by Liz Talley
“Oh, you gonna show me, huh, Coach?” The huge fullback laughed, jabbing Porter Collins, the starting safety, in the gut. “He can’t lift that— Whoa, you’re stronger than you look, Coach.”
Abram panted under the weight. “Let’s hope I can bear it out, Jenkins.”
His words held double intent—his job was on the line and he couldn’t think with the other brain: the one in his khaki coaching shorts. He had to use the one between his ears.
* * *
LOU HAD TO USE THE HEART in her chest this go-around with Waylon. The past couple of months had felt like a tug-of-war with her brother, but now that school was out and summer came at them full-blast, she hoped they’d all get a reprieve.
She looked down at the envelope in her hand.
Be gentle, be supportive. Channel Mom.
Her brother shuffled along the border of the construction site, wheeling a barrel toward where another worker mixed mortar for the stacked stone that would surround the columns in front of the credit union. Lou hadn’t been to the site in over three weeks; she’d been working on the construction of a dollar store in Mamou. It was amazing what could be accomplished when the weather was cooperative.
Waylon had spent the last several weeks of May doing odd jobs around the various Forcet Construction sites. It was decent money for a seventeen-year-old and kept him in peak condition for football, which was good considering he’d be heading to several football camps, including one in Baton Rouge on Monday.
Her stomach jolted at the thought.
Abram Dufrene.
She’d talked to him only once since that night almost two months before. He’d been very businesslike, introducing himself as if he hadn’t seen her boobs on that pier out by Rendezvous. She played along, putting on her best guardian of the athlete voice, pretending the man didn’t haunt her thoughts at odd times. Like at night when she lay alone in her bed reading historical romances, wishing the only broad shoulders or manly parts being bandied about the drawing room were Abram’s. Or when she scooped dirt mindlessly at the job, wondering what could have been if she’d not been the sister of a recruit.
Or if Abram had had a condom that night.
Of course, she might as well get the thought of Abram as anything other than a coach who wanted her brother’s signature on a letter of intent come February out of her mind. Because that’s all he would be to her and to Waylon. She would see him again when she drove Waylon to the campus for the four-day camp. Would she still feel as jumpy about him, or would the strange attraction, the need for his lips brushing hers, the want for his hands caressing her naked skin, have faded away?
She tossed the thought out. There could be nothing between them but a common goal for Waylon. And even that was in doubt at present. Her brother still held reservations about the year he was about to face, despite her encouraging, and perhaps self-serving, pep talks.
“Hey, Way,” she called through the truck window.
Her brother turned, indicated he’d be there shortly. He parked the barrow next to the stonemason and headed her way.
“What’s up?”
She held up the envelope. “Got your ACT scores today.”
“Thanks for ruining my day.”
She smiled. “I bet they’re not as bad as you think. The work you did with Mrs. Garms will pay off.”
“Let me see.” He swiped at the envelope she held in her hand. She pulled it back just in time. He growled.
“Let’s open them tonight when we have pizza.”
“Give it to me,” he demanded, wiping the sweat from his hair with a sodden bandana. At that moment, he didn’t sound like Way. He sounded like a man.
She held it out and allowed him to take it. She’d planned to hand them over anyhow, but couldn’t resist teasing him. After all, even though she had to play mom, she was his sister. “Fine. But you have to eat with us tonight. You’re going away for four days and we need to talk about how you need to handle yourself at camp.”
He didn’t open the envelope, and instead glared at her. “Why do you treat me like I’m a moron? I know how to act.”
“I just wanted to spend time together, okay?” she said, backpedaling a little. Maybe Lori wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to let go. Lou needed to give Waylon some space to make his own decisions, but she was too scared of what that might lead to. Too scared he might quit the team and chuck his future football scholarship away. She kept having visions of him at twenty-three, still living at home, staining the furniture with the grease from the French fry vat. “I’ll try to stop bossing you around.”
He ripped open the envelope. “Yeah. Right.”
She drummed her fingers on the wheel. Waylon didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Well?”
He looked up and grinned. “Guess we can start the paperwork for the clearinghouse. I got a 28 this time on the ACT.”
“A 28!” Lou clapped her hands, before issuing a whoop! that had half the men at the site looking over at them.
Her brother’s smile was sheepish and proud, and once again she found herself thinking about her mother and father and how they should have been sharing this moment with their son.
“I’m proud of you. You worked so hard.”
“But you paid for the tutor. Can’t wait to text Mrs. Garms. She’s gonna be so pumped. This pretty much seals it. I’m going to qualify. Long as I maintain a C average next year, and I know I can do that.”
Lou grabbed his arm and squeezed. “So?”
“I want to go tell Coach Landry right now. Or as soon as I finish for the day.” He looked over his shoulder at the foreman and called, “Okay if I head out?”
Manuel held up a hand and nodded.
“I’ll be home for supper tonight, but can we have it early? Morgan and I are going to catch a movie in Opelousas then hang with some friends.”
“Sure. I’ll give you a ride over to the school.”
She’d finished early at the other site and her entire Saturday night lay in front of her, vacant as the house across the street—the one that had been for sale for over a year. Yeah, she had dust bunnies and spiderwebs on her social calendar. Her nonexistent social calendar. Even Lori had plans for the night—a sleepover at a friend’s house.
Maybe she could call Mary Belle? She hadn’t been out with any friends since the night she’d met Abram because she felt like things weren’t stable enough with Waylon. But now since he seemed to be excited about his scores and ready to take the next step, she should be, too.
She pulled up to the high school, knowing Coach Landry would be there. He seemed to always be at the school. His social calendar might actually resemble her own—and he had a wife and two young children.
“See you later,” she called to her brother as he climbed from the truck.
Waylon tossed a wave with the hand holding the test scores. “I’ll get a ride home.”
And that was that.
Lou backed out of the lot, empty save for Coach Landry’s truck and a small economy parked in the Custodian parking spot, and headed toward home. As she drove, she passed streets she’d traveled as a child. Mailboxes of people she knew. Driveways of best friends’ parents, teachers and people from church, and all she could think about was getting out of Bonnet Creek.
And Waylon had made the first step toward helping her make that dream a reality. For ten years she’d waited. Only two more to go and she could finally start living again.
Two more years.
But, in the meantime, maybe she could take some baby steps.
She dialed Mary Belle’s number.
* * *
WAYLON STOOD AT the threshold of his head coach’s office, but he didn’t knock. Coach had company and it wasn’t the kind Waylon needed to interrupt. He could hear the woman moaning through the closed door, and he figured she wasn’t Coach’s wife.
Made him feel sick.
He dropped the hand he’d raised and stepped back, shaking his head.
What the hell?
Coach had a seven-year-old son and a four-year-old daughter at home, and his wife, Amy, was the nicest lady ever. She always baked the team cookies for the first game of the season and let her kids man a lemonade stand during two-a-days. Why would Coach Landry do something so…so…stupid to his family? All for a piece of ass?
Didn’t the man know what he had?
Waylon stepped away and leaned against the polished brick of the hallway. He could go and not let Coach know he’d caught him, but part of him wanted to call the man out. Because it was not only betrayal of the man’s family, but betrayal of Waylon. Betrayal of everything Coach had preached in the locker room about hard work, character and morality. About putting the team first. About making good decisions on and off the field.
So Waylon didn’t slink out. No. He stayed and waited for Coach and whoever it was to finish their little afternoon delight. Didn’t take long. Ten minutes at most and the lock on the door clicked.
Morgan’s mom stepped out, buttoning her shirt.
“Oh!” She stepped back, banging into Coach Landry. “Waylon! What are you doing here?”
He didn’t respond. Just stood a moment watching Coach flounder and Morgan’s mom look like a mouse trapped in a corner. She twitched and pawed at her purse hanging at her shoulder.
“Boyd,” Coach Landry said, opening the door wide and trying to act like he’d not been caught cheating on his wife. “Didn’t know you were stopping by today. I’m just finishing up a meeting with Mrs. Oliver.”
“Yeah, I heard.” He rose from where he’d slumped against the wall, but didn’t stop making eye contact with his coach. I know what you were doing, you son of a bitch.
“Well, um, Coach Landry, nice meeting with you. I’ll take all you said into consideration. See you later, Waylon,” Carla Oliver said, slipping from between the two of them and clacking her way down the empty hallway toward the parking lot. Waylon hadn’t seen the woman’s car. She’d probably parked in the strip mall next to the high school.
Coach Landry straightened. Waylon could see the man knew he’d been caught, but he wasn’t going to out-and-out admit it. “What are you doing here?”
“Got my ACT scores. You’d been bugging me about them, so I had Lou drop me off. Thought you’d want to see them ASAP.” Waylon couldn’t keep the coolness from his voice. He felt like he’d caught his dad screwing some bimbo. That’s how much the man meant to him. His insides felt cold and empty, like a cavern he’d seen once when Lou had taken him and Lori to Arkansas. Now he wanted to leave. Wished he’d waited until the next day to meet with Coach Landry. Wished Morgan’s mom wasn’t such a whore.
His coach nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Let’s see them.”
Waylon didn’t move. “I should come back later. I interrupted—”
“You didn’t interrupt anything, you hear?”
He heard the warning in Coach Landry’s words. “That’s not what it looked like, Coach. I don’t feel real comfortable right now.”
“Come in here.”
It was a command. Part of Waylon wanted to obey, but another part wanted to get the hell out of there. He deferred to his upbringing and stepped in the office. No sense in avoiding the talk he and Coach would inevitably have.
The door clicked shut.
“Have a seat, Way.”
Waylon sat down in one of the chairs situated in front of the huge desk. It was a place he’d occupied many times. Sometimes they talked about the Saints and their chances of making the playoffs. Other times about leadership. Trust. Faith. Lots of words had been said between him and Coach. But this time, he could find no words or thoughts. He wanted a do-over or a take-back on the whole deal.
Coach Landry settled in his leather office chair and looked sort of sick. “Now, what you just think you saw or heard, Waylon, well, it’s not what it seems.”
“What do you think I think?”
“I think you think I’m messin’ around with Mrs. Oliver.”
“You weren’t?”
He tented his hands and paused. “I—I—hell, this isn’t easy.”
Coach Landry fell silent and shook his head before swiping a hand across his broad face. Waylon could see the thoughts flittering through his mind. Deny? Tell the truth? Bribe him? Kill him? Appeal to his mercy?
Waylon decided to help him out. “You’re having an affair with my girlfriend’s mom.”
Coach Landry’s head jerked. “No, I’m not having an affair. I’m in love with her.”
“But you’re married. With kids. With a good job.”
“I know all that, but it’s different with Carla. I can’t help myself. I feel what I feel.”
Waylon stared at the man for a good ten seconds, wanting to punch him for saying something so absolutely idiotic.
Feelings? That’s what the man called scratching an itch with the town pass-around? He thought what he had with Carla was special? Yeah, like every other man at the mill where she worked.
“Can I say something here, Coach?”
The man’s eyes flickered. “I guess you got the floor.”
“No disrespect, but Carla has a dead-end job, a bit of a drinking problem and she’s done half the guys at the mill. I get she has a different taste, but you’re gonna jeopardize your wife, your kids and your job for a woman who’s seen more action than the Sleepy Time Inn? I don’t get it.”
His coach shook his head. “This isn’t about sex. Carla makes me feel like more than a paycheck. My heart’s involved.”
What an idiot.
Waylon shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you’re more than a paycheck to Mrs. Landry, sir. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and going by what I heard in here, I’d say it’s more about getting laid than your heart.”
Coach Landry pushed against the desk. “Watch the way you talk to me, Waylon. You’re a kid, and you don’t understand these things. And besides this isn’t a discussion I should be having with you. I’m going to handle things with my wife myself and would appreciate you not carrying any tales. I don’t need this to get out until I talk to Amy.”
Waylon stared at the man he’d always respected, always came to for advice. His chest hurt with the betrayal. The man not only lied to everyone around him. He lied to himself. What an asshole.
“Yeah, sure. Fine. I don’t run my mouth.”
“Good. That’s good. Amy’s a good woman and doesn’t deserve to find out about Carla from the community. She needs to hear it from me.”
Waylon stood. “Gotta run, Coach. Lou’s ordering pizza and expects me home.”
Coach Landry nodded. “So how about those scores?”
Waylon’s happiness had fled long ago. Heaviness sat on him like a dark monster, gleefully squashing him, drowning out anything resembling joy. “I’m good. Made a 28.”
“Excellent. I’m very proud of you. You knew what had to be done and you achieved it. I’ll make sure the schools you’re interested in get the word. Have Lou follow up with the NCAA’s clearinghouse. We want them kept up to speed so we don’t get any delay in your qualification.”
“Yeah. I’ll do that,” Waylon said, reaching for the doorknob. He wanted to get the hell out of there. Suddenly everything had shifted and the man’s words felt hollow. Fifteen minutes ago, he would have reveled in the praise of his coach. But not anymore. Something had died inside him. Waylon wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d never get it back. “Later.”
“We’re good?” Coach Landry asked, standing and pulling at the neck of his Bonnet Creek Owls polo shirt.
“Yeah, we’re good.” But he lied, too. He’d never be good with Coach again.
And he didn’t feel like pizza or dealing with Morgan that night. He didn’t want to look at his girlfriend because it felt like she was part of the betrayal, like she was tainted. And would Morgan even care her mother helped to ruin a marriage?
Waylon could almost see his girlfriend’s reaction. Lift of shoulder, quirk of lips. “What do I care? She can s
crew who she wants to as long as she don’t screw you.”
All he wanted was to be left the hell alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS THE START of camp and Abram didn’t have to be standing in the lobby watching people spill out of cars and into the dormitory the prospects used for the ULBR skills camp. But he stood there anyway, telling himself his presence wasn’t about catching a glimpse of Louise, but being among the campers he’d work with that week.
But he lied.
He’d spent the past several months trying not to think about his honky-tonk Cinderella, but it hadn’t done much good. He kept thinking back to holding her in his arms out on that pier, longing to hear her laugh again, smell the flowery scent in that shiny blond hair, feel her lips beneath his.
Those inappropriate thoughts had nearly driven him crazy, and all he could hope was that he’d built her up in his mind.
She wasn’t that pretty.
She couldn’t be that sexy.
She wasn’t that special.
He had to believe those platitudes because anything else meant he’d gone wacko, off the deep end, a couple sandwiches shy of a picnic…and it meant danger to his plans for his future.
“Hey, Coach Dufrene.”
He turned to find Waylon parting the crowd of athletes and parents, heading toward him. Lou was nowhere in sight.
“Waylon Boyd. Good to see you.” He offered his hand and the kid took it. “Ready to hit the field?”
Waylon grinned, the smile not quite reaching his amber eyes. He’d cut his hair in a buzz and looked about as fit as a seventeen-year-old boy could. “I was born ready, Coach.”
“That’s what they all say, Boyd.”
“Yeah, but it’s true for me.”
A little cocky but Abram liked a player who had swagger—as long as he could back it up. “Why don’t you grab your gear and head over to the registration table? They’ll get you checked in.”
“Great,” Waylon said, craning his head. “Let me find where my sister parked and I’ll take care of business.”
Abram didn’t want to show his interest but couldn’t help himself. “Oh, did Louise bring you?”