as they’re swarming through my mind. He’s leaving. This isn’t about football. This is about him leaving us. I told him to leave. If that’s what he really wanted, to get away from us. And I meant it. So why does it hurt so bad?
21
MORGAN
It’s getting dark. I should probably go somewhere else. Like home. Instead, I just move my car from the employee parking to the student lot.
I don’t want to be here. But I don’t know what to do.
My father hates me even more than I hate him. And now I know there’s something he loves more than football. Money. He’s going through this entire sham just to break the prenup they have in place. Yeah, Dad made his fair share of their funds during their marriage, but Mom was born into wealth. I’ve heard plenty of stories about some great piece of some equipment that Grandpa designed for the oil and gas industry. His legacy still brings in more money than I can probably fathom. Never cared to think about it much. Or ask. The money was just always there. I knew he left a portion of it in trusts for Ryder and me. And then the inheritance will pass to us after Mom. And Dad can’t walk away from the payday, but he can from us.
I step out of my car and slam the door shut. My ass presses against the side of the car as I lean forward and take in a deep breath. I’m not going to cry. Not over this.
“Hey.” The voice throws me a bit, then I look up and see Ava standing in front of me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shit. I don’t want to deal with her stupid ass right now. And sadly, I’m just glad she didn’t walk up on me crying.
“Your mom said you were here. I’ve been trying to call you.” She looks to the side for a few seconds before she says, “I really think we need to talk.”
When I laugh and fold my arms over my chest, I also take a long look over her. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
