Jessup shakes Diggins’s hand off his shoulder. “Can I go now?”
“You’re going to stop seeing my daughter.”
He shouldn’t be shocked, but he is. He turns to look at Diggins, hoping that it’s a joke, knowing that it isn’t. Diggins is steely. No room for compromise.
“I thought you said she was old enough to make her own choices.”
“Do the right thing.”
“But I—”
Diggins cuts him off. “What? You’re going to tell me you love her? You’re seventeen, Jessup. What’s the end game? Have you had her over to your house yet? Introduced her to your mother? Are you going to introduce her to your stepfather?” His voice is acid. “Hi, guys, this is my girlfriend, Deanne. Hope you don’t notice that she’s a nigger?” He steps hard on the word.
“I didn’t—”
“But you will.” Diggins is fierce. In the close space of the car, he’s a beast and Jessup is cowering. He’s bigger than Diggins, but it doesn’t matter. Jessup is backed up against the door.
Diggins continues, “You’ll say it sooner or later. You’re thinking it right now, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” Jessup says. But he is. He wants to tell Coach Diggins to go fuck himself, fuck you, you fucking—
“Of course you are. And when you’re out with my daughter, it’s always going to be there, too. Doesn’t matter if it’s right on the tip of your tongue or hidden in the depths. You’ve always got that word hidden in you, ‘nigger,’ ready to sneak its way out. American history right there, boy. That swamp isn’t drained. I’ll tell you, growing up in Mississippi, playing ball at Alabama? You know what I liked? People there let me know exactly how they felt. ‘Nigger,’ ‘boy,’ ‘coon,’ I heard it all, right to my face. I had my fists clenched; the only thing that kept me from swinging was knowing what I had to lose. But when I was in the NFL, when I played for the Jets, the Vikings, when I was on the 49ers? When I was dating Melissa, me and this white girl out on the town in San Francisco? I was just guessing, trying to figure out who was thinking it.” He takes a breath, and it’s like a dragon getting ready to breathe more fire, but then, suddenly, for no reason that Jessup can tell, Coach Diggins seems to deflate. He sinks back into his seat, hands on the steering wheel. He’s looking through the windshield now. Watching a Chevy Silverado pickup pull up to the gas pumps.
Diggins shakes his head. “At least that church you and your family go to has the balls to admit, to come out and say they want a white nation. Not trying to dress it up.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Jessup, but do you understand what I’m saying here? Do you understand why I don’t want you with my daughter?”
“I never said it. I didn’t say it to Corson last night. I never . . . I don’t think that when I’m with Deanne. I don’t say that word.”
“But you will,” Diggins says quietly. His voice is a whisper. He sounds tired. Jessup feels tired with him. “You will,” he says again, louder. “I know all about you and your family. You can deny it, you can say he’s your stepfather instead of your father, but you can’t hide from your history, your heritage.”
“It’s not my history,” Jessup says.
“It is.” He looks at Jessup, gathers his thoughts. “Do the right thing, Jessup. Be a man. Walk away from my daughter. You’re still my player, and I’ll stand up for you. If you want that, I’ll do it. I’ll stand up for you. You’ve got to understand, I’m not angry at you. I feel sorry for you, Jessup.”