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I watch him walk down the hallway and toward the dining room, feeling shitty for bringing it up, when I knew from earlier how upset he was over losing his spot.
“Shit. I wasn’t even thinking.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll get over it.”
“He’ll get over it?” I look up at Prescott, crossing my arms over my chest. “He wants to play!”
“And so do all the other backup players. But there is a reason why they’re just that,backup.”
“He’s a good player.” I’m not even sure why we’re discussing this, but I can’t seem to let it go.
“I didn’t say they’rebadplayers, I said they’re backup. Every team needs them in case something unexpected occurs, and you never know when that might be. He got cocky and greedy last year when he was one of the lucky few. He has two years of his college career left; he’ll get his turn. Not a lot of guys who are in his spot can say the same, Jade.”
I know he’s right. I’ve listened to the statistics of it my whole life. The hurdles Nixon will have to overcome to get to where he wants to be is a road only a select few travel. Because the truth is, there are so many talented young players out there, tens of thousands, but only the best of the best will ever be able to play pro.
“Well, you’re the first person who should be more sensitive about it since you tasted just how shitty it is to sit on the sidelines and watch your teammates play.”
I start to walk to the dining room, but Prescott grabs my hand and tugs me to him, his eyes ice cold. “You’re right. I know exactly what it feels like to sit on the sidelines, that’s why I’m fighting tooth and nail to keep my spot. We all have dreams and promises we have to keep, but some of us don’t have time.”
Shit.
He doesn’t have to explain who he’s talking about. I already know—Gabriel. He made a promise to his dead brother that he was trying to keep.
And now, I feel even more shitty than before.
“Prescott, I…”
“It’s fine,” he tilts his chin toward the restaurant. “Let’s go inside. I have practice soon.”
“Okay,” I nod, giving in.
He places his hand on the small of my back, and we make our way to the restaurant. The moment we reach the threshold, his touch falls away.
I look around the busy space until my eyes finally land on my brother’s. He laughs at something Yasmin said, and I’m glad that I got to do this for him.
Yasmin notices me first, and she tips her head toward me. I watch as Nixon turns in confusion, his brows pulling together when he sees me standing there.
“Smalls?” Nixon looks to Yasmin before returning his attention to me. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, joining them at the table. “Somebody had to deliver your birthday gift and save your team from a possible loss because their quarterback is too heartbroken to play. So happy birthday, big brother.”
“What?”
“It was her idea to come,” Yasmin chimes in.
“She came to me moping yesterday, and it was either bring her to you or risk her committing a crime.”
“I wasn’t moping!” Yasmin protests.
I just raise my brow.
“I wasn’t!”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Here,” Prescott says, handing me a mug of coffee.
I take it instinctively, taking a long sip of the black gold as he sits next to me.
