Quarterback Keeper (Fall Lake Ballers #1)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

KYLIAN

I turned down another street, looking for Gia after she stormed out of the condo. The droning sports station host I had on in the background cut out when my phone rang. I hit Accept before checking who it was, hoping it was her—worry eating at me because I’d caught her skittish reaction to the loud noise and it hadn’t sat well with me. Something had happened to that girl, and she was clearly suffering ill effects.

“It’s about time you answered me, Kylian.”

Fuck. It was Dad. I slowed then pulled over to the curb. “I’ve been busy. Are you calling to find out how much Mom’s treatment costs so you can help?”

Something rustled, then a door shut, and I knew he’d done that so his very young wife wouldn’t hear him refuse to help. Jillian, Dad’s wife, wasn’t a bad person. She’d just hitched herself to a corrupt and much older one. And I already knew she didn’t like the idea of Mom suffering if Dad could help in some way.

“I’ve gone above and beyond to help your mom,” Dad growled. “I got her into that new treatment, which was no easy feat.”

“Yeah, you did, and we’re both grateful for that. The problem is she might not be able to stay in it if we can’t pay the bills.”

“Your mom is no longer my responsibility. That’s what divorce is all about, but if you want me to help, you know what you can do for me.”

“Are you kidding me?” I slammed my palm on the steering wheel. “You have more than enough money. Helping Mom wouldn’t put a dent in Jillian’s shopping allowance.” A low blow against her, but it was true.

“You better watch your tone about your stepmother.”

My stomach clenched in distaste. “She’s five years older than me. And I already have a mother. One who’s dying—and you could do something about it.” My gut cramped. I felt sick. Why can’t I make him see the big picture? “I’m running out of money. I can’t pay for more treatments. We need your help.” It killed me to ask him for anything.

“As I’ve said before, you know how to get it.”

“Fuck you, Dad. I’m not dating some contributor’s daughter to keep the funds rolling in for your campaign.” I didn’t wait for his response, hitting the end call button on the dash with more force than necessary.

He wouldn’t help without significant strings attached, and dating whoever that girl was would lead to marriage. It’d already been dropped casually in conversation with him, and the pressure was getting worse each time we spoke. I wouldn’t put it past him to announce my engagement to the press before I’d even gone on a date with whatever wealthy, entitled girl had her sights set on me so he could get what he wanted.

Dad expected me to trade my freedom for money. And I gladly would if I had no other options to save Mom’s life. But I did—I just needed an invite to the combine, and I would enter the draft early.