She plopped into Berg’s chair and wheeled a bit closer to Will. “What I like to do is lay the ground rules the minute we step inside the health room. I collect their phones and keep them in a box at the front of the room. I remind them that they’re earning marks in there, just as they do in the gym, and that I expect them to be respectful or there’ll be repercussions.”
She paused to let him catch up, amused to see him scribbling down as much information as he could. His focus and discipline were refreshing. She’d been much the same during her teaching practicum, grateful to any staff member who’d share an anecdote or impart words of wisdom.
Will finished writing and opened his drink. “Pete says he brings them in there once a week so they’re not stuck for an entire week without exercising.”
She watched, enthralled, as he tipped his head back and swallowed several gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing hypnotically. Suddenly parched, she guzzled more of her own drink, then replaced the cap. She pressed the still-cool bottle to the base of her neck, the liquid that remained sloshing against her overheated skin. Her eyes slid shut, or they must have, because in her daydream, her hand was replaced with Will’s, and the bottle was replaced with an ice cube, and there was moaning. Heavy-duty moaning.
Floating back to the present, her eyelids fluttered open to find Will staring at her with a slack-jawed hunger that all but confirmed she’d moaned out loud. Jesus. She yanked the bottle away, thus ending her fantasy, and placed it on Berg’s desk. “Um . . .” What had they been talking about again? Oh, health! Nutrition, not sex ed. Mind out of the gutter, Rebecca. “Yes, I do that with most of my classes, too. The once-a-week thing, I mean.” Not the moaning. “Try to keep your material as interesting and engaging as possible. Have discussions, debates, let them do their own research, but know your stuff and be prepared for some pretty off-the-wall questions. Oh, the questions they’ll ask.”
The deep rumble of his laughter echoed in the small office. Far too small a space for the two of them right now. She had to go. Back off like she told herself she should. Would. “I’d better get home.” She stood and kept her gaze locked forward as she walked to her desk so she wouldn’t see his reaction. Gathering her things, including the damp towel, she crossed the room and took hold of her bottle again. At the door, she turned and gave him one last piece of advice—the golden ticket. “If you really want to score big with the guys, buy a case of these drinks,” she told him, shaking her bottle for emphasis. “Have a challenge at the end of every period with a chance for them to win one. Trust me, there is nothing these kids won’t do for a free drink.”
“How about you?” he murmured, a confident grin on his face. “I owe you one for all the help you’ve given me.”
“I’ve got a drink of my own already.” She smiled, her eyes lingering on his. “And I have a volunteer thing on Thursdays. Good night, Whitney.”
10
Twenty-four hours later, and he still hadn’t gotten the breathy sound of her parting words out of his mind. She’d avoided him most of Friday. Well, maybe not avoided so much as conveniently stayed busy in locations of the school where he wasn’t. He’d received a “good morning” and a quick wave as they passed in the hallway near the end of the day, and that was about it.
He couldn’t really blame her if she’d been deliberately evading him. He’d pushed the envelope, yet again. Saw an opening and pounced. Too soon. He was used to women who tried too hard, acted fake, flirted outrageously. But Rebecca wasn’t like that. She was real. Her passion and talent for teaching and athletics impressed him a hell of a lot more than any overt flattery ever would.
Despite not having any quality one-on-one Rebecca time, he’d certainly fared better on the teaching front. He’d bought a case of sports drinks, and they worked like a charm. Even Ryan had stuck around to try his hand at winning one. Yeah, he still bolted ten minutes before the bell, but progress was progress. The tenth graders were as wired as always, but they’d listened more, followed directions better, and he was starting to believe that he could actually do this.
His upbeat demeanor must have shown because that was the first thing his mother had remarked on when he walked in the door for their regularly scheduled dinner.
They all sat in the living room now, drinks in hand, light music playing in the background. Will and Joey on the sofa, Isabelle and Edward on wing-back chairs opposite them. Nothing at all out of the norm, other than the underlying tension. Will stared at the cream-colored area rug beneath the glass coffee table, getting lost in the swirling intricate pattern he’d known most of his adult life.
Which conversation topics were safe? How long before someone cracked and filled the uncomfortable silence with polite chatter?
Edward must have drawn the short straw. “I was speaking to Miles Overton recently.” The name didn’t register for Will. One of his father’s business acquaintances, most likely. “I mentioned your recent career change. His wife, Doris, is one of the newly appointed directors of the Independent Schools Association.”
Will set his drink down. Something told him he’d do better not to have something breakable in his hands. “Oh?”
“Like in any business, son, it’s about who you know. I’m sure we’d have no trouble securing you a placement at one of their accredited schools, Crestwood included, should you opt to . . . upgrade for your second placement.”
Isabelle cut in then, as she often did when his father’s choice of words left much to be desired. “It’s good to keep your options open, dear. That’s all we’re saying.”
Upgrade. Edward had uttered the word so casually, like he was requesting to be bumped from coach to first-class. So, his parents had made peace with the fact that he was teaching, but not with where. Instead of angering him, the comment reminded him of something he’d found troubling at Kendal High—the state of their equipment. Banners hung from the rafters around the gymnasium, detailing championships won. In his three days of teaching, he’d witnessed some extraordinary feats of athleticism by many of the students in his classes, made all the more impressive considering the shoddy equipment they had to work with. If anything needed an upgrade, it was the contents of their storage room.
Edward Whitney wrote a hefty donation check to Crestwood each fall, but he wondered if his father would consider making a similar donation to Kendal High School. He knew exactly what would be on the line if he made such a proposal, however.
“I’ve had quite an interesting first week,” Will began, broaching the topic from a different angle. “Not maybe the warmest welcome I imagined, but I’m finding ways to connect with the kids, bit by bit.”
“Will thought they’d throw a parade in his honor.” Joey laughed, giving Will a big brother, semi-affectionate punch in the shoulder.
“Joseph,” Isabelle warned. “It’s good that you’re making an impact, darling,” she said to Will. “We’re proud of you for taking on the challenge.”
His father sipped from his drink, then, at Isabelle’s pointed look, chimed in. “Yes, right. It’s good to test one’s limits every now and then.”
Hard work had never been frowned upon in the Whitney household. He tore his gaze from his father and took stock of what Edward’s hard work had produced. Expensive and uncomfortable furniture, oil paintings and other art pieces that matched the décor but did little to stimulate the senses, a baby grand piano that no one played—not anymore—and a marble fireplace topped with a mantelpiece that held various other meaningless trinkets. There weren’t any recent family pictures to speak of, as if those were distasteful.
Not all hard work produced the same rewards, but he didn’t suspect his father would see things that way.
“I’ve been invited to help coach the varsity basketball team,” Will continued. He’d, yet again, taken Rebecca’s advice and asked Pete if he could use an assistant. In response, Pete had thrust the team binder at him, and he’d spent his entire prep period photocopying the practice schedule, drills, player pos
itions, strategic plays, names, jersey numbers, and any other vital information for his weekend studies.
“I hope your jump shots have improved,” Joey muttered.
“You’re remembering it wrong, bro. My jump shots have always been great. It’s just that I never had to jump whenever I played against your shrimpy ass.”
Isabelle shook her head. “William, watch your language.”
The stern reprimand earned him a smug smirk from Joey. Ignoring his two-and-three-quarter-inches-shorter older brother, Will pressed on. “What I was trying to say is that they have a really strong athletics program at Kendal, but you’d never know it if you saw their equipment. It’s falling apart. I’ve had to improvise in some of my classes because there’s not enough to go around, and we’re limited to the sports we can play based on what we have in storage . . . which isn’t much.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Edward said. “Commendable that they’ve been so successful despite their circumstances.” He stood and walked to the bar cart to refill his glass of bourbon.
“Just imagine how well they’d do if they had what they needed.”
The question hung in the air for a full minute before his father took the bait. “What are you getting at, son?”
Will scooted to the edge of the sofa and clasped his hands together. His and Joey’s affinity for sports had always come naturally. Their father had long been a fan of athletics and encouraged them to be well-rounded throughout their education. He’d attended games when he could, and when he couldn’t, he made up for it in other ways. Whitney ways. New team jerseys. Hotel suites at away games. Lavish dinners.
Aly had never been into sports the way he and Joey were, which was a source of frustration for their father, and she’d never quite fit the “lady of the house” mold their mother envisioned, either. She’d once said to Will that she didn’t feel like a true Whitney, and he’d laughed and pointed to a mirror. You and I look more alike than Joey and I ever have, he’d told her.
With that memory in mind, Will prepared his pitch, hoping his dad would play ball.
“Would you consider donating to their athletics department as a benefactor?”
Edward swirled the amber liquid in his glass and came to stand behind his chair. “To what end, exactly? There’s no future for you there. I’m sure you don’t intend to stay for longer than one practicum.”
“Maybe not, but this isn’t about me.” Some of Will’s peers planned to do both their practicums at the same school. He honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead, nor did he know if it was an option at Kendal, but that didn’t matter. From the start, his goal had been to make a difference. What better way to do that than to provide something they were missing? “For most of these kids, high school is the end of the road. They’re crazy about sports, and maybe if they had the right equipment and the school could afford to enter bigger tournaments, some of them could do more, be more . . . maybe get scouted, get scholarships. I mean, anything is possible.”
“I’ll consider it,” his father said. “On one condition.”
Will hadn’t been foolish enough to think Edward would agree without negotiating. The older man circled his chair and sat, giving the false impression that they were on an even playing field. “Yes?” Will prompted him.
“You let me help you secure a placement at one of the private schools in the district.”
And there it was, just as he’d expected. Not a curveball, but a changeup pitch he had no prayer of hitting. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck as he contemplated his response. He could forget the whole thing, carry on like they’d never had this discussion, and have full autonomy over his life and the choices he made down the line, or he could give in and let Edward Whitney blaze the trail for him, yet again.
One semester. That’s all. It wasn’t a career commitment. And if it meant he could do greater good at Kendal High, then it was worth it. But he didn’t agree until he added one last must-have to his side of the deal. “I’ll accept,” Will said, “if you’ll make the donation in Aly’s name.” This time, there’d be no doubt that she was on team Whitney.
Heidi entered the room then and smiled nervously. “Dinner is served,” she announced.
Both armed with containers of leftovers, Will and Joey stepped outside into the dusk and walked the short distance to their cars.
“Gotta hand it to ya, bro, you’re an ace at making already awkward dinners even more awkward.”
If not for the precious cargo in his hands, Joey would have earned a sharp elbow to the ribs. He’d gotten what he wanted, at least. His father had agreed to the terms he’d set while they’d feasted on salmon in puff pastry, grilled asparagus, and roasted baby potatoes. They’d spoken little once the bargaining ceased, but unlike every other dinner they’d endured since losing a member of their family, both Edward and Isabelle had actually uttered their daughter’s name. And that small concession gave him hope that maybe someday they’d heal enough to share a memory, an anecdote, some part of her he missed out on seeing when he was away at school or working for the ad agency, worrying more about himself and his own needs than anyone else’s.
He stacked the containers on the roof of his car and fished out his key fob. “It’s her birthday in a couple weeks,” he muttered.
Joey drew up short beside him. “Yeah. I know.”
The second birthday without her. He was beginning to realize that time was measured in holidays and special occasions when you lost someone you loved, but they seemed to get harder the longer you were without them. Because it took a while to fully grasp that they weren’t coming back. Will opened his passenger door and placed the food on the floor.
“That was a nice touch,” Joey said. “Having Dad put the donation in her name. This school must be pretty special. Or maybe someone there is . . .”
Will shut the door and leaned against it, glimpsing his brother’s raised eyebrow in the process. “Seriously, man? This has nothing to do with Rebecca.”
“Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “Oh, you mean the hot teacher? Funny you should bring her up.”
“I mean, yeah, she’ll benefit from it, too, but that’s not why I’m doing it. I saw there was a need and . . . these kids don’t have much. If you were there, you’d get it.”
Joey’s face split into a grin. “I’m just bugging ya, man. I only hope she doesn’t get too distracted by all those shiny new balls and gives you blue balls.”
Will rolled his eyes. “You’re an ass.”
“Love you, too, bro.” Joey laughed. “I’d hug ya, but . . .” He shrugged, indicating his still-full hands. “Keep fighting the good fight, hey?”
“See ya, Joey.”
Will slipped inside the leather interior and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought how Rebecca might react to the donation, but now he wondered. Whenever he felt like they were making forward progress, he’d say or do something that seemed to have the opposite effect. She didn’t need to know, though, did she? The source of the money wasn’t important, and she’d see it for the good it would bring to the school. To the kids. Right? Well, if she didn’t ask where it came from, he wouldn’t tell.
He was startled from his thoughts by the squeal of Joey’s tires as he peeled out of the driveway. Will turned his key and sparked the engine, figuring he’d better beat it, too, before he was the one blamed for leaving the tread marks.
11
Rebecca yawned and stretched her stiff neck as she pushed away from her desk. Only one more day to go. She’d stayed after school to get caught up in her marking, and now home beckoned. The running trail down by Brewer Park beckoned. A hot, candlelit bubble bath beckoned. Maybe she’d splurge and get a massage on the weekend. Her aching muscles could sure use a good rub-down.
She’d been working out harder lately, thinking maybe she could sweat out the romantic thoughts about Will that permeated her mind. But it was no use. They were still there, lingering, chasing her f
rom work to home and back again.
So she avoided him. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Except the school was only so big, and they shared an office, and the more she tried to avoid him, he seemed equally determined to . . . unavoid her. She’d drawn a clear line for him to respect, but she seemed to be the one struggling the most to trust that line. To trust herself.
Hannah had called her earlier in the week to invite her to a girls’ night at Gwen’s house on Friday. Gwen Davies was the proprietor of the Cup-A-Cabana, the local hub for all things caffeine. They were more acquaintances than friends, but Hannah and Gwen were close. She’d mentioned Addie would be there, too, and how Rebecca needed to socialize more and all the fun they’d have. If she knew her bestie, she was likely using this opportunity as the perfect excuse to pry more information out of her about Will. Despite the expected interrogation, she’d been sold on the idea. Right up until Hannah oh so casually inserted the fact that Amy Campbell was coming as well. Her ex’s sister.
She adored Amy—always had—but their relationship naturally dissolved when Derek split, and she had no idea how she’d be received. Hannah assured her that everything would be hunky-dory. And if not, there’d be lots of booze to help smooth things over.
Exhaling, she stood and packed up her stuff. There was something terribly satisfying about leaving her work at work. Something she couldn’t claim to do very often, but such was the life of a teacher. She volunteered on Thursday evenings for an at-risk youth program run by the local hospital, but that wouldn’t start for another few hours. With her bag slung over her shoulder, she left the office and started toward the parking lot. Noise coming from the gym made her stop mid-stride.
Basketball practice had ended twenty minutes ago, so why did she still hear a ball thumping against the hardwood? Needing to inspect for safety reasons, she pivoted on her heel and jogged toward the gym. As she neared the entrance, she heard voices. Two, if she wasn’t mistaken. She peered through the open doorway and froze in place.
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