In Confidence Read online

  “Same here. Couldn’t be better.” Rose Hill’s coach and athletic director looked exactly what he was—an athlete just past his prime. His broad shoulders were a little too thick and he wasn’t as buff as he’d once been. But he was a good-looking man with strong features, very light blue eyes and a full head of sandy-blond hair.

  “Morning, Monk.” Rachel was not in the mood for Monk’s chitchat. Just the opposite. He’d ignored the last note she sent him about Ferdy Jordan, one of his athletes who was one point away from academic probation. As a coach, he needed to take a stronger hand in encouraging his athletes academically instead of helping them get around the standards established by the school. It was an ongoing battle between them that she was determined to win for the sake of the athletes.

  He leaned against the counter with his coffee and spoke to Rachel. “Hey, I heard about Ted and it stinks to high heaven. What’s wrong with that guy? He’s got steak at home and he wants hamburger instead?” He shook his head. “I hope you don’t let it get you down.”

  “I think I’ll survive,” she said coldly. Inside, she cringed with humiliation. She’d had no doubt that all of Rose Hill was buzzing with the scandal, but having Monk chatting about it so casually was particularly embarrassing.

  “Hard to figure what comes over guys when they get to that stage,” he said.

  “What stage is that, Monk?” Marta asked in an even tone.

  “Well, you know.” He turned back to get a paper napkin. “They’re forty-something, they get an itch, they spot a sweet thing and, wham, they lose their minds.”

  With both hands around her can of soda, Marta looked at him. “Hmm, that is deep.”

  Unfazed, he looked at Rachel. “I’m glad I ran into you, Rachel. I’d planned to drop by later today.”

  “You got my note about Ferdy?”

  “Yeah, but he’ll be okay. I’ll jack him up and he’ll get it together. It’s Nick I wanted to talk about.”

  “Nick?” She paused, her cup in midair.

  Using the napkin, he wiped at a few drops of coffee on his shirt. “He’s been looking real good in practice lately, so much so, that I’m thinking he’ll work into first-base position next year. It would hurt if he was to let this get next to him, trip him up enough to take the edge off his performance.”

  “Let what get next to him, Monk?” she asked carefully.

  “The divorce. It sometimes takes the juice out of a kid. Trust me, I see it all the time.”

  Beyond winning ball games, Monk ranked low on a list of people she trusted to be sensitive to a boy in emotional turmoil. If Nick was too demoralized over Ted’s abandonment to play baseball, then she didn’t give a damn what Monk thought about it. She knew his priority was the athletic program. All that mattered now was Nick’s survival.

  “As for my alleged divorce, I don’t know where you heard that, Monk, and I certainly don’t intend to discuss my private life here,” Rachel said. And with Monk, never, she wanted to say, but didn’t. It was a struggle to keep her voice steady. “Ted and I are having some difficulties. It would be ludicrous to deny that, under the circumstances, but divorce…no.” At least, not yet.

  “Well, sure,” Monk said easily. “But I just thought I’d mention it, in case it comes to that. Kids overreact to this stuff. And the hurt can extend to every little corner of a kid’s life.”

  “You mean, as in his position on the team?” Rachel guessed. “I’m touched by the depth of your concern.”

  “Well, hell, Rachel, you know what I mean,” he said, undeterred by her sarcasm. “It would hurt us all, Nick as well as the guys on the team. You know our stats are high so far this season and the Mustangs are gonna make the playoffs if all goes well and the creek don’t rise. We need everybody to stay focused. So, what I’m saying is I hope you’ll be on the lookout for trouble or for signs that he’s not handling this too good, divorce or not. A kid sees separation of his parents as traumatic as the real thing.”

  “As a guidance counselor, trust me, I’m aware of that,” Rachel said, now openly sarcastic.

  “You bet. So if that happens, you call me. I stand ready to listen if he wants to talk. Better than that, I’m willing to spend extra time with him. I just want you to know that.”

  “Thank you, Monk,” she said. “I appreciate your concern.”

  “Hey, I’m glad to do it.” Hearing no irony in her voice, he turned to go.

  “Just a minute…before you go…” Rachel set her cup down and followed him to the door. Tyson’s remarks about Nick were out of line, but she couldn’t let her personal bias about the man keep her from tending to the needs of at-risk students. And one of his athletes was definitely at risk. “I’m trying to persuade Jason Pate to come in and talk to me,” she told him. “I have a feeling he’s troubled about something and his drinking is a way of coping. But so far he’s resisting. It’s alcohol now, but drugs will be the next crutch if something isn’t done, and I don’t think his parents are going to be much support right now. Maybe you could suggest that talking to me is a good thing. From the little I got from him on our way home from Dallas, your approval would do it.”

  “Aw, I just think he’s one of those kids who like to binge. I don’t think he’s headed for alcoholism or anything. If that’s what you’re worrying about, you can let it go. He’s okay.”

  “Bingeing is an early-warning sign, Monk,” she said stiffly.

  “Well, we’ll see.” He flashed her a smile. “I’ll mention it. The kid’s got a future in pro ball if he doesn’t screw it up.”

  “I’d really like to talk to him.” She was pushing, but it was necessary. She’d misread Jack Ford with tragic consequences and she was determined not to make the same mistake with another boy ever again.

  “Hey, I’ll try.” He shifted to see around her and, spotting the trash, tossed his empty cup toward the can in a basketball-like free throw. It went in smartly. “Gotta go, gals.” He left, grinning.

  “I have never been able to figure that guy out,” Marta said as she and Rachel watched him stride confidently down the hall. “Have you ever noticed when you see him interact with those young athletes? They’re all around him, buzzing like little bees around the queen.” She grimaced at her own metaphor. “Planets, I guess I should say. They’re like little planets around the sun, Monk being the sun.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed,” Rachel said, picking up her coffee. “He definitely has a way where they’re concerned. Charisma, I suppose.”

  “Or something,” Marta said dryly. “To tell the truth, I never got it. Too pushy and jocklike for my taste. But, whatever he has going for him, we know it works. Like he said, they’re headed for the play-offs and will probably finish first in the division again this year.”

  Rachel gathered up paperwork she’d meant to scan and fell into step with Marta. “We know he’ll do anything for his precious sports program, but does he care at all about those boys’ future beyond sports? I wonder sometimes. I’ve dealt with him for the past five years and I still don’t know the answer to that.” She made a mental note not to depend on Monk to persuade Jason. She’d do it herself, somehow.

  But even as she dismissed Tyson’s disinterest about Jason, his remarks about Nick made her uneasy. So far, Nick had not shared what he felt about Ted’s leaving with her, but she knew there was a lot going on inside him. He was moody and uncommunicative and Rachel guessed he needed time to get his head around such a drastic change. Ted had been neglectful lately, but at least he’d been in the house. Not being a presence anymore, albeit a shadowy one, was the new reality for Kendall and Nick. Coach Monk’s offer might be a welcome distraction, she thought, frowning with concern over Nick again. The man seemed to have the right touch when it came to his players. And at least he’d recognized the fact that Nick’s life was turned upside down, which was more than she could say about Ted.

  Nick walked into the locker room, stripping off his practice jersey as he went. He’d been off his game toda
y and there was nothing he hated worse. “I really sucked out there today,” he complained to Ward in disgust. “I should never have let that grounder get past me.”

  “It happens.” Ward Rivers, who’d been in the same class as Nick since kindergarten, pulled his locker door open and tossed his cleats inside, then stripped off his jersey. “Coach didn’t say anything, so don’t sweat it.”

  Nick sat down on a bench to remove his cleats. Coach had a reputation for being a hard-ass, but so far Nick hadn’t seen that side of him. He’d always been pretty nice. He rose to put the cleats into his locker as three athletes rounded the corner. Jason Pate, in the act of removing his jersey as he walked, hardly noticed him or anyone else. But Ferdy Jordan, second-string outfielder, stopped and so did his butt-ugly sidekick, B. J. Folsom, who was practically Ferdy’s shadow. Everybody knew B.J. didn’t take a dump unless Ferdy told him how.

  Ferdy grinned slyly, while idly passing a baseball from one hand to the other. “Hey, Forrester! Heard about your old man.”

  B.J. snickered. “Whoa, way to go, Forrester. Gettin’ it on with the partner’s wife.”

  “Knock it off, you jerks,” Ward said with disgust. He slammed the door of his locker shut. “I think I hear your mothers calling.”

  “Wait, wait,” Ferdy said, pointing to Nick. “His mom’s supposed to have all the answers, right? She tells everybody what to do and how to do it, and now we find out she don’t know how to run her own life. So, Nicky, what’s her take on old Teddy-boy screwin’ around?”

  Nick dropped the cleats and leaped over the bench, bent on ripping Ferdy’s face off, but before Ward could step in, Jason Pate suddenly appeared from the next bank of lockers and quickly got a choke hold on Ferdy’s neck. “Get a life, you dumb shit,” he told Ferdy, then gave a nod to Ward to force Nick, still bristling, back over the bench. When he saw that Nick was restrained, he let Ferdy go. “What the hell you guys doing?” The question was meant for Ferdy and B.J.

  Ferdy, not dumb enough to challenge somebody of Jason’s stature, moved backward with his hands up, palms out. “Hey, man, we were just horsin’ around.”

  “Yeah, right.” Jason shoved Ferdy’s ball glove back into his hands with a little more force than was necessary. “Then next time, horse around with somebody who appreciates redneck humor.” And with a disgusted look, he swept up his jersey and headed on back to the senior lockers.

  Ward still kept a restraining hand on Nick and watched as both Ferdy and B.J. couldn’t leave fast enough. “You okay, Nick?”

  Nick tossed his cleats into the metal locker and slammed the door. Then he stood a moment just looking at the puke-green surface. His heart was pounding and he felt a deep, red rage building inside. He wanted to take somebody’s head off and Ferdy Jordan was his first choice. Ferdy had no class. He had no talent on the field. He had nothing but a smart-ass mouth and one day—

  “Sometimes I think I hate him, Ward.”

  “Yeah, well, Ferdy’s the kind of jerk you do hate, man. He’s worthless. Forget him.”

  “Not Ferdy. I meant my dad.”

  “Oh, jeez, Nick.”

  Nick pulled a towel from around his neck and stuffed it into his gym bag. “How could he do this? What was so awful about us that he’d want to cut out? I know it’s happened to other people and all, but you don’t know how it feels until it happens to you.”

  “Yeah, it’s the shits, man.”

  Nick just stood holding his bag for a moment. “And you’re right. Ferdy’s a jerk. I guess I lost it there for a minute.”

  “Hey, shit happens.” Ward gave him a punch on his shoulder and Nick felt some of his rage ease. He might not be able to depend on his dad any longer, but Ward would never let him down.

  They’d been playing baseball together from the time that his mom had signed him up for T-ball when he was six. Ward’s folks had been right here with him, too. And from the beginning, both had felt real passion for the game and a strong desire to win. After a loss, both would agonize over what had gone wrong, where had they messed up, how they could avoid it next time, and what each needed to do to get just that tiny edge that made the difference between winning and losing.

  And both had watched Ward’s brother, Jimbo, do the ultimate—after getting a scholarship at UT, he’d snagged a contract with one of the majors.

  With a sigh, Nick opened his locker again to get his shirt. He could have ended his own chances of playing for Coach Monk when he went for Ferdy that way. He owed Jason Pate and Ward for stepping in. Coach would have shit a brick if he’d seen it. But, damn it all, it was embarrassing for Jason to overhear what Ferdy said.

  Nick shook out his T-shirt, getting ready to put it on, when Coach Monk appeared from the area of the senior lockers. Nick and Ward were instantly at attention. “You were lookin’ good out there this afternoon, Ward-boy,” he said, clamping a large hand on the boy’s bare shoulder. “You want to spend some quality time perfecting your curve ball, son. It’s breakin’ a little short.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  “I’ve got some time tomorrow, so plan to stay late. With me spotting, we’ll correct the problem.”

  Ward managed to contain his grin. “Yes, sir,” he said, and quickly pulled his shirt over his head.

  “So, Nick,” Coach turned, folding his arms across his chest, “I like the way you’ve been shaping up at first lately. ’Course, you had an off day today, but it happens. Yesterday, two doubles in one inning. That’s good—” he was nodding “—very good. Plan to come tomorrow with Ward and we’ll work out a couple of plays. The two of you make a solid pair, Ward pitching and you at first.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “Hang in there.”

  “I plan on that, sir.”

  Then, leaning against the closed lockers, the coach sobered. “I heard about your folks, Nick. Too bad about that. It’s tough.”

  Extremely embarrassed, Nick looked at his feet. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

  Tyson pushed away from the lockers and reached out to grip Nick’s shoulder in a gesture of gruff sympathy. “Hey, it’s one of those things, son. You don’t want to think you’re one of a kind there, no way. You ask around, you’ll find a quarter of the kids in the school been through the same thing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your mom and I spoke about it this morning,” he said.

  Nick looked up, startled.

  “Yeah. I promised her I’d find time to talk if you want.”

  “That’s okay, Coach,” Nick said, mortified. “I’m okay. Honest.”

  “Well…” Smiling, Tyson stepped back. “If you need a friend—besides Ward here,” he laughed heartily, “you know all you have to do is knock on my door.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, you two finish dressing and get your butts outta here. Practice is over, it’s chow time.”

  Both boys were motionless, watching the coach head out past the shelves of neatly-stacked sports equipment. Just then, Jason emerged from the lockers, and when Tyson spotted him, he motioned him over and slung his arm around the quarterback’s shoulder. Coach had a way of bonding with his athletes that paid off big time for them. Sportswise, he’d put Rose Hill High and the Mustangs on the map in Texas, and that was saying something, considering the size of the town and the passion that infused high school sports in the state. In a moment, three more varsity players appeared and fell into step with Jason and the coach. Like Jimbo and others before them, the four made up the core elite of the Mustangs, and with the magic of Monk Tyson’s coaching setting the stage—barring any accidents or injuries—all were destined for outstanding careers in sports. Just like Jimbo.

  “Jeezum-pete,” Ward breathed as the group moved along with the coach like a god in their midst. “What do you make of special attention from The Man himself?”

  Grimly, Nick pulled his shirt over his head, then grabbed his glove and stuffed it inside his gym bag. “I don’t know.”

  Hearing
something in his voice, Ward turned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can you believe my mom?” he asked, zipping the gym bag with a vengeance. “Coach’ll think I’m some kind of chickenshit weakling, like I need somebody to hold my hand and tell me everything’s gonna be all right now that my dad’s walked out on us.”

  “Aw, I think you’ve got him wrong, Nick. He’s just being, you know, nice. Like, some of the guys here are closer to Coach Monk than to their own dads…those guys he’s talking to now, f’r instance. He was probably just paving the way if you should need, you know, help…or something.”

  Nick straightened up and looked at him. “Do I look like I need help?”

  Ward shrugged. “Maybe not that kind of help. But he’s offering to coach us, like privately, so I don’t know about you, man, but me—just name the time and place and I’m there.”

  Standing with his gym bag in his hand, Nick eyed Coach’s chosen few with a mix of awe for their talent and envy for their good luck in being part of a tight circle. All were older than Nick and Ward—juniors and seniors mostly. It would be tough to penetrate that clique, Nick thought, but Ward was right. Coach had opened a door just now and he wasn’t about to refuse. The trouble with his mom and dad made him feel pretty rotten, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Grown-ups were going to do what they were going to do and what he thought didn’t count. He didn’t have control over anything in his life anymore except here at school. Making varsity next year—a year earlier than ninety-nine percent of high school athletes—was a hard goal, but with Coach Monk’s help, he was going to bust his butt to do it.

  Nick slung the gym bag onto his shoulder. “Let’s go, Ward. You heard Coach. It’s chow time and I’m hungry.”

  It would have been easy for Rachel to slack off at her job because of the meltdown in her personal life, but she’d learned a lesson when she’d failed to sense Jack Ford’s despair and a young life had ended tragically. As much as she’d like to take a leave of absence and devote herself to the care and comfort of her own children as her family tried to adjust to the change in their lives, there were kids at Rose Hill High whose needs were just as urgent. Jason Pate, to name one.