Page 34 of Hell or High Water
“Okay, so you’re a captain sure, but what about Sterling? He’s the vet here. He should be handling the guy.”
“Hewas,” Nate said. “But he thought it might come across better—less a vet telling a rookie to shape up and more a friend watching out for another friend—if I did it.”
Deacon sighed but didn’t say anything. Which made it painfully obvious what he really thought of that.
“You can say it,” Nate said testily. He probably wouldn’t like it, but he was already a little annoyed at Sterling for dumping this problem he didn’t have the skill set to deal with into his lap and then washing his hands of the whole thing.
“He shouldn’t be giving it over to you. Not like that.”
Nate had told himself he was not going to defend Sterling but the tone of Deacon’s voice put his back up anyway.
“But—”
“No,” Deacon said, even more firmly. “Sure, yeah, that’s a good tactic. Pull him into the community of the team and a friend group of slightly older guys who aren’t spending all their spare time fucking around.”
“Why do I feel like there’s another shoe you’re waiting to drop?” Nate asked.
“Because there is. He should be asking you to do that, but he should still be being fucking leader.”
“Deac,” Nate warned.
“I’ve tried to be nice about it, but Sterling’s phoning it in. If he wasn’t prepared to play and lead the team the way he has every other year, he shouldn’t be playingorleading,” Deacon said righteously. “I knew when I was done. He shouldn’t have taken that single season contract. It was a fucking money grab, especially if he wasn’t committed.”
“He’s committed,” Nate argued, though personally, deep down, he understood a little too well what Deacon was claiming.
“Is he though? Or is he just shoving all the hard shit onto you so you can deal with it?”
Sometimes itdidfeel that way, but at the same time, if he was going to lead the Thunders’ defense next year, he should be able to handle anything Sterling tossed his way.
Deacon sighed again, full resignation in the sound. “Don’t answer that. I’m just frustrated for you. We’ll talk about Atkinson, instead.”
“Yeah,” Nate said.
It made sense to focus on the Jordan problem, because that was certainly, in some universe, under some unique set of circumstances, fixable. The Sterling thing? Nate couldn’t imagine confronting the guy—who was a full ten years older than him, with eleven more NFL seasons under his belt, and a Super Bowl ring—and calling him out for phoning it in.
That was a great way to get his ass kicked into next week.
“So, what have you tried?” Deacon asked.
The cab pulled up to his building, and Nate got out, handing the driver a wad of twenties. Way more than the fare, but he could afford it.
The wind was fierce as he walked to the front door, and he shielded his face from it, cradling the phone against his face. “I tried being his friend, yeah? I tried reaching out to him. Making plans. Texting. Tried diverting him away from spots where he’d end up in trouble.”
“Let me guess, that did jack shit.”
“You got it.” Nate hated admitting it, but it was the truth. And while he couldn’t bring himself to admit most of this to Ramsey, Deacon was a different story.
“You go to the strip club with him?”
Nate choked out a laugh. “No.” He pressed the elevator button for his floor.
“I know, not your typical scene.”
“You know I’m gay, I’m not gonna go to the strip club with Jordan.” Though he had thought about it, more than once, forthe sheer ease of at least being around to prevent the guy from getting into any more trouble.
“You’re not gonna like this,” Deacon warned.
“I didn’t think I’dlikeit,” Nate complained as he got off on his floor. “I wasn’t calling you for a nice, sweet bedtime story.”
