“Mr. Larkin, you must understand the school’s position. We have been through this particular . . . situation before with disastrous results.” Principal Hammond’s voice, high and reedy, cut too loudly into the room at first, but as if hearing himself, the end of his sentence fell off, soft and strained.
Ben Larkin never took his gaze off Dalt. “Of course I understand, which is why I’m sure you’ll take the appropriate action when Scott informs you exactly who provided the drugs.”
Logan tensed. Hal Perkins. It had to be.
Distress and something akin to pain flickered over Scott’s face. No one but Logan seemed to notice.
Dalt’s voice rumbled, comforting yet commanding. “You need to tell us, Scott. Who provided the PEDs?”
Scott’s gaze whipped from staring at his father to darting around the room, landing on nothing and no one.
“Go on, son, tell them what you told me.” Hands on knees, Ben Larkin’s aggression seemed barely contained.
Scott cleared his throat. “Coach Wilde.”
Logan straightened against the whiteboard. “Who was it, Scott? You can trust us.”
Scott tucked his hands under his legs and stared at the cheap linoleum. “Coach Wilde gave me the drugs. He took me aside before strength training a couple of times a week and gave me two shots in my hip. I don’t even know what was in the syringes. He told me to trust him, and I did.”
Everyone, even Dalt, turned to Logan. Aftershocks reverberated through his body like Scott had detonated a roadside bomb. Logan focused on the top of Scott’s head, his brown hair flopping forward, messy and teenager-like. His stomach dropped to infinity, and his limbs disconnected from his body, his vision narrowing.
Dalt spoke from the opposite end of a tunnel. “I don’t know who you are protecting, Scott, but I need the truth.”
“That is the truth. Coach Wilde supplied the PEDs. You can ask Hunter. He saw Coach Wilde shooting me up.”
Dalt muttered a curse and rose. He threw the door open and let it bounce against the wall. “Dixon. Tell Hunter to get his butt in here. Now.”
Logan took deep breaths. His organs settled like a jumbled puzzle, his stomach at his feet, his heart in his throat. He leaned over the desk, his palms flat. “Scott.” The boy kept his gaze on the floor. “Scott, look at me.”
Barely lifting his head, Scott’s gaze floated up, met Logan’s for a heartbeat but darted to focus on the whiteboard behind him. “Do you understand the consequences this lie will have?”
Scott didn’t respond.
Hunter Galloway stepped into the room as if summoned to a firing squad. The backup quarterback possessed an innate feel of the game that couldn’t be taught. Once he grew into his still-gangly body, Hunter would be an unstoppable force on the field if he could overcome his less than ideal family life. Even more than being falsely accused, Logan hated seeing Scott pull the kid into his lie.
Sweat had turned Hunter’s skin a glowing ebony. He wiped his face against his T-shirt, but more sweat popped on his forehead. His teeth went to work on his bottom lip while he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand still on the knob as if ready to run.
Scott’s father turned to speak, but Dalt cut him off. “Hunter. We brought you in here to simply tell us the truth. Lying will not be tolerated. Is that understood?”
After watching Hunter enter, Scott resumed his blank stare at the whiteboard. Hunter’s gaze darted between Rick, his gun, and the floor. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Scott informs us you witnessed a team rules violation. Is this true?”
“I saw Coach Wilde injecting Scott with something before lifting.” The words rolled too rapidly off Hunter’s tongue as if he’d already rehearsed them. And he probably had.
Logan shuffled a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. He had been royally fucked.
Rick rested a hand on his firearm and shifted in his seat, the leather of his thick belt and holster creaking. The whites of Hunter’s eyes bulged. For once, Logan appreciated Rick’s dickish intimidation move.
“You understand that Mr. Wilde could be fired or charged with a crime in light of your admission?” Rick asked.
Hunter’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his long, thin neck. His gaze shot back to Scott, but the other boy had left Hunter to navigate the situation alone, silent and with his back turned. Finally, Hunter repeated verbatim, “I saw Coach Wilde injecting Scott with something before lifting.”
Principal Hammond tried to rise, but Dalt raised a hand. “Hold up, Mr. Hammond. Hunter, you’re free to leave, but expect Officer Jackson to visit you soon.” His relief palpable, Hunter fumbled with the door before slipping through. Dalt continued. “Rick, you’ll need to investigate, correct?”
“That’s right. Statements and such. Based on Logan’s shock, I assume it will be his word against theirs.” Rick pulled out a small notebook and a stubby pencil.
“In light of the accusations, I’m putting you on unpaid leave, Logan. Do not talk to the boys and stay away from practice and the games. Is that understood?” Dalt didn’t even turn around to deliver the blow face-to-face.
Logan understood, but it stunk like betrayal, nonetheless. “I’ll tender my resignation immediately, if you’d prefer.”
Principal Hammond scooted forward. “That would be—”
“Unnecessary,” Dalt clipped out.
Ben Larkin stood, and Scott followed his cue like a dog. Ben said, “I would prefer his resignation, but I suppose unpaid leave will do while charges are pending. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I must get back to the bank.”
Dalt rose too, giving the impression of two wild pigs squaring off. “Hold up, Ben. I’m not done. Scott, you’re off the team. Pack up your locker.”
Ben Larkin’s face flushed. “My son is a victim. This is outrageous.”
“Regardless of who gave it to him, your son knew he was getting shot up with a PED. He broke the promise he made to me, to this team, and to himself.”
Scott swayed and grabbed the edge of the desk. “But . . . what about college ball? What about Alabama?” His head came up, his gaze finally meeting Logan’s. The teenager hadn’t learned the art of screening his emotions. Regrets piled up behind his eyes, but also confusion.
Ben bulldozed over his son, his finger in Dalt’s face. “You idiot. Scott is the best linesman you have on the team on both sides of the ball. Your running backs will be getting negative yardage. You won’t make it within spittin’ distance of the playoffs without him.”
Dalt rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Maybe not. But off the PEDs, I doubt Scott’s stellar performance on the field would continue anyway. You understand why you’re off the team, don’t you, Scott?”
The boy looked shell-shocked. “I do.”
Ben Larkin moved onto easier prey and cornered Principal Hammond to argue Scott’s case. The principal’s handkerchief came back out for a wipe, but his answer zinged around the room. “No. I’m sorry, Mr. Larkin, but I’m in complete agreement with Coach Dalton. You are welcome to present your concerns at the next school board meeting, but until then, I’m afraid Scott will not represent the Falcons on the field.”
“He’ll miss three games before the next meeting, goddammit. Come on, Scott. We’re going straight to the superintendent.” Ben Larkin flung the door open and stalked out. The door bounced off the cement wall, reclosing itself with a bang.
Scott walked slowly to the door. Dalt’s voice stopped him. “Scott, even though you’re off the team, you can come by if you need to talk. I hope you know that.”
Without turning around, Scott nodded and opened the door without the violent energy of his father. Principal Hammond followed him into the hall, closing the door gently.
Dalt pushed back in his chair, propped his feet on his desk, and laced his hands behind his head. “What a totally unexpected clusterfuck.”
Logan sat in the still warm seat Scott had occupied. “I didn’t give him PEDs. I swear on Ada’s grave.”
&nb
sp; Dalt tilted his head, so their eyes met, the blue intense and cutting. “You don’t think I know that? I have the feeling Rick knows that too.”
Rick stood and paced the back of the room. “Yep. Both those boys were lying their faces off. Couldn’t tell about old Ben. His outrage seemed genuine, but he could very well be shooting his son up.”
Logan swiveled and laid an arm over the back of the chair. “A father giving his son drugs?”
Rick crossed his arms and cocked a foot out. “Dude, you wouldn’t believe the shit I see on a daily basis. Falcon might be small, but its rug can hide more dirt than you can imagine. That Hunter kid”—Rick thumbed to the door—“I’ve been to his house on multiple occasions.”
“For what? Domestic?” Logan asked.
Rick pursed his lips before saying, “You name it. He’s not a bad kid, but that kind of environment is hard crawl out of.”
A mallet landed on Logan’s temple with every heartbeat. “What happens now? Do you arrest me even though you think I’m innocent?”
Rick adjusted his gun belt. Over the past year, he’d gotten back in shape and looked years younger. “I’ll gather statements, lean on Scott and Hunter, and hope one of them cracks. Then, we’ll reevaluate. I’ll be in touch.”
Rick slipped out, and Logan turned to Dalt. They regarded each other in silence much like they’d done before raids in Afghanistan.
“I had to suspend you,” Dalt said.
“I know.”
“I’ve got your back. We’ll get to the truth.”
“Yep.”
“I can’t come out to the restaurant to help you replace those burners, not until things are resolved.”
Logan closed his eyes and nodded.
“I’m sorry.” True remorse weighed the trite words.
Hands on knees, Logan pushed out of the chair. His past disappointments scrolled, and he was glad Ada wasn’t alive. Even if he cleared his name, a smudge of suspicion would remain. It always did. “I’d best prepare myself to be the town pariah. Again.”
He walked out of the practice pavilion, not bothering to clean out his desk. An early September chill matched his mood. A nap wouldn’t alleviate the exhaustion settling bone deep.
Instead of heading to the restaurant, he stopped at Ada’s grave. He crunched through a scattering of leaves. Almost three years she’d been gone. Hard to believe the earth hadn’t spun off its axis when her life force left it. He wasn’t a regular churchgoer. His temple was nature—ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
He squatted in front of the black and gray marbled tombstone. Adaline Elizabeth Wilde. He ran his fingers over the lettering, lingering on their shared last name.
“Well, Ada, the shit has hit the proverbial fan, and I’m covered in it. Any advice?”
Sometimes around the house he sensed Ada wrapped around him like a warm hug, the only kind she gave. When he was teenager, she would squeeze him around the waist, and somehow, even though he was already several inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, a sense of security would wash through him. Whether through her ghost or his memories, he found a small measure of comfort in the deserted graveyard.
He straightened and patted the cold, jagged top of the tombstone. He drove to Adaline’s with his head still throbbing, but the urge to curl up in a ball in a dark room had been dampened. The routine of Adaline’s distracted him from focusing on Scott’s accusations, although he noticed the number of empty tables. He wasn’t naïve. Ben Larkin held sway over the town. Sides had been chosen.
Thank God he hadn’t taken Jessica to bed. That kind of intimacy would have made things infinitely worse. Since meeting him she’d quit her job and become estranged from her family. Asking her to deal with his mess when she was trying get her own life straightened out wasn’t fair.
In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t washed her hands of Falcon and was halfway to Richmond. He didn’t expect her to stick around, but damn it hurt to think about her leaving. Hurt bad.
As he wiped the same section of the bar for the third time, Darcy barreled through the door, her agitation and worry swirling like the winds before a tornado. She took a stool in front of him. He waited for the storm to erupt.
“It’s bullshit.”
The two closest tables of patrons sent not-so-discreet glances their way. “Keep your voice down and a smile on your face, cuz. You shouldn’t be here. Dalt needs to keep pristine, and his wife fraternizing with a suspected drug pusher—”
The laugh Darcy managed was one a villain might give right before throwing the hero into a pool of sharks. “I might be married to the Falcon football coach, but I have yet to be brainwashed by him. You are the only family I have left, and I’ll be damned to hell if I leave you to face this alone.”
“Seriously, you should go.” He tried to cover the emotional wellspring threatening to overtake him with a nonchalant smile.
Darcy wasn’t fooled and grabbed his hand when he tried to turn away. “How many times did you defend me on the playground?”
He rubbed over his mouth and jaw with his other hand. His voice sounded like it was coming out of a meat grinder. “This isn’t elementary school. I could be arrested. Dalt could be fired if this taints him or the program. After what happened seven years ago, the town will offer vengeance, not forgiveness.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes, but the stubborn jut of her chin and her tone, quiet yet hard, was an exact mimicry of Ada’s librarian-shushing voice. “I will not abandon you.”
Answering tears stung his eyes, and for a desperate moment he thought he might burst into tears like his three-year-old self. Instead, he pushed his cheek into his shoulder for a moment, locating a dim shadow of his easygoing façade. “Poor Dalt.”
“You should feel sorry for him. I tore him a new one as soon as I heard. Suspension?”
He fixed them both glasses of iced tea. “He could have asked for my resignation.”
“He told me Hunter Galloway corroborated Scott’s story. I don’t understand it.”
“Even Rick thinks they’re lying. I can’t figure if this is all Scott or if someone else is telling Scott what to do and say. His father? A college recruiter?”
“Don’t worry. I’m putting my agents on the job immediately.”
“Agents?”
“Three ancient, wise librarians who go by the codenames Orange Halo, Candy Cane, and QB.”
Laughter burst out, helping burn away a portion of his stress. “I get Orange Halo for Miss Esmerelda, and Candy Cane for Miss Constance, but why QB for Miss Jane?”
“She’s the mastermind. She pretends to be all innocent and squishy like a movie grandmother, which is exactly why everyone trusts her with their secrets. She’ll uncover something.” She drained her glass. “I need something stronger. How about a Long Island tea?”
“I promised Dalt I would never, ever serve you Long Island teas again. You have the tolerance of an ant. Seriously, cuz, go make things right with your husband. I feel a million percent better knowing the librarians of Falcon are set to uncover a drug ring and clear my name.”
Darcy jabbed her finger in his face. “I hear your sarcasm and don’t appreciate it. I hate leaving you here at the mercy of the wolves.” She cast an angry look over her shoulder.
“It’s sparse tonight,” he said.
“I noticed.”
Darcy had always held a more jaded view of Falcon than Logan had, but then again his youthful rebellions had been his doing, and the talk and disdain had been a punishment he accepted. Darcy, on the other hand, had suffered slights from the town through the fault of her mother, not hers. Unlike his cousin, he’d never fought to break the ties that bound him to Falcon. Anytime he’d crossed the city limits, his heart ached for home like a tree cut off from its nourishing roots.
“I’ll be all right.” He hoped the words sounded more convincing than they felt.
The front door opened, and Jessica paused in the entry, waving off the hostess. She was dressed
for business and in his favorite red heels. Obviously, she’d heard. People in town who’d known him since he was three believed the rumors or at least found them worth repeating. She’d known him less than two weeks. He tensed, waiting for her judgment to fall.
Jessica strode over and slammed a file folder on the bar top. “Unbelievable. I was a witness as to what happened in the alley, Logan. I’ll testify.”
She emanated a different sort of strength than his cousin, less visceral but no less potent. No wonder she’d been a success in Richmond. Not a single vulnerability was visible. Had he imagined her shy blushes and the shadows of pain in her eyes?
He let out a gusty breath he hadn’t realized he’d pent up. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that, but you can tell Rick your side. That might help.”
“Anything, Logan. I’ll do anything to help.” Her voice was clipped and confident. Jessica Montgomery was someone you wanted in your corner for a fight, and she’d aligned herself with him, no questions asked. For the first time since the disastrous meeting with Scott, he found a true smile, a bit anemic, but true nonetheless.
“Yep, I believe you will be all right, cuz,” Darcy interjected softly. Her phone beeped an incoming text, and her smile morphed into a grimace. “Yikes. Robbie’s text sounds pissy. I’d best scat. Come by the library before you open for lunch sometime this week, Logan. We’ll reconnoiter.” Darcy tossed her hair and headed for the door.
The knock of a glass on wood came from the opposite end of the bar. One of his regulars needed a refill.
Jessica shimmied onto a bar stool and opened the file folder. She waved him away. “You take care of business. I’ll wait for you.”
He grabbed up a pitcher of tea and turned away before she could see the impact of her words. The atmosphere was more somber than usual, full of hushed conversations and furtive glances, but the strain of being under a magnifying glass eased, knowing she believed in him.
15
The numbers on the printed spreadsheet jumbled. All Jessica could focus on were the gazes directed at her, or more accurately, through her to Logan. The hair on her neck prickled, and heat rushed her body. Not panic, but fury. How did he bear it? If it wouldn’t make things worse, she would turn around and give everyone her best barracuda stare.
Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama Page 16