Football doesn’t end just because the season is over. Practices aren’t as intense, sure, but every player still has a grade point average to maintain and a physique to continue to work on. As a staff, we meet with the academic advisors daily to get updates on grades and what kind of tutoring needs to be in place. This close to finals, it’s intense. A different kind of intense than the rest of the year, but intense nonetheless.
I can hear rustling in the locker room, a sure indicator that morning workouts are over. I’m not paying much attention, though. I’m up to my ears in grade point averages and tutoring schedules. Not to mention double checking to make sure everyone has a place to live over the summer. Yes, we have people who do all this, but I don’t like things slipping through the cracks, so I prefer to monitor it all myself.
My phone rings, and I’m both relieved and pissed off for the distraction.
“Pride,” I growl into the receiver, only halfway paying attention, more focused on the housing forms sitting in front of me.
“Hey, Jack Pride!” the male voice practically yells through the phone. “I didn’t expect to actually be transferred straight to the top! How cool is this?”
Immediately I know something’s up, and my focus is solely on this conversation. “They don’t normally. Must be an important situation. What can I do for you?”
“Sure is important. You’re coaching my son, and I can’t reach him.”
My hackles rise, knowing something is wrong. If a parent can’t get ahold of his kid, it’s usually because the kid is avoiding him. And I have a sick feeling he’s talking about the only kid I know who might be avoiding his so-called parent right now.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do. Who am I speaking to?”
“Charlie Stevens.”
Bingo. The exact person I don’t want to talk to is, of course, the one person who our receptionist put through. That tells me he’s been hounding her for a while, and she finally had enough of his shit.
“I’ve been trying to reach my son, Isaac, but he’s not calling me back.”
“Sure, sure.” I’m sounding calmer than I feel, but I know this is about to get ugly before it ends once and for all. “I know everyone is really busy right now with finals just around the corner. Are you just checking up on him? I can have him call you if need be.”
“Nah,” he says, and I have a bad feeling I know what’s coming. “We had talked about getting me season passes for next year, but I haven’t been able to reach him. I know those seats go fast, so I need to make sure we’re all good to go. But now that I have you on the line, this is even better. Parents get the good tickets, right?”
I’m practically shaking with fury. Situations like this always piss me off, but this one is so much more personal. Everything Joie was worried about is coming to fruition right here, right now. Everything I warned Isaac about was dead-on. I hoped we were all wrong because no one wants to be right about stuff like this.
“I’ll have to see what I can do. But hey, Charlie, can I put you on hold for a second? I’m right in the middle of something, and I want to make sure I do this the right way.”
“Yeah, absolutely!” he says with excitement. “This is great!”
I press the hold button and do my best not to slam the receiver down on the cradle. Taking a few deep breaths, I ready myself for what has to be done. Pushing back my chair and standing up, I take a few more deep breaths. This is it. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. This is where Isaac’s decision will be made and the ramifications of it will begin.
“Stevens,” I yell when my office door is open.
He looks up, a quizzical expression on his face. He hears it in my tone. From the look on everyone else’s face, they all do. “Coach?”
“In my office. Now.”
“Okay, Coach.” He fist-bumps Anderson and makes his way around the benches to my door. I know he’s confused, but I’m not doing this emotional shit in front of everyone else. He’ll thank me for that later.
“Is something wrong?” he asks as soon as the door latches behind us.
“Isaac.”
His face pales when I call him by his first name. He knows this is personal. “Is it my mom? Did something happen?”
“No! No. She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” Except now I feel like a dick for making him panic.
He takes a deep breath. “Oh good. Sorry. You just called me by my name and . . .” He breathes again.
“I know. I’m sorry. You just need to know which hat I’m wearing right now.”
He nods and sinks down into the chair in front of my desk. “Gotcha. What’s going on?”
“Your dad is on the phone.”
This time his face doesn’t get pale. No, this time it’s bright red from anger. His jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck does he want?”
From his reaction, I think it’s clear he already knows. “Season passes.”
“Son of a bitch.” He jumps out of the chair and begins pacing, which is hard to do considering what a small room it is.
“I take it he already hit you up for them?”
“I figured he’d get the hint that the answer was no when I didn’t call him back. I guess not.”
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms and legs, and glance at the phone to make sure the hold button is still blinking. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen one of these kids realize the depth of a deadbeat parent’s betrayal. Somehow, though, I feel it much more deeply myself. It’s different watching your girlfriend’s son go through it. No, we’re not married, but Isaac is family. That makes it so much worse.
He finally quits pacing and turns to me, putting his hands on his hips. “So what do I do?”
“That depends. The big question here is, do you want me to give him the passes?”
“Fuck, no,” Isaac spits out. “I’d rather give them to the devil himself.”
I nod in agreement. “Understood. Second question, do you want a relationship with your dad?”
His eyes soften. This is the question they all have to decide. They know that not caving to their parents’ demands means the opportunity will likely never come around again. Regardless of how bad a parent has been, never seeing or talking to them again is still the toughest pill anyone could swallow.
“He doesn’t want me,” he says quietly and licks his lips. “He never did.”
His eyes glisten as he admits the truth to himself, probably for the very first time. I grab him by the back of the neck and bring our foreheads together.
“You listen to me.” He nods. “I will never be your daddy. That ship has sailed. But you are family now. And that may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me. You aren’t alone in any of this. Not in this situation. Not prepping for the draft. Not figuring out what to get your mother for Christmas. So don’t you think for one second you’re losing out on anything special by cutting him out. Okay? I’ve got your back from here on out, Isaac. I’m not leaving your mother, and that means I’m not leaving you. Got it?”
He nods again, and I pull away. We may never discuss our relationship like this again, but now that it’s out there, we’re on the same page.
“So,” I continue, “here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna put him on speaker, and we’re going to tell him together, in a very professional way, to go fuck himself. Sound good?”
Isaac straightens his back and takes another breath. “I’m sure you’ve done this before, so I’ll follow your lead.”
“Right. Let’s do this.”
Isaac makes himself comfortable in the chair, or at least as comfortable as he can be, considering. I don’t bother sitting. I have too much pent-up energy. Pressing the speaker button, the showdown begins.
“Mr. Stevens, sorry to keep you on hold,” I start. “Before we authorize any tickets, we have to verify with the player in question. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh totally,” he responds, sounding as cocky and arrogant as they always do. It always makes me wonder why so many men think being a sperm donor gives them rights to all the benefits of a kid, but doesn’t make a dent in their understanding of taking on the responsibility. “I guess you tracked him down and got his blessing?”
Isaac glances up at me. The fury in his eyes gives me encouragement. He’ll be all right. He’ll say his piece. He’ll have a good cry when he’s alone. And he’ll move on.
“Well, we seem to have a little misunderstanding here.”
“Misunderstanding?” Charlie doesn’t seem so confident now. It almost makes me want to laugh. Almost. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
“Mr. Stevens, I have Isaac sitting in my office right now, and he says he never talked to you about any season passes.”
“What the fuck?” Just like I anticipated, the nice-guy mask comes off quickly. “We talked about it last week.”
“No, Dad,” Isaac jumps in, surprising me. But this is his show, and I’m not going to stop him. “You brought it up. I never answered you.”
“That’s because I haven’t been able to reach you. I’ve been calling every day.”
“And leaving messages asking about the fucking tickets.” Isaac’s voice rises as he gets it all out. “You haven’t asked about my grades or if I have a girlfriend or how my mom is. The only thing you ask me about is football and getting tickets. How do you think that feels, huh? I haven’t seen you since middle school. And the minute I get a full ride, now I’m good enough for you?”
“That’s not how it is, boy,” Charlie argues. “You know your mama wouldn’t let me see you.”
I feel myself stiffen, but bite my tongue from defending Joie. It’ll only make it worse if he knows we’re living together. Plus, I don’t need to take away from Isaac’s moment.
“No, she wouldn’t let you use me,” Isaac spouts. “You could have come to any one of my games in high school, but you chose not to. You’re welcome to come to all of my games next year. I’d actually love that. But you’ll have to pay your own way like everyone else.”
“Why you ungrateful little . . . I’m your father—” Charlie starts, but I cut him off.
“Mr. Stevens, I’m sure you understand that I can’t authorize those tickets now. But we’re grateful for your support, so I’m gonna send you a coupon for a discount on your next ticket purchase. Consider it a personal thank you from me to you.”
I smirk at Isaac who is stifling a laugh. He knows I’m not really feeling generous and am getting a kick out of digging the knife in a little more, but you can’t have a position like mine without playing a little politics sometimes.
“Yeah,” Charlie responds, sounding like someone just kicked his dog. “Yeah, thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll have that over to you today. Have a great afternoon.” And I click the speaker button and cut off the phone call. Isaac’s head is hanging down, elbows on his knees. “You okay?”
It takes him a minute to figure out how to respond. It’s clear when he looks up that he’s not, but that he knows he will be. It’s a look I’ve seen before, and it never gets any easier to witness.
“I think . . .” He stands up and thinks again. “I think I need to go for a run.”
“Don’t you have class?”
He shakes his head. “Not until one.”
As he moves toward the door, I realize how tense I am as well. I’ve been waiting for this situation to come to a head, but I didn’t realize how badly I would feel. How hurt I would feel for Isaac and how upset I would feel for Joie. I’ve felt hatred in situations like these, but this one is on a whole different level. As much as I need to stay and double check these housing reports, Isaac has the right idea.
“Hey wait up. If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.” I’m grabbing my gym bag from under my desk when he drops another bomb on me. “You know you get to tell Mom about all this, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” Because I do. I knew it the minute I answered that phone.
“I’d make sure to get the purple flowers on the way home,” he jokes as we walk through the locker room.
“I was thinking more like vacuuming and offering a foot rub.”
Isaac laughs. “You’ve learned quickly.”
He claps me on the back and goes to put his running shoes on before we head out into the Flinton heat and humidity.