скачать книгу бесплатно
Grady nodded, although he’d never met Tony’s fiancé. He’d been too busy trying to build a successful team at Carolina State.
“It’s hard living in the same town as her,” Mary Lynn said on a heavy sigh.
The same town…
“What’s her name?” he asked.
Mary Lynn took a shuddering breath before she replied, but Grady already knew what her answer would be. It was why the name had seemed familiar to him.
“Keri Cassidy,” she said.
K ERI STOOD ABOUT TEN FEET from the baseline Tuesday night, close enough to the Springhill High cheerleading squad that she had to guard against getting whacked in the face by a black-and-gold pom-pom.
At a few minutes past game time, every seat in the gym seemed to be taken. Keri’s only hope was if the group of parents she usually sat with saved her a seat.
“Watch out!” The tiny, dark-haired cheerleader at the end of the line shouted a warning.
Keri turned toward the court to see a player in black-and-gold valiantly trying to save the basketball from going out of bounds. He caught his balance before she could move out of the way, nimbly stepping between Keri and the cheerleader.
That’s when Keri realized who he was: Bryan.
He winked at her before running back on court, leaving her staring openmouthed after him. Against all odds, Coach Quinlan was letting him play.
The cheerleaders continued with their go-fight-win cheer, nearly deafening Keri. She looked toward the bleachers again and spotted an upraised hand waving wildly. It belonged to Lori Patterson, the mother of the senior point guard.
She headed up the aisle that cut through the bleachers, with fans craning their necks to see around her. Lori sat on the end beside the center aisle. She scooted over, creating nearly enough space for one person. Keri sat down, a portion of her right hip hanging over only slightly into the aisle.
“Hey, there.” Lori squeezed Keri’s knee. Short and compact with a fabulous complexion, she was about fifteen years older than Keri. But then, so were all the other parents, a fact that had once made Keri uncomfortable. Now she was used to it. “Where’s Rosie?”
“I couldn’t get her to come,” Keri said.
Lori nodded, her heart-shaped face full of understanding. Lori was divorced so usually came to the games alone, a reason Keri had gravitated toward her. They only socialized at basketball games but had become friends, sharing stories about their problems and triumphs with their children.
“She’s missing a show. Bryan already has six points,” Lori said, her face bright with excitement. Keri did a quick check of the scoreboard, noting that Springhill was up 10-8.
“Great steal, Garrett,” Lori yelled at the top of her lungs, calling out her son’s name. On court the wiry point guard had a two-on-one break, with Bryan running the lane adjacent to him. The defender committed to Garrett, who bounced a pass to Bryan. Bryan caught the ball in stride, took a long step and elevated over the rim. Holding the ball in one large hand, he thrust it through the rim.
The crowd went wild.
From the home team’s bench, Grady Quinlan, in a black dress shirt and gold tie, yelled something at Bryan. By the coach’s expansive gestures, it wasn’t something positive. The guy probably thought dunking was equivalent to showboating.
Unbelievable.
Maybe more mind-boggling was Keri’s expectation that reversing his decision to play Bryan would turn Grady into a kinder and gentler coach.
Yeah, right.
“It’s gonna be a close game,” Lori said breathlessly. “Westlake’s supposed to win their district, too.”
Lori’s comment proved prophetic—Springhill was leading by only two points at the half.
“Good thing for Springhill Bryan’s playing tonight,” Lori said, a huge smile wreathing her face.
“He should have played Friday night, too.” The speaker was Hubie Brown’s mother, Carolyn, who sat on the other side of Lori. A large woman who always dressed in bright colors, she never kept her opinions to herself. “I bet Coach Quinlan feels stupid for losing that game after what happened in school today.”
Lori’s head bobbed in agreement, as though whatever happened was common knowledge.
“What happened?” Keri asked.
Carolyn smoothed the sleeve of her orange sweater and widened her eyes. “Didn’t Bryan tell you?”
“I haven’t talked to Bryan since this morning,” Keri admitted. Her son left for the gym before she arrived home on game days because he liked to watch the junior varsity, which played before the varsity.
“Wait till you hear this.” Carolyn leaned closer, nearly knocking Lori over. “Becky Harding admitted she lied. Just came straight out and told Quinlan she made it all up.”
That explained Grady Quinlan’s uncharacteristic change of heart. He’d been forced to soften his stance.
“That’s great,” Keri said, but something didn’t add up.
“But why would Becky admit to that?”
“Guess guilt was eating her up,” Carolyn suggested.
“Maybe embarrassment, too. Everybody found out she had a thing for Bryan.”
“That’s something else that doesn’t make sense,” Keri said. “I heard she’s dating one of the football players.”
Carolyn slanted Keri a significant look and patted her on the hand. “You’re so young sometimes, Keri. If you can’t have the one you love, you love the one you’re with.”
Maybe, Keri thought. But if Becky was so resentful of Bryan, why had she been hanging out with him a few days after the Snowball Dance? Keri had asked Bryan that very question last night, and he’d shrugged it off. A chance meeting, he’d called it.
“Oh, look!” Lori pointed to a group of lithe young girls in black unitards who were running lightly onto the court, their toes pointed like ballerinas. “The dance team. I just love watching them.”
Loud music with a rap beat sounded over the public address system. Before Lori could get too entranced with the dancers, Keri leaned over and asked close to her friend’s ear, “Do you know which of the cheerleaders is Becky?”
Her attention focused on the smiling, dancing girls, Lori answered, “Sure do. The shortest one. Long, dark hair. Bangs. Sets up on the end.”
The very cheerleader who’d given Keri a heads-up when Bryan had come flying out of bounds. Keri scanned the gym for black-and-gold uniforms, locating the majority of the cheerleaders near the doors leading to the snack bar.
“Save my seat,” Keri told Lori, then descended the bleachers and walked directly to where Becky chatted with one of her squad members.
“Becky.”
The girl turned around, a puzzled expression on her pretty face as she tilted her chin to gaze up at Keri. Keri was of average height, but Becky wasn’t much more than five feet tall. Keri smelled the peppermint scent of the gum Becky was chewing.
“Yes?” Becky asked expectantly, a half smile on her face.
“I’m Keri Cassidy.” Most people in Springhill knew Keri had adopted Bryan and Rose after Maddy’s fatal accident, but Becky didn’t seem to be one of them. “Bryan Charleton’s mom.”
Becky’s smile vanished, her jaws stopped working on the gum and her posture turned rigid.
“If you’re here to ask me about that nutrition paper, I already took care of it,” she said in clipped tones.
“I heard you told Coach Quinlan you lied about writing it.”
Becky’s wary expression didn’t change but she said nothing.
“Why did you say you wrote the paper in the first place?” Keri persisted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Becky said, chomping down on her gum. “Bryan’s playing tonight. Isn’t that what everybody wanted?”
“Of course it mat—” Keri said, but Becky had already turned away, obviously having said all she was going to say.
Taken aback by the girl’s rudeness, Keri clenched her jaw. She thought about tapping the girl on the shoulder again, but creating a scene wouldn’t get her answers. She started back to her seat, nearly bumping into a woman with long, curly blond hair who was holding a foil-wrapped hot dog and a bottle of water. Mary Lynn Marco, Tony’s wife.
Their eyes met. Before Keri could say hello or even smile, Mary Lynn walked quickly past her, as though being chased by a hellhound. So much for letting the other woman in on the long-overdue fact that Keri wished her only the best of luck with Tony.
The half started almost as soon as Keri reached her bleacher seat, giving her little time to dwell on either Becky’s comments or Mary Lynn’s coolness. The two teams played at a breathtaking pace, exchanging baskets and the lead.
Keri had seen Bryan play basketball many times, but still marveled over how a boy who was so laid-back off the court could be so intense on it.
When Bryan got the ball at the three-point line with thirty seconds left and Springhill trailing by four, Keri knew the shot would be good even before the ball left his fingertips. The three-pointer brought Springhill within one, sending the crowd into hysterics.
“I can hardly stand how exciting this is,” Lori said, literally on the edge of her seat.
Westlake successfully inbounded the ball to its point guard, who dribbled up the court. From two seats away, Carolyn yelled, “Steal the ball.”
When the opposing point guard attempted to get the ball to a teammate, Bryan did exactly that, swooping into a passing lane out of seemingly nowhere to grab the ball out of the air. He raced down court, with two Westlake players hounding his every stride. The crowd roared as the clock ticked down to ten seconds.
Instead of forcing a shot when he was well defended, Bryan alertly passed to a teammate open under the basket. Joey Jividen. One of the younger boys on the varsity, Joey had entered the game when another player fouled out.
With nobody guarding him, Joey had an easy two points. The ball left his hand with plenty of time to spare. It banked off the glass, rattled around the hoop and rimmed out.
One of the opposing players grabbed the rebound but lost his footing and stepped on the end line. The referee blew the whistle, signaling possession would go to Springhill. The clock showed five seconds left to play.
“Time-out,” Grady yelled, forming his hands into a T.
The Springhill side of the crowd was silent, seemingly in shock. “How could you miss that gimme, Jividen?” A guy with a booming voice yelled from somewhere behind Keri.
“I’ll tell you how,” Carolyn Brown muttered. “Joey’s not very good. He shouldn’t even be on the court.”
“I think Joey does fine,” Keri said.
Carolyn harrumphed.
The Springhill players walked back to the huddle, with Joey at the rear, hanging his head.
Keri expected the hard-nosed Grady to go ballistic. He ignored Bryan and the other three players who’d been on the floor, walking past them to meet Joey.
Leaning his head close to the boy, he put his arm around him and said something meant for Joey’s ears alone. Keri got a glimpse of Grady’s face when he let Joey go and saw not anger, but determination.
He directed the five players who’d play the last five seconds to sit down so they could go over the strategy for the last play. Joey Jividen was one of the five.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the man behind her groused loudly, while on the sidelines Grady pointed to his clipboard. Murmurs went up from the rest of the crowd.
“He needs to bench Joey,” Carolyn said. “That boy’s gonna lose us the game.”
That boy, Keri thought, had just gotten a much-needed boost of confidence from his coach.
“I think Coach Quinlan’s doing the right thing,” Keri said.
“Bryan will take the last shot,” Lori predicted. “The best player always does.”
Everybody in the gym, including the opposing team, seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. Two Westlake defenders shadowed Bryan, clearly having been directed not to let him catch the pass.
Joey Jividen was the inbounder. He threw the ball not to Bryan, but to Lori’s son Garrett. Because the defender who should have been assigned to Joey was double-teaming Bryan, Joey had an unimpeded lane to the basket.
Garrett passed Joey the basketball at the same spot where Joey had just missed the shot. Joey caught it, arching the ball toward the basket and victory before time expired.
This time there was no doubt. The ball banked off the backboard and dropped straight through the hoop.
The crowd went wild, the Springhill players mobbing the boy who had gone from goat to hero in a matter of seconds. Keri joined in the cheers. Grady walked onto the court to where his joyous players congregated, but not to partake in the celebration. In an eye blink, he had the Springhill team lined up single file to shake the opponents’ hands.
It was only when the winning Springhill players were leaving the floor that Keri saw Grady pat young Joey Jividen on the back.
CHAPTER FOUR
W ITH A SIGH OF RESIGNATION , Grady snagged a couple of pepperoni pizzas from the freezer section of the Food Mart and added them to a grocery cart that already contained the half-dozen frozen dinners that looked most edible.
He didn’t have the healthiest diet around, but considering his grab-and-go style it was a step up from eating at a fast-food restaurant.
Grady had come to the grocery store straight from Wednesday’s basketball practice, which had begun directly after school. Later, at home, he’d heat one of the dinners while watching game film of Springhill’s next opponent.
He was busier on game days, and he preferred it that way. The whole coaching life suited him. It always had, which was why it had hurt so much to leave Carolina State. Leave? That was a mild word for it. He’d practically been chased out of town.
Shoving the thought from his mind, he steered his cart around the heavy freezers that showcased bags of mixed vegetables and packaged breakfast foods, then turned the corner. The same tall, thin girl he’d seen a few nights ago with Keri Cassidy stood in front of the ice cream, her slender index finger tapping her chin.
“Get the double chocolate fudge,” Grady said.
She took a step backward, a guarded expression on a young face that reminded him of Bryan’s. Same general shape, same big dark eyes, same olive complexion. Her hair was brown, too, but a few shades lighter than her brother’s.
“You’re Bryan Charleton’s sister, right?”
She nodded. Her shoulders were slightly stooped, her posture a far cry from the way her self-assured brother carried himself. Bryan always looked him straight in the eye; his sister didn’t lift her chin.
“I’m Coach Quinlan, Bryan’s basketball coach,” he said.
A hint of recognition crossed her face, followed by more silence.
