Stranger in Town. Brenda Novak

has nothing to do with what I want,” he said shortly. “It’s what’s going to happen.”

      If Kenny had his guess, it was exactly what Blaine wanted.

      “You seem pretty sure of it,” Russ said.

      “Maybe I wouldn’t be so sure if Gabe would listen to me. But I called him just this morning to tell him how things are normally run.”

      “And?” Russ prompted.

      “He said not to worry about the past. He’ll be making some changes.” Blaine grimaced at the sugar, ketchup and water mess Brent had created on the table. Grabbing the sugar container, he sweetened his coffee, then set it well outside Brent’s reach. “Coaching isn’t as easy as Gabe seems to think.”

      “We’ve only had one practice,” Kenny said, wondering how Blaine could already be so convinced of their failure. Sure, they didn’t have the strongest team. Several of their best players had graduated last spring. But Kenny was still hopeful they could pull off a winning season.

      “It’s Holbrook’s attitude,” Blaine explained. “He isn’t willing to learn from those who’ve been doing this far longer than he has.”

      “So what do we do?” Russ asked.

      “We wait, I guess. When the Spartans begin to lose, the school board will eventually step in and beg me to take over.” His long nose disappeared in his cup while he drank.

      “I was going to ask you to look out for Kenny,” Russ said. “You know how Gabe must feel toward Hannah. I don’t want to let him take his resentment out on my boy.”

      Blaine’s eyes flicked over Kenny’s face. He obviously wanted to say something, but he hesitated.

      Kenny leaned closer. “What is it?”

      “For God’s sake, if you think that might happen, use your heads.”

      “How?” Russ asked.

      “I’ll say it one more time. The more games we lose, the quicker Gabe will find himself back at his cabin, where he belongs.”

      “Where he belongs?” Kenny echoed.

      “He sure as hell doesn’t belong on the sidelines with me. And neither does that damn dog of his.”

      “But will you take care of those who stick by you?” Russ asked.

      Blaine wouldn’t look at him, but his words were decisive enough. “Of course.”

      Kenny wasn’t sure he understood this exchange—wasn’t sure he wanted to understand it. He frowned as Blaine said, “Stay in touch,” and left without bothering to pay for his coffee.

      Russ said nothing, and suddenly the clack of dishes, the tingle of silverware, the voice of the waitresses calling to the cooks and the hum of conversation at the crowded booths surrounding them seemed unnaturally loud to Kenny. At last, with a sigh, his father stood. “Well, you heard him.”

      “I heard him say we were going to lose,” Kenny said glumly.

      Russ lowered his voice. “I heard him say you’d better make sure of it.”

      Kenny backed up as though he’d just encountered poison. “You can’t really expect me to do that?”

      His father glanced furtively around, then shuttled him outside. Brent was still lingering in the booth, tearing up strips of napkin—but at this point, Kenny didn’t much care about the lack of parental intervention.

      “It’s better to lose a few games in the beginning than to give up the entire season, and maybe next year as well,” Russ said, when the door closed behind them.

      Kenny squinted against the sudden brightness of the sun. “But I can’t do less than my best!”

      “I’m sure you won’t be alone. Blaine has two nephews and a second cousin on the team.”

      Kenny knew that. The twins had necks almost as thick as Kenny’s waist and were part of the offensive line. Their cousin, with a much lighter build, was the kicker. “You’re saying Blaine and some of the guys are going to sabotage our games?”

      “What do you think Blaine was talking about?”

      “I don’t know, but I can’t do that,” Kenny said, shaking his head emphatically. “I’d let everyone down. I’d—”

      “Do you want to play in the NFL someday?” his father snapped.

      Kenny was so shocked at what his father had suggested, that he paid no mind to Tiffany Wheeler, who honked as she drove by. “You know I do.”

      “Then you have to think past three or four games. Gabe won’t want to see you succeed. He’s never liked me, and you know what your mother did. Blaine’s our only hope. He’ll probably be taking over soon—next year if not this year. You scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours.”

      The bell jingled over the door as Brent finally joined them, his shirt smeared with ketchup.

      “But we haven’t given Coach Holbrook a chance,” Kenny replied.

      Russ’s movements were jerky as he opened the door of the Jeep for Brent. “Coach Hill didn’t give me much of a chance when he handed my position to Gabe.”