False Start (Eastshore Tigers Book 2) (16 page)

It doesn’t last, though. My father’s eyes become fixed on Dante about halfway through. I can feel the weight of his stare, and so can Dante.

“Mitchell says you’ve lived in Florida all your life, Dante. That must be exciting,” my mother says.

“It’s all right. I’m not a big beach-goer, and my mom and I never got too many chances to visit the parks, so I’m probably not the model Florida resident.”

“Still, all that sunshine. It’s so cold and bleak here during the winter.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I also heard you’re looking to play football for a living?”

He swallows his bite of roast, and I feel the tension rise in me. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve wanted to play professional ball since I was a kid.”

“The chances of that happening are extremely low.”

It’s practically the first thing my father’s said all night, and everyone turns to look at him. He’s staring at his plate as he speaks, but somehow his voice is firm and confident.

“I imagine every boy who plays a game wishes he could do that for a living instead of getting a real job. But it’s just not practical.”

Dante tenses beside me.

“You’re right. But with all due respect, sir, not every ‘boy’ works as hard as I have.”

“So you feel you’re owed a professional position?”

“No. I just intend to do whatever it takes to achieve one.”

“And if you fail?”

He stares down my father like they’re ten paces across from each other on the dueling field.

“I won’t.”

A patronizing smile touches my father’s lips. He takes a few more bites of food, and the rest of us go back to what we were doing. Dante doesn’t let his guard down, though, and he’s right not to do so.

“What does your mother do?”

Dante sits up a little taller in his chair. His jaw clenches, and I can feel the tension rolling off him. “She works two jobs right now. One is in retail, the other is in customer service.”

“And your father?”

“He’s not around.”

I reach for Dante’s hand, covering it with my own. This doesn’t escape my father’s scrutiny.

“Is he in prison?”

My heart stops, and then kicks into a raging inferno. I can’t believe he said something like that.

“
Dad.
”

His brows lift, almost imperceptibly. “It is a common occurrence, is it not?”

“My father is dead,” Dante says tonelessly. He puts down his utensils and turns to face my mother. “Mrs. Erickson, thank you for a lovely meal, but I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Of course.” She shoots my father a look, but his attention is already on his plate.

I don’t wait to be excused. I don’t even ask. I just get up and go after Dante as he heads for the stairs.

I
shouldn’t be here
.

I can feel it straight down to my bones. I’ve felt it since we walked out of the airport; since I saw that $100,000 car complete with a driver. If I had that kind of money to throw around, I’d be on the first plane back to Florida.

But I don’t, and so all I can do is exit the room with my very last shred of dignity. But Mitch doesn’t even let me have that. He follows, no doubt to apologize.

“Dante, wait.”

The petulant side of me wants to keep going, but I’m not going to escape him. Not even in a house this big. It’s useless to try.

So I stop on the landing, but I don’t turn to him. He puts a hand on my shoulder and I tense.

“I’m so sorry. If I’d known they were going to act like this, I would never have asked you to come.”

I’m willing to trust Mitch. He’s a smart guy, but he also wants to believe the best about his family. And he wants so badly for his father to respect him. I saw it in his eyes when the man entered the room.

But
I
knew. I knew, and I should have listened to my gut.

I can’t control much about this situation, but I can control my emotions. Instead of falling apart or even letting that frustration and anger seep into my expression, I turn calmly and offer Mitch a smile.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he says. “And you shouldn’t have to pretend. My father was a complete dick to you.”

“Yeah, he was.”

No use denying it. But suddenly all of our previous interactions click into place. If Mitch came from this world, it’s no wonder he acted like he did. It’s a fucking miracle he even made an effort to begin with.

“I’m not my dad,” he says it like a plea, as if he’s read mind.

I reach my hand up to the back of his neck, pulling him to me so our foreheads touch briefly. “I know.”

And I do know. But the sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can go back to pretending his family doesn’t exist. Maybe someday Mitch will see them for the toxic mess they are. Most of them, anyway. Until then…

“I’m just tired. I’ll be better in the morning.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can see it in his eyes. But he lets me go, and that’s the end of it. I head up to my room—a room separate from Mitch, because his parents weren’t about to let us share one—and tear off my suit.

This might not be who Mitch is, deep down. But it definitely isn’t me.

* * *

I
can’t sleep
.

That’s no big surprise, considering I’m surrounded by shit that probably costs more than my college tuition. Even the sheets remind me how out of place I am here, and when I step outside around three in the morning, I welcome the cold. The wind batters against me, heightening my senses, giving me clarity.

Every step I take through the elaborate garden just reminds me of what I already know. The neatly-trimmed rose brushes whisper it with each gust of wind. The stone benches practically scream it.

Mitch and I aren’t the same.

I’ve always known that, but I guess I pushed it aside for a little while; allowed myself to believe it didn’t matter. But it does matter. Even if we somehow stay together after the end of this season, the world’s never going to see us as equals. And Mitch is never going to cut ties with his family. I wouldn’t ask him to, no matter how much I hate his father.

So this is what I’m left with. And I can either end things now, when the reason is blindingly obvious. Or wait until this thing between us has run its course.

My heart squeezes in my chest, pierced by a lance of ice more frigid than the winter wind. I don’t want to do this. I want to keep Mitch.

But I
have
to keep my integrity. If I just ignore this, I’m letting Gregory Erickson and every asshole like him win.

“Mr. Mills.”

I stand rigid, then my hand clenches into a fist at my side.

Speak of the fucking devil.

“Mr. Erickson,” I say, not bothering to force any pleasantness into my voice.

“Louisa was hysterical. She told me she saw some nefarious figure wandering the estate.”

Of course she did.

“What are you doing out here at three in the morning?”

The question doesn’t have anything to do with concern. I know what he’s really asking me.
Why are you here at all?

“Couldn’t sleep.”

I start to walk away, but he very calmly overtakes my stride and stands in front of me. Erickson is just as tall as me, but slender. Those steel eyes make him an imposing figure. And the disdain I can feel coming from every hard angle of his body just adds to the effect.

“Since you’re here, I believe we have a matter to discuss.”

“Do we?”

“I’m going to make this easy for you. My son has a path in life. You aren’t on it.”

“I think the fact that I’m here with him now proves you wrong on that front.”

Not even the glimmer of a smile. Or any expression at all.

“I know your mother is struggling to pay rent.”

All the blood freezes in my body. Did Mitch tell him that? No, Mitch wouldn’t do that to me. A man like Erickson has resources. He could’ve found out on his own. No doubt that has something to do with why he’s up so late.

“I will pay for two years of her current rent and utilities. Once you are out of college, of course, so the NCAA does not take notice. I frankly couldn’t care less if you’re lambasted for accepting money, but I’d rather not trouble my lawyers.”

I just stare at him, feeling completely disarmed. I knew this man was a snake, but now he’s become
the
snake, with no shortage of apples to spare.

“Let me guess: You’re willing to pay me off so I don’t bring your son down to my level.”

“That is the extent of it, yes.”

There’s some small, stupid part of me that grabs at the idea like it’s the last bit of frayed rope before a cavernous pit. Anything so Mom can stop working herself into an early grave.

But that desire passes quickly, overshadowed by an intense hatred. Maybe once upon a time, it would’ve been directed inward. Now it’s just directed at Erickson.

“Fuck you.”

I don’t wait for his reaction. I don’t wait to see how much my compliance is really worth to him. I just leave, heading back toward the house as calmly as possible.

I want to tell Mitch about this. I want him to see that his father isn’t worth his time. But as I climb the stairs, I already know what I’m going to find. It settles like a lead weight in my stomach, that inevitable end.

I open the door to his room as quietly as I can, and see him in bed, surrounded by those expensive sheets, wearing an expensive night shirt. His light skin fits with the ivory bedspread all around him. He sleeps deeply, not even stirring at the sound of my arrival.

He’s comfortable here. He belongs here. And I don’t.

Standing in that doorway, I’ve already made my decision. I can let this thing run its course, but I’ll just grow more attached in the meantime, and it’ll be harder to break ties when the time comes.

No, it’s best to do it with a clean break. I wouldn’t dare destroy his time here with his family. But when we get back to Florida, I have to end it.

D
ante is practically
silent on the way home.

Oh, he’ll talk when I prompt him, but the conversation—such as it is—just dies out right afterward. We spend most of the flight separately watching videos of Ohio State. With earphones in. And the longer that persists, the more a gnawing fear builds in me.

He had a terrible time at my parents’ house. That would be clear to anyone, and I don’t blame him in the least. My father was vicious, my mother was oblivious, and everyone else just sat idly by. Even Lydia kept quiet, something that surprised me to no end.

But then, aside from one solitary protest, so did I.

I want to ask him what he’s thinking right now, but so much of it is centered on my own feelings. Does he think of me as the same as my family? Does he think I won’t be there to defend him? Does he even want me to defend him?

It all sets me on edge, and yet I know I need to find a different way to phrase it before I talk to him.

I don’t end up thinking of anything other than comments about Ohio State’s offense until we get into my car to drive from Jacksonville back to Eastshore.

“If you can survive my family, winning the bowl game should be easy.”

He laughs—just a solitary ‘heh’ that’s not all that convincing—and his lips press into a very fake smile. He’s more affected by this than I thought.

As we approach my townhouse, I start to wonder if he’s thinking I’m just going to cut ties; like I had some clandestine conversation with my family about how he isn’t good enough for me.

It’s what I would think if our situations were reversed.

The very thought of it makes me angry, and I white-knuckle the wheel down what is arguably a pretty tame stretch of highway.

But then I think of a solution. It’s not enough to just tell him I’m not thinking of ditching him. Maybe I should show him.

So when we get to my place, butterflies swarm my stomach as I go to grab our stuff out of the trunk. We haven’t talked about this at all. Things have been working out fine as they are thus far. But I think it’s time.

“Hey, so, I was thinking. What if you just left your stuff at my place?”

He hefts his own duffel out of the back. “I’d have to go back and forth whenever I needed anything. Doesn’t really sound like the best plan.”

His voice is cautious, and there’s another note mixed in that I can’t quite identify.

“Not if you just… stayed here.”

He looks at me, and for a second I wonder if we’re about to have a
Friends
moment where I have to explain exactly what I mean.

When his expression changes, I realize it’s nothing so simple.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It hurts. It’s a punch to my ribs rather than my heart, but it radiates upward in a spidery pattern. I nod and look away, not wanting him to see.

“Sure, okay. We can wait ‘til the season’s over and see where you end up.”

“What are we doing here, Mitch?”

It’s the kind of question every person on the planet dreads hearing. Instantly, my heart sinks.

“We both know this is over when the season ends,” he says quietly.

His voice is so calm that I can’t help but be rattled by it. I let my bag drop and fold my arms over my chest, as if that’s going to offer me any protection at all.

“That’s news to me.” The words sound more petulant than I intended them, but oh well. “I know you’re leaving, but we can still see each other in the off-season.”

Yes, it’s going to be hard. It killed me to sleep alone last night. Not seeing Dante for months at a time is going to destroy me.

But it’s better than the alternative.

“So what happens when one of us gets jealous, or when one of us gets lonely?”

“I trust you,” I say defiantly. “And I think you trust me.”

I’m young. By some narrow-minded standards I should, as a gay man, be hitting up bars and clubs every night and casting my net to see what I can drag in. Or, by my parents’ logic, I should try dating a few nice girls because I just haven’t found the right woman yet.

But this conversation has made one thing abundantly clear to me: I’ve found the person I want to be with. He’s strong, talented, funny, and he has a heart of gold.

I just wish he wasn’t looking at me like our life together is a half step away from ending.

“Mitch, you and me have been living in a fantasy world. What we have here? It isn’t reality. Reality is your family thinking I’m not good enough to shine their shoes.”

He
is
hurt by my family. My heart clenches in my chest. I should never have suggested it. I knew it was going to be awful, but I held onto that same hope I’ve had for so long. That my family might actually change; that they might simply love me as I am and treat the people I care for with—at the bare minimum—respect.

“I’m so sorry. It was stupid to ask you to go. But I’m not my family.”

“I know,” he says with a small smile. “But they’re a part of your life.”

That comment settles poorly in my stomach. Immediately my mind seizes on the worst possible version of its intent.

“…Are you asking me to choose? Them or you?”

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his short hair. “No, Mitch. I’d never ask you to do that. And… that’s why we should end this.”

I take a step back from him, and take in the entire picture before me. He’s standing tall, his jaw set in a determined line. He’s not looking away from me. But there’s nothing particularly aggressive about him.

He just looks like he’s… resolutely giving up, if such a thing exists.

“Just like that?” I swear silently as my voice cracks.

“Come on. Did you really think this was going anywhere? We had a good time, but we both knew this wasn’t going to work longterm. We’re just not a good fit.”

I didn’t know that. In my mind, we’re a perfect fit. We balance each other. Maybe we’ve had different upbringings, but we each bring something to the table that makes the other stronger.

But I guess I’m just romanticizing something that’s been… what? A college fling? If that?

Cold realization washes over me. Dante’s speaking in such a casual tone, as if he’s completely unaffected by this. And maybe he is. I thought he agreed to meet my family because he cared about me. Turns out he was just trying to placate me before cutting ties.

“Okay.”

I grab my bag again and refuse to look at him. I can feel the sting in my eyes, and I’ll be damned if he’s going to see me upset.

“I’ll just walk to the bus station,” he says.

“Sure.”

I should offer to drive him home, but I can’t. If I stay near him any longer, I’m going to drop to my knees and beg him to stay. I refuse to be that guy.

Instead, I find my keys and let myself inside, closing the door behind me, and closing the door on any relationship I’d hoped to have with Dante Mills.

If he won’t fight for us, then neither will I.