“Not so fast.” Grady’s voice rang out in the gym. “Give me one more. Hubie and Sam, touch every line this time or we’ll do it again.”
Groans drowned out the heavy breathing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hubie groused.
“Make that two more,” Grady said. “Anybody got anything else to say?”
Nobody did. Eleven of the twelve members of the Springhill High varsity lined up shoulder to shoulder on the baseline, some of them red-faced, all of them damp with perspiration. Grady ignored the internal voice that told him to give the kids a break.
Coaches used to refer to the drill they were about to repeat as “suicides” before the term was deemed politically incorrect. The players were required to sprint to the near foul line, the half-court line, the far foul line and the far baseline, bending to touch each line in turn before returning to their starting place.
This time every player touched every line, although a couple of the boys looked ready to collapse when they finished.
“We’ve got tomorrow off so I’ll see you Monday,” Grady said, then left the court before another team member had a chance to say something Grady would have to make him regret.
Only then did he notice Keri Cassidy, who lingered near the door that led to the athletic offices.
She’d dressed more her age today, in blue jeans and a quilted blue jacket, her hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves. She appeared to be wearing little or no makeup, a fresh-faced look he found appealing.
“Did you have to be so hard on them?” she asked when he was close enough that she didn’t have to shout.
She might not look like a mom, but she sure sounded like one.
He considered telling her that, contrary to popular opinion, he didn’t enjoy being the bad guy. That he’d embraced the roll for the good of the young men on his team.
But she wouldn’t understand, not if she’d come here to defend Bryan Charleton.
“Yeah,” he said, and walked past her to the door. He held it open, nodding across the wide hallway to his office.
“We can talk there.”
The office was the same one Fuzz Cartwright had used for the twenty-two years he’d been head basketball coach at Springhill. Grady watched Keri’s eyes travel over the interior walls—painted gold, of course—that Cartwright had decorated with photos of district championship teams and Coach of the Year plaques.
“Have a seat.” Grady indicated one of two chairs across from the worn wood desk. He sat behind the desk. His usual style was considerably less formal, but he had a strong feeling that Keri Cassidy was about to challenge his authority.
Deciding it was to his advantage to get in the first word, he asked, “Any idea why Bryan wasn’t at practice?”
“Because you suspended him.” She seemed to think the answer was obvious.
“He’s part of the team. He’s supposed to come to practice.”
“Did you tell him that?” He wouldn’t call the narrow-eyed way she regarded him a glare, exactly, but it was close. Grady seldom noted eye color but her eyes were green. “Because how’s a kid who’s never been suspended before supposed to know the rules?”
“Everybody knows the rules.”
“I don’t. Bryan obviously doesn’t.”
Grady wasn’t ready to concede that Bryan’s absence had been innocent, but this line of conversation wasn’t getting them anywhere. “What did Bryan say when you asked him about the paper?”
“He says he—”
Three short raps on the frame of the open door interrupted her reply. His cousin Tony entered the office as though he’d been invited. In chinos, a long-sleeved black polo shirt the color of his hair and a fresh shave, he looked far better than he did most Saturday mornings. He turned to Keri with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry I’m late.”
Grady addressed Keri, not hiding his surprise. “You asked Tony to be here?”
“Bryan asked,” Keri replied, eyes on Grady instead of Tony.
Tony sat down, inching his chair marginally closer to Keri’s. “I’m happy to help you anytime I can, Keri.”
Two against one, Grady thought. His cousin had already made it known how he felt about the suspension. Grady’s eyes fell on his cousin’s hand, resting on the arm of Keri’s chair. But how did Tony feel about Keri?
“K—” Grady stopped himself from using her first name, realized he didn’t know whether or not she was married and glanced at the ring finger of her left hand. Bare. “Ms. Cassidy was about to tell me what Bryan said about cheating.”
“He said he didn’t cheat.” Her reply was immediate, her tone sharp.
No surprise there.
“He said the girl who accused him has a grudge against him.” She firmed her chin. “And I believe him.”
“I think the issue is why Grady believes the girl,” Tony said, as if his was the voice of reason. When his cousin confronted him about this very issue before last night’s game, Grady got the distinct impression Tony didn’t care why Grady believed Bryan was guilty. Or even if Bryan was guilty.
“The girl told me what Web sites she used as source material,” Grady said.
“That’s it?” Keri asked, expressive eyes wide and disbelieving. “That’s all the proof you have?”
“That’s not all.” He leveled her with the stare that caused his players to flinch. She didn’t move a muscle. “I asked Bryan questions about what was in the paper, and he couldn’t answer.”
“Now, I don’t want to take sides here,” Tony said, “but isn’t it possible Bryan didn’t retain the information? The paper was about nutrition, right? I can’t even remember the five food groups.”
Grady crossed his arms over his chest. “You didn’t just write a paper about them.”
“True. But you haven’t been teaching at Springhill long. I know the personalities better than you do.”
Unswayed, Grady said nothing.
“C’mon, man,” Tony said. “I’m telling you Bryan’s all right. You and me go back far enough that you can trust my judgment.”
Keri turned her head to gaze at Tony, the first time she’d looked directly at him since he entered the office. “You knew Coach Quinlan before he started teaching at the school?”
“Remember I told you I had a cousin who played college ball?” Tony phrased the question as though he’d told Keri a lot of things. As though they had the type of relationship where they shared confidences. “Grady’s that cousin.”
“Isn’t there some rule against hiring a relative?”
“Not that I know of,” Tony said. “Even if there was, this is a special case. We needed somebody fast after Coach Cartwright had the heart attack. We’re lucky Grady was available.”
It sounded to Grady as though Tony was trying to justify his decision. The knowledge rankled, but not as much as the disapproval would once the relationship between Grady and the athletic director got out. Grady wondered if Keri Cassidy would be the one to spread the word.
“Where’d you play?” Keri asked.
Grady didn’t usually avoid direct questions, but since the scandal he preferred not to talk about Carolina State.
“I didn’t play. I sat the bench and watched.”
“Perfect