“I’m not even going to pretend to know the ins and outs of the Howard family. But if this is because you want to separate your name from his”—even though they literally share a name, so that seems like a dumb hill to die on—“this is not the time. One mistake can take this from a success to a failure. You’re going to need to put on your big boy panties and go ask your dad to help you out. If you don’t, I will.”

Okay. So after it leaves my mouth, I want to shovel it back in. Telling him to put on his big boy panties is definitely not the way to get what I want. Unless I wanted him to look at me like I was the actual scum of the earth, because that’s what I’m getting right now.

“My dad will not be involved in this. Do you understand me?” His voice has dropped to a whisper, but the anger is still coming through loud and clear. “I don’t want him anywhere near this project. If I find out you tried to go behind my back to change that, I will take a knee on the sideline and not throw a single pass for the rest of the season. We’ll see how Mahler feels about that, but I don’t think he’d be very happy with you. Do you?”

Now, to be fair, I never told him about my meeting with Mr. Mahler and my possible termination if things don’t go well. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that I’m not spending all my free time with the rude, moody man in front of me for fun. So his threat hits his intended mark. But that’s not the part that has my sinuses burning and my eyes threatening to flood.

I would give anything . . . ANYTHING! . . . to spend time with my dad. Even when I’m not actively thinking about him, I know he’s only a scent, an image, a word away. And Quinton has the chance to not only spend time with his dad, but to create an actual legacy with him, and he’s spitting on it.

What an asshole!

The inside of my cheeks begin to hurt from how hard I’m biting them. I unclench my jaw and throw my hands in the air at the same time. “Fine.” I shrug my shoulders, shifting my focus back to the computer screen. “This is your foundation. Do whatever you want.”

I expect some kind of response, but thankfully, I’m met with silence.

Unfortunately, though, that silence only lasts a couple of minutes.

“You know,” he says, interrupting my daydreams of him sustaining a minor—but season-ending—injury so I don’t have to deal with him anymore, “I was wondering something.”