by Liz Talley
“Hey,” Abram said, stacking a box of CD cases on top of the pile containing high school scouting reports. “I’m about to head out so I’m glad you came by.”
The strength coach shook his head. “Dude, this isn’t right. You told Holt, the AD and the NCAA there wasn’t anything going on. All they have is a damn video of a hug. I don’t get why you’re doing this.”
“You and I know how this business works. There’s a presumption of guilt by the public, and after that whole recruiting service crap, our own administration has damage control on the brain. I had to step down. It was the only way to erase the black eye on the program. Holt’s a good man and he trusts me, but his hands are tied. So why make it hard on him? I knew what had to be done.”
His friend shifted on stovepipe legs and shrugged. “I don’t understand why no one stands up against injustice anymore. You were railroaded by an angry parent who didn’t get his kid into a choice program. Why do people always let that crap slide? Why not say ‘We trust our guy. We’re standing by him.’ Instead of smoke and mirrors and then an eventual dismissal?”
“I wasn’t dismissed. I resigned.”
Jordan leaned on the door frame and snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“Here’s why. Because the program is above the coaches, above the players, and above even the fans. That’s why I stepped down. It’s easier this way. Otherwise, the focus goes to me and that distracts everyone. I want to safeguard the integrity of what we’ve built here…something I helped to build. I’ll suffer through a bad reputation if it keeps what I did from being torn down.”
“Yeah, the program. I get it. But when does the program elevate itself over doing what is right?”
“Leonard told me he’d stand beside me, and I believe him. But this is my decision.”
Jordan remained silent for a moment. “So what will you do?”
Good question. What would he do? He didn’t have an answer for that. Hadn’t really thought beyond the day he’d walk away from his dreams. And that’s what this was—walking away from his future.
It should have had him on his knees.
But he wasn’t crawling down the hallway. Not much more could bring him low, not with what he’d endured over the past few months.
It had been hell in Baton Rouge—a town that loved its Panthers, but could be fickle as that very feline and turn against one of their own in the blink of an eye. Kind of like eating its young.
Such scrutiny wasn’t easy to live under, especially when it came from those closest to him, but he’d been honest about everything. Starting the night Don Verdun had taped his damning evidence of misconduct. Abram had watched Lou walk away, felt his heart ache with the knowledge she may never walk toward him again, and had called Leonard Holt immediately.
He’d gone to Holt’s house and found the Panthers’ head coach in a pair of sweats, a glass of wine in hand, and oddly enough, House Hunters International on the TV.
Abram had sunk on the couch and held out his hands. “We have a problem.”
Leo sipped the red wine, never taking his eyes off the flickering screen. “You said ‘we.’”
“Yeah. We.”
And then he’d gone over everything that had happened over the past half year, starting with Rendezvous and ending with that evening.
Holt had asked only two questions.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No, but I wanted to.”
“Are you in love with her?”
“Probably.”
Then the coach set the wine on the end table and looked him in the eye. “I’ll stand by you.”
“Good, because I didn’t do anything wrong except fall in love. You can’t stop your heart when it makes a decision like that.”
Leo inclined his head. “No, but most people don’t stop their dicks, either. That you were able to do that is impressive. It’s damned impressive ’cause I’ve seen that woman and there’s something about her that draws a man in.”
Yeah, there was.
Abram sank back onto the leather sectional and rubbed his face. “But it’ll look bad. May not be a thing you or I can do to stop it. I’m sorry. This would never have happened if she hadn’t cried.”
At this, Leo’s mouth twitched. “The power of a woman’s tears is almost equal to their smiles, not to mention other parts of their bodies.”
For a moment, silence descended as the people on TV talked about the tiny size of the half bath.
Leo’s voice broke the debate over a bidet. “If you did nothing wrong, it’s not a conflict of interest. It’s nothing.”
“But you and I know once the press gets ahold of this it won’t matter. People don’t want the truth. They want sensationalism. They want death, destruction and humiliation.”
“That’s damned cynical.”
“But true.”
Then Leonard said something that lanced into his soul, both wounding him and healing him.
“Life sometimes takes you down a road you never expect to travel. Some people fight against it, sit down and refuse to move on. They wither and die on the side of the road, heartsick they found the original road closed to them. But others move on, knowing the way may be hard, filled with potholes and things that go bump in the night, but also knowing on a road untraveled there is opportunity. Never know what’s behind the next curve. Be the guy that gets up and moves on, Abram.”
So Abram had. He spent the next few months defending himself to the administration, avoiding the press, relinquishing his recruits to another coach and focusing on preparing his guys to play in the Capitol One Bowl. The holidays had blurred together with a veneer of happiness. His mother had wiped tears from her eyes while toasting the New Year, her desolation at the bereaved Sally’s refusal to talk with her tempered only by Paxton Laborde Dufrene, her one true present, delivered by his sister-in-law on Christmas Eve.
And so the days flew by, each one emptier than the last, because he couldn’t bring himself to call Lou.
What did he have to offer? He had no direction. His dreams had been destroyed by the very thing that brought them together. What more could he do to her? His presence in her life would only cement in people’s minds what they thought they knew. Of course, he shouldn’t worry about what people thought, but that was easier said by people who had not borne the scorn of the general public. He knew Lou had gone through as much as he had. He’d seen what the message boards had said, had seen the implications in the papers, and wondered how she’d been handling all the fallout.
If he could, he’d beat the ever-loving hell out of Don Verdun.
But that, too, would do more damage than good, even if the thought made him feel better.
The wide receivers coach Howie Girard had taken over Waylon’s recruiting, and through the older man, he’d learned a few pertinent things like Waylon had gotten into some sort of altercation at school, but since then had seemed a changed kid. He learned the boy had narrowed his choices down to ULBR, Clemson and Texas. He also learned Tom Forcet had sent his attorney to guide Lou through the process. The family had made an official statement denying there was any sort of inappropriate relationship and threatening a defamation suit against Verdun and the media outlets that broke the story. For some reason, it pleased Abram that Lou hadn’t played the victim, even if neither of them had addressed the allegations in a public way.
“I’ll help you carry this stuff down to your truck,” Jordan offered, his voice resigned. “I guess it’s the least I can do.”
“You could buy me a drink.”
“Yeah, I could do that.”
“Maybe a scotch. I think I need an expensive double malt.”
Jordan lifted the heaviest box and walked out the door past a still-sniffling Sue Ann. “Amend that to just double malt scotch and you have a deal.”
Abram picked up the boxes on his desk and followed his friend from the office, giving one last look at the empty room before shutting the door and handing his key to Sue Ann.
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br /> She took it, stood and kissed his cheek and dropped back into her cushioned chair. “I won’t say goodbye.”
“It’s the best stand you can make,” Abram teased, giving her a smile.
He walked out of the football administration building putting one foot in front of the other, determined to strike out on a new road, even if he didn’t know where it could possibly lead.
Even if it scared him—and might not include Lou.
* * *
WAYLON STARED at the bare branches dipping over Lake Chicot. The day was stark with bitter wind blowing in from the north. Definitely not a day to be on a lake, but Waylon ignored the cold sneaking beneath his heavy jacket and trudged down the hiking trail skirting the bank of the lake. Dying grasses and vines tangled along the edge of the water, and gray clouds threatened rain that wouldn’t fall.
A lone coot hooted as it traversed the waves.
Waylon knew how the bird felt.
He’d come here intentionally to seek some peace. To think.
His father had brought him here when he was young. The memory of his father’s voice had faded away, but not so much the lessons his father had taught. Lessons about staying to the path, looking ahead for trouble and wearing mosquito repellant. Funny what a person remembers.
His dad had been a dreamer, and that’s what had gotten him killed. He’d dreamed of owning his own business and had gambled everything to make it happen. It had been a calculated risk, but a risk all the same.
What risk would Waylon take?
He had one more week to decide.
Where did his future lie?
Over the past months, he’d done his best to straighten up, which hadn’t been easy because being bitter had grown on him like a comfortable sweatshirt. He’d needed no veneer to cover his disillusion, and that felt honest. But after Lou had gone all medieval on him, he’d sat a few minutes in the principal’s office and allowed her words to penetrate his armor.
Life hadn’t been fair to Lou.
In fact, it had been a lot more unfair to her than it had to him or Lori. He’d always thought she’d gotten the best end of the deal. She’d had Mom and Dad for almost eighteen years while he’d only had seven. He’d been envious of her.
Guess he’d never really thought of Lou as a person. She’d just been Lou. She was the one who fixed things. Who made sure his papers were mistake-free and his cafeteria account full. She’d been kinda his mom and kinda his sister, but not much more to him. He knew what kind of cereal she preferred in the morning, but he didn’t know her dreams or her hopes…and had never really bothered to ask.
He supposed that made him selfish.
He paused at a clearing and picked up a flat rock, hurling it, watching it skip on the water four times. It was the same clearing his father had taught him to skip rocks the day after he turned seven.
Dad, what do I do?
He paused for a moment, listening to the wind, but no answer came to him.
Several weeks ago he’d visited Clemson and really liked it. The tight ends coach had played in the pros and had him excited about the possibility of playing for the school. He’d like the facilities and the campus was nice, but South Carolina was far away from Louisiana. He didn’t like the idea of being so far from his home.
On the other hand, ULBR was only an hour and a half away—and the Panthers still wanted him regardless of the stupid video that asshat Hayden’s father had revealed. Waylon had always wanted to go to ULBR. Had a half a dozen T-shirts and ball caps with the logo on it. Besides, everyone expected him to go to his state school.
But would those allegations follow him? Would he constantly have to answer questions about Lou and why he’d gotten that scholarship?
He figured he would.
Coach Dufrene had stepped down around the time he and Lou had left for the official visit at Clemson, and the news the man had left ULBR had renewed the sadness in Lou’s eyes.
And he knew why.
He’d watched the video one night after Lou and Lori had gone to bed. He made certain they were asleep and then logged on to one of the ULBR fan forums and found the link. Of course, he couldn’t help but see some of the remarks the posters had made—not flattering toward his sister—and he had to suppress the urge to post something back to the half-dozen morons posting on the thread. Then he’d clicked on the link and saw the truth.
What some might see as sordid proof the coach and his sister had something going on, he saw only as proof his sister loved Abram Dufrene. And most startling of all—the coach loved her back.
Waylon could see it in the way the coach looked at her, and even though the film was grainy, he could see the tenderness in the way he held her. It had nearly floored him to see the two of them together that way, and some kernel of something he couldn’t name had embedded itself inside him.
He’d clicked off the site, but the image of Lou crying and Coach Dufrene holding her had stayed with him. Eventually, over the past few weeks he’d put a name to what he felt: injustice.
All that happened hadn’t been fair to Lou or the coach who’d been recruiting him.
He picked up another rock and skipped it along the waves. It skipped once before sinking beneath the choppy waters. Night was falling and soon he’d have to get back home. He had an English test to study for and he’d told Lou he’d change the lightbulb out on the back patio yesterday. She hadn’t even fussed at him, which was a miracle, but the last couple of months had changed her.
After his run-in with Brian, he’d gotten his act together. First, he’d talked to the principal and Officer Slade, taking responsibility. Then he’d found Brian and apologized for losing his temper over a silly comment. Then he’d spent two days home on suspension. He’d used that time to catch up on his schoolwork, do odd jobs around the house for Lou and hit his knees and pray for guidance. He’d even gone back to youth group on Wednesday nights. The best thing he’d done was talk to Morgan and admit he’d been partially at fault for their ruined relationship. They weren’t back together, but he could at least tolerate seeing her in the hall.
He hadn’t bothered returning any of Cy’s texts. He figured Cy had gotten the message. Waylon had closed that listless, dark chapter in his life, and it felt good to let Cy, Rory and freaky Leesa fade away.
Finally, things started to click.
But no matter how much better he acted, Lou had sunk deeper into herself. On the outside she seemed fine, strong even. On their trip to Clemson she’d laughed, smiled and acted much as she had before, but he could see the cracks. The far-off looks. The way she flinched when the new ULBR coach called to chat with him.
Right now they were in the middle of a dead period.
No more calls.
No more hassle.
Just time to decide where he’d sign when he climbed onto the stage at Bonnet Creek High School next Tuesday morning. When he announced on ESPNU what school he’d chosen, signed his letter of intent and faxed it to the university.
Only problem was he didn’t know which school that would be.
He’d hope to find the answer here in this place he’d roamed as a child, in this place his father had loved, but nothing had been revealed to him.
Just more static in his life—something he’d grown accustom to hearing.
* * *
LOU HAD SPENT several sleepless nights, and it showed in the mirror. That morning Waylon would sign his letter, and finally the recruiting process would be over. That idea should have blanketed her with relief, but it didn’t. She was too tense to feel anything other than her nerves on high alert.
Mostly because Waylon still wasn’t talking.
Usually family knew. They were in on the debate, weighing the pros and cons, pacing the floor, grappling with the gut-wrenching decision. But obviously Waylon hadn’t gotten the memo.
So she and Lori had decided they would force him to tell them last night. Lori had baked cookies with colored chocolate candies in all the school color
s he had on his list. Of course, she had gone heavy on the purple. Lou had made chicken enchiladas—the only thing Waylon said she was good at cooking—in preparation for a night of talking about choices and about what the morrow would bring, and she didn’t get out her recipe for nothing.
Lou recalled last night’s exchange.
“Yeah?” Waylon had called through his closed bedroom door when she’d knocked.
“Time for dinner.”
“I grabbed a burger after I left Brian’s house. I’m good.”
“Will you open the door?”
The door opened and her brother gave her a quizzical look. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s up’? You know what’s up. I made dinner and Lori baked cookies. Don’t you want to talk about this? About tomorrow?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I made up my mind earlier today and I’m good with the decision.”
Lou felt Lori creep up behind her.
“Well?” her sister said.
“Well, what?” Waylon asked, stifling a yawn.
“Aren’t you going to tell us what you’ve decided?” Lou asked, crossing her arms.
“No.”
Lori kicked the door frame. “No? What do you mean ‘no’?”
Waylon mimicked Lou’s stance, crossing his arms over his broad chest and giving his best glower. Lou tried not to notice how messy his room was. For goodness’ sake, there was a damp towel on the carpet along with shoes, boxers and an old gym bag. “I’m waiting to tell everyone tomorrow. I want it to be a surprise for everybody.”
“But we’re your family,” Lori yelled, kicking the jamb again.
“Stop, Lori. Are you insane?”
“No,” she said, “but you are! Why won’t you tell us what you’re doing? That’s stupid. We’re your family.”
“So you said already.” Waylon leveled his hazel eyes at them and stood akimbo. “But I’m not telling you what I’ve decided.”
Lori narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you think you’re such a big deal. Like I care where you go throw a stupid ball? Whatever.”
