by Liz Talley
“No, dear.” Picou sighed, her blue eyes sad. “I’ve been telling myself it would take time, and time is all it needs. Enola knew Sally would not give her heart to me easily. She’s always been a difficult one.”
“But that’s no excuse to act like…” Lou’s words died as Picou took her hand.
“Dear one, that child has been through something hardly anyone goes through. She’s stuck between two worlds. Change is hard, Lou, and some handle it better than others. Some are like you and they take the blows and keep sticking their chin out, and some are like Della, wanting to hide from it all.” Picou gave her hand a squeeze along with a gentle smile. “Please tell Abram I’ll call him later.”
And then Picou disappeared, following after a daughter who didn’t want her.
Lou shook her head as an achy sadness washed over her. She couldn’t understand turning down someone who loved you so much. She missed her own mother every single day and would do just about anything to have one more day with her. One afternoon, sipping coffee, talking about funny memories, strumming the guitar, singing her mother’s favorite songs while her father backed her up on his twelve-string.
Emotion welled inside her and her throat clogged.
For a moment she stood there and feared she might burst into tears.
But then, as always, practicality settled over her. She had no right to project her longings on to the Dufrenes. No right to judge Sally. No right to even be present in their family melodrama.
Her focus needed to be ten steps up that ramp.
On football.
On Waylon, on Lori, and their futures.
Only then could she get back what she lost long ago—her opportunity to carve a path in the world. It seemed odd to put that stipulation on her life, but there it was all the same. She still had a job to do, and she would accomplish it.
She returned to the stadium and tried to enjoy the second half—and tried to keep her eyes off the sidelines where Abram stood absorbed in the action on the field. Every now and then she checked on Waylon, who really seemed to be getting into the game. Of course, he’d always been an ULBR fan.
But he couldn’t choose a program based on being a fan.
Choosing the right school was a process that included academics, playing time, need, depth charts and comfort with a staff and team. The team you grew up cheering for had nothing to do with it—or almost nothing. Recruiting was a science.
But, still, Lou knew Waylon had always set his sights on playing for ULBR, almost every little boy in the state did.
When the game ended, ULBR had prevailed and the mood as she left the stadium to head toward the basketball arena—the spot she and Waylon had agreed upon—was more than jovial. When she exited the stadium, she got turned around. Purple and black swirled around her, pressing into her. She moved to the perimeter and tried to get her bearings. She distinctly remembered the tugboat sculpture in front of the architectural school and knew she needed to head right.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket as she sidestepped a fraternity guy clad in khaki and a tie dancing drunkenly in the pathway.
She withdrew it to find a text from Waylon. Going out with guys. Don’t wait up.
She texted back a “stay out of trouble” message before moving away from the crowd and surveying her surroundings. What should she do now? Her time was her own until breakfast the next morning. Abram. She still had to tell him about his sister and her ill grandmere. She had his number on her phone, and though she’d been tempted to call it before, she never had. Better to text. Meet me under the ramp of the basketball arena. Need to talk.
Simple. To the point. Surely he’d come.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ABRAM DIDN’T KNOW if Lou would still be waiting. He always had a lot to wrap up after a game. Most of the coaches relied on the grad assistants, but he was particular about things. After the presser, he’d headed back to the locker room, checked his recruits were handled for the evening and then stopped by his office to type up his notes on the game. He had gotten so busy he’d almost forgotten his cell phone.
And she’d texted.
He’d spent most of the night berating himself for slipping in his control around Lou. He shouldn’t have whispered that suggestive remark in her ear, but somehow he couldn’t help himself when it came to her. She did funny things to his insides.
He grabbed a jacket and slipped out of the offices, tapping a reply in his phone.
You still there?
No response.
Damn.
Wasn’t far away so he made his steps long. He reached the now thinned-out Stadium Drive and hooked a left slipping past the panther’s habitat, under the ramp to the arena.
“Good game, Coach,” someone called.
He raised a hand and scanned the area. Crepe myrtles festooned in hues of gold flickered like fireflies in the north wind while laughter and rap music spilled from the lots surrounding the stadium. Tailgating would go on for several more hours.
But where was Lou?
Probably gone by now.
“Abram?” Her voice sounded like spring rain on cracked earth. He turned. She was perched on a bench near the outdoor track.
“Thank goodness you’re still here. I didn’t think to check my messages and I should have.”
She stood and gave him an unreadable small smile. “I know we’re not supposed to have—what is this?—incidental contact, but I told your mother I’d explain to you what happened.”
Lou’s face was highlighted by the lights of the stadium and glow of the scoreboard and it made her look almost otherworldly. But it stopped with her face. The rest of her was very much of this earth. In fact it was damned real-world and, of course, practical. Some of the women who went to football games tottered around in short skirts and high heels, but his Lou had dressed simply in a purple long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans and running shoes. Comfort seemed to be her goal. “Explain what happened?”
Her blue eyes held sadness and for a moment he thought something had happened to his mother.
“Your sister got a call during the game. Her grandmother took a turn for the worse and the doctors think she won’t make it through the night. Picou had to take Sally to Houma. She wanted me to explain…though, come to think of it, she could have called you.”
“You would think that, but Picou always has motives. She was born arranging things. In fact, she probably made her parents redo the nursery upon arrival. Something in shades of blue, invoking serenity.” He did his best Picou impression on the last line.
She gave another small smile. “She’s a force.”
“Something else bothering you? Enola Cheramie is a very old and sick woman…it was really a matter of time.”
Lou nodded. “I know. I don’t know why I feel so depressed. I guess seeing your sister go through something so hard, took me back in time. But even worse was seeing Sally hurt your mother.”
He wanted to reach out and touch her, tell her that his mother had an inner toughness that would sustain her, but he also wondered if his mother had reached the end of her rope with Sally. Instead of making it better, Enola’s looming death might click a wedge between them. “Hey, she’ll be okay. She wants us to be patient with my sister.”
“But you should have heard Sally. She said some hard things to your mother, and I just think…” She looked out at the night sky. “I don’t know what to think. It just made me sad.”
He moved closer to her, picked up the scent of her shampoo on the breeze. She smelled sweet and light like a woman should. No way anyone would believe this woman laced up work boots and donned a construction helmet every day. “Change is part of life. Strange, but if Enola hadn’t grown ill, we’d never have found Sally.”
Lou didn’t say anything. Abram watched her face. Something was wrong. This wasn’t the rock-steady, capable woman he’d grown to care for. No, vulnerability shadowed her eyes.
“I don’t get it. Sally has this awesome gift bestowed on her and wan
ts to toss it away like it’s nothing. Who does that?”
He didn’t get why she was so upset about his sister. Then again maybe she didn’t know, either. Something else caused this. Had to. Maybe delayed grief. Or the pressure of dealing with two teenagers. “Sally won’t toss us away. I’ve not been around her much, but I know she’s a Dufrene. She won’t ignore her family.”
A sheen of tears had gathered in Lou’s eyes. She nodded but said nothing else. Merely stared out at the deep blue horizon.
“Hey, is this about something more?”
She shook her head. “No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Is this about us?”
“What us? There is no us.”
He stepped back, ignoring the hurt that had sprung inside him at her words. Ouch.
She turned her blue eyes to him. “I’m so tired, Abram. Tired of not getting what I want. Tired of feeling like I’m always waiting for something. I want to be with you. Why does that have to be wrong?”
He didn’t know what to say. He’d never been good at abstaining from anything he wanted, but what choice did he have? To give in to his feelings, sweep her in his arms, and create some sort of future together would destroy too much. He’d worked too hard, slaving over long hours, watching film until everything blurred together, to toss it away so easily. And it wasn’t just about him. There was Waylon to consider, the program and his own conscience. “It’s not wrong, Lou.”
“Yes, it is. I can’t have you. Can’t have any life I want. Ever.”
“We have to wait a little bit longer, baby.”
“Why?” Her voice broke and she wrapped her arms around her waist. “The rational me knows we can’t be together, but I don’t want to be rational, sensible or high-minded any more. My life hasn’t been my own for so long. Every day brings more problems—bills, Waylon’s rebellious behavior, Lori forgetting every article of clothing she needs for P.E. Every day I climb onto the seat in that piece of machinery and ignore my own desires. I’m sick of it.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from taking hold of her. It had become standard procedure. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve had love, you’ve had freedom. You don’t know what it’s like to be so…alone.”
He did, but not the way she meant. He’d never done what Lou had. Made that kind of sacrifice. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” A lone tear slid down Lou’s cheek.
“Don’t,” he said, wondering why it literally hurt him to see her cry.
“You know, I didn’t even cry at my parents’ funeral? I couldn’t. I had to be strong for Waylon and Lori. They sobbed through the whole ordeal, but not me. This is how it’s been for ten years. Me being strong. Me doing the right thing.”
“Lou, it’s—”
She swiped at her tears and tried to regain composure. “No, don’t give me platitudes. I watched your sister hurt your mother, and all I could think about is what a selfish bitch she is. I know Sally’s hurt. I know she’s confused. But to deny your mother…I don’t get it. I’d kill to have someone love me.”
You do.
The words almost left his lips. “Hey, don’t cry.”
She squeezed her arms around her middle, stifling a sob. “Shut up, Abram.”
He couldn’t help himself. Before he knew it, Lou was in his arms, and she felt so good there. “Hey, hey.”
Her body shook but she didn’t make any noise as she cried. He could do nothing more than hold this woman who’d given so much of herself and still had to make sacrifices. He patted her back, rubbing her shoulder as she spent the emotion she’d bottled up for so long.
She cried her tears and he held her, moving into the shadows so that random passersby didn’t gawk at a woman crying after a big win. Finally, he felt her relax against him.
“You okay?” he asked after a moment. She fit against him so nicely and he didn’t want to let her go just yet.
She nodded and lifted her head. Her eyes were puffy and whatever eye makeup she’d worn streaked down her cheeks. But to him, she looked perfect because she was right where she belonged.
He brushed a light kiss on her forehead. “Ah, baby.”
“Just what I thought,” a voice said from his right.
Abram turned and found Don Verdun stepping from the shadows with a phone in hand. The smartphone’s red light glowed and Abram knew the man had been recording them.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Abram released Lou and moved toward the little man, intent on grabbing his phone and crushing it beneath his shoe. Had Verdun been following him?
“Preserving this beautiful, touching moment. Or should I say revealing moment?” Don said, stepping back quickly as Abram advanced on him.
He couldn’t see Lou but he felt her alarm.
“Give me that phone,” Abram said, holding out a hand. He half expected the man to comply, but Don merely smiled and shoved the phone into his back pocket.
“I don’t think so, Coach Dufrene. There are going to be a lot of people interested in this video. It’s evidence. Can’t destroy evidence, now can we?”
“This isn’t what it looks like. She was upset,” Abram said, crossing his arms across his chest and staring down the bug smirking in front of him.
“That’s what they all say, but everyone knows your history with Lou Boyd and now I have proof that what I suspected is true.” Don moved toward the street encircling the stadium. He was making a getaway, but before he disappeared completely, he turned and looked at Lou. She stood as if her feet were rooted like the ancient live oaks bordering the road, wiping her cheeks. “Nice job, Lou. Screwing the coaching staff might have worked in your brother’s favor if you hadn’t been caught. Guess using what’s between your legs to get what you want didn’t work out, did it?”
The growl emerged from Abram’s throat without his realization, and his feet moved instinctively. He was about to pound the hell out of the piece of shit scurrying away like the rat he was.
“Abram, don’t.” Lou’s cry was the only thing that could have stopped him. He held up and turned back toward her.
“It will only make it worse. Only make you look guilty.” Lou’s eyes found his and the sad apology in them was almost more than he could bear.
This was it. They’d been caught together and Don Verdun had the evidence. Tomorrow or the next day, everyone in the state would think he and Lou were having a tawdry affair. Irony slammed into him. All their restraint, all the whole doing the right thing, had been for naught.
He rubbed a hand over his face. Hell.
“Was he following you?” Lou asked, shaking her head. “I mean, he had to wait a long time. Pretty creepy.”
“He’s opportunistic slime.” This was going to be bad. Everything he’d worked so hard for, everything Lou had worked so hard for, would be gone like a puff of smoke. If he could somehow find Don, maybe discredit him? He really didn’t know what to do.
“I’m sorry. This is my fault,” Lou said, pushing her hair back. Disbelief had etched itself across her face—along with slight panic. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. He’s going to make this look like we were—”
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. My control is not too good around you.”
“But I asked you to come,” she said, folding her arms before pressing a hand to her forehead. “I told myself it was because I’d promised your mother, but I know it’s because I wanted to see you. I could’ve called instead.”
For a moment, neither said a word. Around them people called to one another, laughing and chattering. The ULBR fight song played in the background—everything absolutely normal around two worlds falling apart.
“They’ll make it look bad,” he said, wrapping his mind about what was about to go down. “Once the media gets this, they’ll have a field day making our relationship look very inappropriate. You need to prepare yourself for hell for the next few weeks, Lou.�
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“But surely people will see I was upset, and you were comforting me. It wasn’t even a passionate embrace—and we won’t be lying at all.”
He shook his head. “The world has changed. People love scandal, and Don will want to make a splash. Bet that footage will go straight to a guy at The Advocate or the doorstep of WBRZ. Then it will hit YouTube, Twitter and message boards.”
“We’ll do damage control. He can’t turn it into something it’s not. All we have to do is tell the truth.”
If only that were true, but Abram had been in the sports business for a long time, and he knew it would get sensationalized. Rumors of athletes cheating, taking performance drugs, paying for research papers—every little accusation got legs on the internet and on radio talk shows. “It probably won’t help. He’ll say we’re having an affair and most will believe him after seeing that tape.”
He scratched his head and thought about how to handle this. It wasn’t just about him. This was about ULBR. About his recruits. About Waylon. He’d deal with whatever came his way, but he had to try and protect those who’d played no part in this fiasco. “You may need to hire an attorney.”
“Why? I can’t hire an attorney. We don’t have that kind of money.”
“You need someone to protect you. It might get crazy for a while. We’re going to deny this, but you’re going to be bombarded.”
“That’s crazy. We’re not criminals. Besides, Don may not do anything with it. He may want some way to get his son an offer. He’s like that. He’s a bit of a blowhard, but surely he wouldn’t hurt Waylon or you by making a false accusation. He’s got more integrity than that. I hope.”
He shook his head. “Coach Holt isn’t going to make an offer on the Verdun kid no matter what he had on film or as a witness. Leo basically told the kid’s high school coach as much not too long ago. We don’t play games with recruits. If we know we won’t offer, we cut the kid loose so he can pursue other programs.”
Lou shivered. “I can’t believe this. Don’s going to make it look like I’m some skanky whore trying to get my brother a scholarship. It’s crazy. We’ve never even been together.”
