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We touch fists, and I am hyped for the game, but my mind keeps wandering to Kenna. I don’t mean for it to. I did what I did for a good reason, but she’s always there. Plus, I hate the fact that I hurt her. It makes all of this even more shitty.
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing on the edge of the football field. It’s empty except for a few workers walking through the stands. There are some tech people up in the box and on the sidelines, but it’s crowd free. Just on the other side of these stadium walls, though, the campus is having one hell of a tailgate party. The thump of bass reverberates through the air.
The sun is out and shining.
The breeze has a crisp bite to it.
Everything is shaking up to be the perfect day.
As soon as I’m done with this, I’m turning my phone off and concentrating on the game. If this doesn’t appease everyone, I don’t know what will, but I’m not going to beat myself down trying to think of something else.
A man and a woman start walking toward me. I recognize them from a local news station. The man is holding on to a camera at his side, and the woman is dressed in a slim skirt with a long-sleeve blouse. “Mr. Brooks?”
I reach out my hand. “Hello. Thanks for coming.”
“Well, it’s not often the biggest draft candidate requests an interview from little old Channel Eight.”
My smile pulls tight. “I just felt like it was the right thing to do to put the record straight.”
I swear, the sparkle in this woman’s eyes could rival the Hope Diamond.
The man next to her starts fiddling with his equipment as she says, “I prepared a few questions, but I want you to say what you want to get out, so I’ll ask you at the end if there’s anything you want to add.”
Shit just got real.
I’ve been trying to forget about the fact that I’d have to talk, and even though it doesn’t seem like it’s that big of a deal in front of these two, I’m hoping I don’t choke when the camera is on.
“I’d like to see your questions,” I tell her. This was Aidan’s idea. He thought it would help me be better prepared.
She cocks her head and smiles. “Great idea.” She hands over a small notecard that she has in her hand.
It’s all the normal things I expected to be asked. When I hand it back, I say, “Can you ask me something about the homecoming game at the end? I want to bury this and turn it around to football.”
“Of course.” Her cameraman hands her a pen, and she makes a notation on her card. When she’s done, she asks him, “Are we all good? Where do you want me and Mr. Brooks to stand, Sammy?”
The cameraman peers around and then positions us with the upright in the background. Before I know it, he’s counting down, and I’m staring at a blinking red light with a camera lens pointed at me. It takes me a second to catch up with the fact that the reporter is already asking me a question after giving a short introduction. “Is it true you wanted this interview, Mr. Brooks?”
I blink. I decide to just look at her. Then I can fool myself into thinking this isn’t being recorded and broadcast. “It is. I thought I should set the record straight.”
She pulls the microphone back to her, hiding her bright-red lipstick briefly while she asks, “I hear you have some rebuffs from what your father said to our reporter just the other day.”
“I do,” I answer. I’m quiet for a little while until she urges me with her eyes and keeps the microphone pointed at me. It spurs me on. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk about my past. My father…”
I hesitate. There’s no going back now, not that I should, and not that I should even feel bad about this.
“My father isn’t a nice man. He was verbally and emotionally abusive my entire life, and he had yet to even come to one of my football games until the first game of this season. I suspect that his whole intention of dragging my name through the mud is that he wanted me to give him some of the money I earned with the new name, image, likeness rules put forth by the NCAA board of directors.
“Prior to this, I hadn’t spoken with my father in years. He has not reached out, nor have I. And frankly, I think it’s sad that the first time he did reach out was about money. I suspect that if I was a regular college student, he wouldn’t be giving me the time of day, just like he didn’t my entire life.”
“Can you speak to some of the abuses you say you’ve suffered?”
I frown at her. This wasn’t on her list of questions, and it pisses me off that she went off script. “I won’t go into that. It’s a private family matter. I’m only coming forward now because he’s the one that made it public. I would’ve been happy to go on with our separate lives.”
“So, would it be fair to say that you think your father is attempting to extort you?”
“It was him who brought up the NIL money to your media outlet.”
She tsks. “I think it is fair to say that we all saw your father’s behavior in the footage with you at a local diner, so this doesn’t seem to be too far off.”