He might not believe me. He might berate me for being stupid and rash. Tell me I’d disappointed him.
Or he might not do any of those things.
It might work out just fine.
“About the DUI,” I told him. “I wasn’t the one driving. She was. She can’t afford an accident, not with the way my father treats her, so I took the fall.”
Coach’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t speak. He blinked repeatedly, his brow lowering as he let out a stunned exhale.
“I’d do that again too,” I told him with a challenging lift of my chin. “But I’m telling you now because my father may press assault charges. I’m telling you because I want to earn my place on this team again. I want to do better. And I don’t want to lose your respect or the respect of my teammates anymore.” I shook my head. “It’s too late explaining all of this to you, but the biggest reason I acted the way I did when you first came to Buffalo was because of him. It had nothing to do with you or anyone else. When I gave you shit about always wanting to be perfect? That’s because I had his voice in my head, telling me that’s what I needed to be. What he expected of me. And I never fulfilled that expectation. But I can handle it. The more he keeps his focus on me, the less he pays attention to my sister—and believe me, that’s the best gift I can give her.”
“Fucking hell, Evans,” he breathed. “You’re just telling me this now? Why didn’t you come to me right away? I could’vehelpedyou. I could’ve helped her.”
There’d been so many times that I wondered how he’d react. If I was honest. If I let down the armor and allowed him in. Every time I did, I told myself that I couldn’t. That it looked weak. That I didn’t need him. Didn’t need anyone.
Turned out, I was really fucking wrong.
“Because I don’t trust easily,” I admitted. “When people react negatively to the things I’ve done, my brain immediately tells me it’s rejection. That I’m too much to handle and no one will ever be able to do that. And I’ve never known how to ask for help.” I swallowed. “He didn’t teach me how to do that. But I’m telling you now. And I’m ... I’m asking for help.”
Coach ripped his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign that I’d flustered him thoroughly. The man had ice in his veins, so this felt like a strange win. “Okay.” He stared hard across the field, his gaze unfocused as my teammates worked around us. Then he gave me a long look. “You trust me?”
“Yes.”
God, it felt good to answer so easily. The weight of the last two years melted off my frame when he gave me an encouraging nod.
Coach set his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You’re part of this team, Archer. Part of this family. And we will have your back—but you have to trust them, too, okay?”
He was asking me to set aside my pride. To humble myself in front of guys who might never do the same in return. Some of them would, of course, but most still looked at me with an edge of distrust, and I couldn’t blame them.
Wasn’t that part of the lesson I needed to learn anyway?
If I stayed, if I let this be uncomfortable, it didn’t mean something was wrong. It didn’t mean I was failing. It meant I was fucking trying. I was doing the kind of work that was necessary to have the kind of fulfilling life that my sister talked about.
With my eyes on Coach, I nodded, feeling better than I had in days. “Okay.”
His mouth edged up with a smile, something that didn’t happen very often. “Good.”
He placed the whistle in his mouth and blew two short bursts. Activity on the field stopped, all eyes swinging in our direction.
“Everyone,” Coach called, “meeting in thirty minutes. Grab the rest of the guys and meet us in the team auditorium. There’s something Evans and I want to talk to you about.”
There were only two people needed for step two.
On the front door of my father’s house was an ornate brass knocker in the shape of a lion, its gaping mouth holding a heavy handle that had probably never been used in all the years he’d lived here.
Evanswas etched into a plate underneath the handle, the markings of the letters still pristine after all these years.
It was just after sunrise, and even though I could have marched into the house, I raised my hand and used that ugly-ass knocker simply to prove a point.
Nothing happened at first. It felt like I waited for an hour, but in reality it was only a couple minutes, so I knocked again, a bit harder this time.
When the door opened, it was clear he hadn’t been expecting me. He wasn’t in his suit and tie yet—just a black robe and cotton sleep pants, his silver hair slightly unkempt.
His voice was rough with disuse. “It’s six in the fucking morning, Archer. What are you doing here?”
“You’re not coming to the courthouse this afternoon. Just wanted to make that clear.”
Father narrowed his eyes. “I’m still your lawyer on this case.”