Page 8 of 1st and 10 (Season of Change #1)
I’d thought last night, walking Phia home and leaving her to return to my room alone was the hardest thing I’ve had to do. Until now. My dislike for Coach Heacock is quickly morphing into hatred. Asking for this bullshit meeting right before our game is certainly not helping.
“Coach!” I yell down the hall when I see Beiler exiting the locker room. He turns around with a friendly smile.
“Prib! You ready for today?”
“Yeah. Uh…” His expression drops, brows slanting in concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“I know you’ve got stuff to do, but can you come with me? I have to meet with Heacock about something and I’m…I’d rather have witnesses.”
“Meeting? What meeting?”
“I don’t know. Messaged me last night to show up at his office before dressing.”
“Motherfucker.” Beiler hisses under his breath, but I hear him and second the sentiment. “Yeah, no problem. Even if I was busy, you know I’d make time for you or any of the others on the team.”
“Except Yanok.” I joke, knowing he’s professional enough to keep his distaste for the douche to himself. “And Chester.”
With a glare that isn’t as effective as he’d like, he motions for me to precede him. “Alright, let’s go.”
With a deep breath and a reassuring head nod from Beiler, I knock on Heacock’s office door.
He yells to come in, I open the door…and freeze in place.
Heacock is standing near his desk with a very tall, very broad shouldered, very famous former football player in a tailored suit.
Andres Abbott is standing less than 7 feet away from me.
Why is Andres Abbott in Heacock’s office?
My stomach sinks in sudden realization. If my eyes were lasers, Heacock would be a smoking ash mark on the fucking ground right now. I fucking told him!
Beiler pushes me gently, forcing me to step inside the office.
It feels too small, stuffy, my chest tightening with anger.
“Crue Pribula, the man of the hour. Come in, son. Don’t be shy, Andres Abbott won’t bite ya.
” Heacock’s eyes land on Beiler and narrow.
“Your presence is not required, Mr. Beiler.”
“Oh, but it is, Mr. Heacock.” I stifle a snort, maintaining my composure.
“Leave.”
“No.” Beiler stares back at Coach, feigning nonchalance. I feel the tension coming off him in waves at my side. Looks like we are both fighting the urge to rip Heacock’s oversized head from his bloated body.
“Brandon! Good to see ya, man. Been a long time.” Mr. Abbott extends a hand in greeting, which Beiler happily accepts.
“A season or two. What brings you by our humble university today?” I do laugh at that, knowing our “little university” is the largest in the state and nationally ranked in everything we do, from academics to athletics.
Beiler’s gaze flicks to me, and in that one look I know he’s figured out exactly why this meeting is taking place.
His hand on my shoulder is a subtle reminder not to lose my shit.
“Coach Heacock invited me… repeatedly, to come take a look at the ‘greatest offensive tackle’ since Joe Thomas and Michael Oher.” He switches his focus to me, extending his hand once more.
I greet him cordially, shaking his hand firmly, and offering a closed mouth smile.
“Andres Abbott, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Crue.
You are indeed an impressive offensive lineman. ”
“Thank you, sir. However, I would be reluctant to place myself among all time greats such as them. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Prib, have a seat.” Heacock gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk, as he plops down ungracefully into his own chair on the other side.
“I’ll remain standing.” We engage in a stare down that I have no desire to lose.
“Alright. As you may know, Andres here is a scout for Pittsburgh. I’ve been sending them tapes of your performance for the last several years. I truly believe that your acumen, power, and natural charisma make you an excellent choice for Pittsburgh’s 1 st round draft pick in the spring.”
“Is that so?” I ask through a clenched jaw. Abbott, accurately judging the iciness of this topic of discussion, steers the conversation in a different direction.
“Crue, perhaps you could verify some interesting information my assistants compiled for me.” I nod, dragging my eyes from Heacock and smoothing out my expression.
He does not deserve my ire. I’m saving it all for that fuck face behind the desk.
“Agricultural major at the top of his class, with a full ride secured for his Homeland Security Agricultural Master’s next fall? ”
“He had to apply, you know, just in case Pittsburgh is stupid enough to pass him up in the draft.” I bite my bottom lip to hold back my laughter when Abbott’s head swivels slowly toward Heacock, a dark red eyebrow cocked, eyes narrowed.
Coach shrivels in his seat, and it is a wonderfully satisfying sight to behold.
Not as satisfying as holding Phia as she came down from an epic orgasm, her thick nipple wet from my worshipping. Now is not the time to pop a boner.
“Your assistants are correct, sir. I graduate in the spring. I will then be moving home to take over my family farm and will be completing my master’s online.
My girlfriend will be joining me, and we are excited to begin the next chapter in our life together.
” In theory, that is what’s happening. Of course, I haven’t talked about any of this with Phia in explicit terms. They don’t need to know that though.
And it is so much fun to see the steam leak from Heacock’s ears when he’s pissed.
Good. Cuz I’m pissed too. How dare he do this to me. Putting me in this position, ignoring my decisions regarding my own fucking life.
Surprisingly, Abbott grins, his shoulders loosening. “You have no desire to play professional ball, do you?”
“Of course he does!” We ignore Coach’s bluster.
“I do not. My goal has always been to educate myself so that I may return to my family farm and bring it well into the 21 st century, expanding operations, building a cooperative farm initiative and bettering not only my life and my family’s, but the dozens of farming families in my community.”
“What sort of crops or goods does your farm produce currently?”
This is my passion. I forget where I am and why I’m pissed as I discuss our output, options for growth, new business avenues I’d like to explore, and my push for sustainable goods and services.
“I’ll be honest, Crue, you are an exceptional player. The top ranked offensive tackle in college football right now.” I nod along, sensing the “but” that’s coming. “However,” he’s too fancy for a “but”, “that’s not why I agreed to meet with you.”
Heacock nearly chokes on his own spit. “What?”
“You have never been shy in interviews about your goals. You are a gifted athlete, but your passion lies elsewhere. It is rare to see someone of your talent push it aside in favor of the quiet life, but people are drawn to you because of that openness. Football has always been a means to an end for you, and I respect that more than you know. I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time.
Not for Pittsburgh’s professional team, but for my company. ”
“Sir?” Abbott reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a business card and a sheaf of papers.
“About 15 years ago, several players and I started a food company providing affordable and nutritional food to schools. Easy, quick, good food for those kids to take home with them to ensure they had a well-balanced meal at home. I met your parents about 3 months ago.”
“They didn’t say—”
“I asked them not to. They are proud of you, and you were an adorable child, unfortunate haircuts notwithstanding.” I groan, closing my eyes and dropping my chin when I realize my mother showed former NFL superstar Andres Abbott my baby pictures.
I glare at Beiler when he snickers, he just shrugs unrepentantly.
“Your father outlined in detail many changes that you are anxious to implement when you take over. And I believe those changes are going to change the world. One child at a time. When the season is over, when things have calmed down, take a look at my company, our cornerstone values, and the contract I’ve drawn up.
I am invested in partnering with you and your farming neighbors for a healthier tomorrow. ”
My flabbers have been ghasted. What the hell just happened? Andres Abbott knows who I am! And he wants to work with me because of my brain, not my athleticism. Holy Shit!
“ Thank you, sir. ” My voice comes out warbled but I don’t care. This is incredible!
“There’s a contract in there for Miss Kerr as well, so be sure to discuss it over with her.”
“How did you—”
“My assistants are very good at their job.”
“Clearly.”
“She isn’t…he’s not…they aren’t dating! Someone like Crue Pribula would never be with some mutt—”
Abbott spins on his heels, his body poised to strike.
“I would be very careful of your word selections, Fred . We are all combinations of different heritages, a blending of cultures.” He runs his dark gaze over Coach’s face and upper body with a sneer.
“Some of those mixes turn out better than others.”
“Thank you, Mr. Abbott, I will talk this over with Phia and we’ll be in touch.”
“Good luck, Crue, with the rest of your season, and wooing Miss Kerr.” He winks as he passes me, patting me on the shoulder on his way out. “Brandon, I’ll be in touch about Gill, Hall, and Staunton.”
“I’m the head coach! You’ll talk to me—” Abbott shuts the door behind him, cutting off Heacock.
He’s nearly apoplectic, the vein in his forehead thumping wildly, his eyes manic.
Beiler and I move out of the way just in time to avoid the stapler he throws at the door.
It shatters the small window. “YOU!” He points a gnarled finger in my direction as he rounds his desk.
“You are a disgrace to this school! To the sport! To mankind! If the game wasn’t so important, I’d bench your ass right now!
Fuck! I’d kick you out of the stadium and run you over with my car!
How dare you embarrass me like that in front of a scout! ”
I think he’s handling the embarrassment all on his own.
Beiler tilts his head toward the broken door, and I take that as my cue to leave.
He’s behind me, stepping over shards of glass, walking down the hall toward the locker room.
I need to get ready for the game and Beiler needs to coach…
Heacock is currently not in the right frame of mind to lead the team. Not that he does that anyway.
Beiler taps on my shoulder a few feet away from the office. I glance over my shoulder to see his blinding, victorious smile first, then the cell phone he’s holding in his hand. “Recorded the whole thing.” His voice is low, but I hear him loud and clear.
“Fuckin’ A!” I run into the locker room, waving my hands wildly. “WHOSE HOUSE?”
“OUR HOUSE!”
“WE ARE!”
“STATE!”
“WE ARE!”
“STATE!”