That judge hated him, which meant she probably had an impeccable radar for the humanity of each person who walked into her courtroom. I’d kept my mouth shut in there, too, on my father’s instructions, allowing him to do the talking.
It would be easy, he promised.
My blood alcohol level had been .08 percent, the lowest threshold for the legal limit, and as a first-time offender, a hefty fine to cover any damage to the animal shelter should have been more than sufficient. They’d collect a check, he’d told me, and I’d be able to move forward.
Except he’d been wrong. And he was pissed.
My dad stepped closer, lowering his voice to a hard-edged whisper. “Don’t you care that she’s making an example out of you?” he hissed. “It’s humiliating. You’ll have to show up and do menial labor, for God’s sake.”
I tilted my head, eyes locked on his. “Of course I care. She probably thinks it’ll do me some good.”
“What would have been good is if you hadn’t gotten behind the fucking wheel in the first place,” he snapped. “Never thought a son of mine would be pathetic enough to self-sabotage.”
The dry laugh burst out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Oh, this isfunny. I’m glad you think this is funny.” The vein in his forehead was throbbing to the point that I wondered if he’d stroke out right in front of me. “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you since you got drafted. I thought keeping you in school for your master’s would mean you’d walk right into that locker room and establish a dynasty. Except you dick around your first two years in the pros,that know-it-all coach benches you in some pissing match meant to humble you—” His eyes flashed. “I still think he should’ve been fired for that stunt.”
Heat built in my chest, a defense for Coach King making my tongue tingle as I slicked it over the front of my teeth to keep myself quiet. When I regained control of my emotions, I said, “Obviously he thought Ineededhumbling.”
He scoffed, tugging on the wrist of his sleeve again. “Evanses don’t humble themselves, Archer. You know that.”
Evanses don’t humble themselves.I’d heard that my entire life. Who fed that to a child as words to live by?
I hadn’t been taught to be kind or selfless. I hadn’t been taught to treat everyone with respect, because in his mind, unless they’d earned his respect, they were beneath his notice. I hadn’t been taught how to be a good human. Alexander Evans had taught me the same thing his father had taught him—to be the best and do it in a way that was so indisputable you became untouchable.
The only way I’d learned to fill in the gaps was by watching other people in my life.
Friends in school. Teammates. Coaches.
The pursuit of perfection was a dangerous thing because it was a moving target. Something that could never be satisfied.
I’d tried. I’dtriedto satisfy what he wanted from me. His notice had been heady when I was younger. A clap on the shoulder and a proud nod were sickening in their effectiveness. I’d done everything for that tiny glimpse of affection from him, turning myself in knots all through high school and college to keep his focus on how good I was, until I realized he’d never actually be happy with anything I’d done, because I could always be better.
As I stood there in the bright sun, I wished I could tell him exactly when and why I’d stopped trying. Stopped caring. And how that decision had brought us to the point we were at now. If I thought he might care, I would do exactly that.
“Are we done here?” I asked flatly.
His eyebrows bent over a cold expression. “That’s it? You don’t have anything to say?”
I tucked my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels, pursing my lips briefly like I was contemplating his question. Then I shook my head slowly. “Nope.”
“You make me sick, do you know that?”
He spoke so quietly, so evenly, that the impact of his words didn’t land right away. Four years ago, they would’ve rocked me to my core. And now it was nothing. Less than nothing.
The only reaction I gave him was a ghost of a smile that faded after a few seconds.
He hated it. He might have even hated me, but I really didn’t care about that either.
“Don’t you want to know why?” he asked.
I let out a slow breath and then shook my head again. “Nope.”
“Fucking waste,” he muttered. “I thought you could turn all this around. I thought I’d raised you to be stronger than this, you know? Your first chance at retaking your team last season and you were reckless on that field. You shouldn’t have even been playing in preseason—if you hadn’t been, you wouldn’t have torn your ACL.” He stepped closer, and I fought to keep my face even, like the impulse to shove him backward might be stamped all over my face. “Another year on the bench. Wasted. Sitting back and watching that hack of a backup start for your team.”
This time I didn’t bite my tongue. “He’s a good man, and he played well when I couldn’t.”
“That’s exactly right. You couldn’t play, and your team—the one paying all that money—has done just fine without you.” His eyes were cold. “And the second chance you get to turn your pathetic career around, you pull this shit.” He shook his head. “That’s why you make me sick.”