Storm Gathering Read Online Free PDF Page B

life, managed to become athletic director was still a mystery. It was rumored to have something to do with how much money his grandmother gave to the private Catholic school.
    With the religion came the code of ethics that was continually stated and hardly ever followed. Last year, the head basketball coach was caught partying with the players after they won conference. He was reprimanded with a slap on the hand and continued congratulations for his success. There were some things ethics simply couldn’t control—the heart of a man driven by power and sports politics.
    Mick tried to nod, realizing that Owen was right in the middle of giving him the speech about his tardiness. Just one nod would get Owen off his back. But he couldn’t seem to give the guy respect. So he simply sat there, his hands folded in his lap, staring at the gold carpet under his feet because it was more interesting than Owen’s beady, judgmental eyes.
    “Don’t you want to make something of yourself, Kline?” Owen said.
    No, Owen, I want to be a loser for the rest of my life. That’s what I’ve wanted to be ever since I was a little kid and my dad had dreams of me being just like my brother.
    “You’re still working on your bachelor’s, right?” Owen asked.
    “Of course,” Mick said.
    His second bachelor’s. He had his first in accounting, which he found out he hated. He’d been working on the second for four years. Money was the first problem. Lack of drive was the second. He didn’t want to teach kids math. He wanted to teach them football, in hopes of one day climbing that almighty educative ladder to a Big Twelve school. It was a pipe dream, really. At the age of twenty-eight, he was still assisting at the high school level, albeit a large high school.
    Mick was well-known around Irving. Everybody had had such high hopes for him when he was quarterbacking over a decade ago—his family still did. He wished he had those same hopes for himself, but as far as he was concerned, he was a has-been. He’d dropped out this semester. That was before he knew he was going to have extra time since he got fired from his accounting job for being perpetually late.
    Outside, thunder rolled over the flat roof of the athletic building. Owen barely noticed. Mick could hardly stay in his seat. He loved the weather. Just like his dad. He and his brother and his dad would pass the spring watching storms roll over the plains of Texas, analyzing the direction, the wind . . . the feel of them.
    When a big one came, which it always did in a Texas spring, it was unmistakable. The air seemed to swallow itself. The sky looked as if it were lowering. The birds would fluster in the trees. The animals would pace their dwellings.
    But Owen Gruber would never be able to appreciate—or even notice—what Mick considered to be glorious. Owen Gruber never looked up. He always looked at himself—which was exactly what he was doing now. Picking balls off his fancy knit sweater that he thought made him somebody.
    “Stop being late,” Owen finally said, flicking the lint away. “You know Coach Rynde hates it, and so do I. Rynde thinks you have coaching talent. I don’t know that I agree with him, but as long as he sees it, why don’t you take advantage of it? Breaks hardly ever come in life, Kline. Especially for people like you, who seem to abuse any break you get.”
    “Are we finished here?” Mick asked.
    “Yeah, fine. We’re finished. In one ear, out the other.”
    “Mom used to say that,” Mick said, standing and walking out the office door. Rain pelted the skylight of the athletic lobby. Mick stood at the front glass doors, watching the rain wash the parking-lot concrete.
    His mind drifted to Taylor. He could see her face clearly. The hangover was starting to free his thoughts, one by one, through the pounding pain in his head. How many drinks had he downed last night?
    “Kline,” Coach Rynde called, “let’s go pump some iron.”
    “On my