Chapter Thirteen #2
As they walked to Huddle Up, Cade asked after Tommy.
Jackson told him the teen had been discharged from the hospital yesterday, and that was the extent of their conversation about the hazing scandal.
They walked in companionable silence the rest of the way, and for the second time since he’d moved to Bishop Falls, Jackson felt intensely grateful for Cade’s friendship.
He’d made a special effort to tune out any and all extraneous noise yesterday while he prepared to tackle the situation head-on this morning.
Other than the quick visit to the hospital before Tommy got released, he’d kept completely to himself.
He’d let his calls roll to voicemail. He’d done his physical therapy exercises at home instead of letting himself inside the team’s weight room or going for a walk around the track at the stadium.
He’d hadn’t even turned on his television to see if Tommy’s assault had made the news beyond Calla’s piece in the Lone Star Gazette.
Today was going to be rough, but it was good to know that at least one member of the coaching staff stood by his side. For now, anyway.
Bishop’s paws slowed as they approached the coffee shop, and he turned his wrinkly face up at Jackson. That made two members of the Bulldog football organization he could count on. Granted, one of them was a dog, but he’d take what he could get.
“Good morning, Coach Knight.” Bailey glanced up from the milk frother and greeted them with an easy smile, just like she always did. “Hey there, Cade. You two sit tight. I’ll get your usuals ready in a jiffy.”
“Thanks, Bails.” Cade slid onto his usual barstool, and Jackson sat down beside him. Thus marked the official end to any semblance of normalcy or routine.
“Excuse me, Coach Knight.” A throat cleared behind Jackson. “We’d like to have a word.”
Cade’s gaze slid toward him and their eyes met before Jackson slowly turned around.
Four members of the Victory Club, identified by their green fleece half zips with the club’s embroidered monogram stitched onto the left chest, stood a foot or so away. Jackson wondered how long they’d been here, waiting to pounce.
Being approached like this in public wasn’t the norm.
Sure, people might high-five him or stop to chat while he was walking down Bulldog Avenue, but football fans usually didn’t approach him when he was seated at the coffee house or a restaurant.
The Victory Club didn’t play by anyone else’s rules, though.
Calla had tried to tell him that time and time again.
“How can I help you folks?” Jackson asked.
The man at the front of the group folded his hands in front of him, giving Jackson a perfect view of the hulking Texas State High School Football Championship ring proudly displayed on his right ring finger.
“We just wanted to stop by and let you know that we heard about what happened Halloween night. Obviously, we’re deeply concerned about the player who was injured. ”
“How’s Timmy doing?” one of the other men asked.
“His name is Tommy,” Jackson corrected, hackles already beginning to rise. “Tommy Riess.”
The ringleader nodded. “Of course, of course. We know who Tommy is. He had that nice write-up in the Gazette a while back. Sweet kid. It’s a shame this had to happen.”
“A real shame,” another of the men echoed.
Jackson looked them each in their eyes, one by one, until they averted their gazes and the coffee-scented air brimmed with unease.
“Tommy is doing as well as can be expected,” he said evenly.
The Victory Club members all smiled, nodded and murmured a round of glad to hear its.
“That’s great news. He’ll be a wonderful asset to the team—” the man front and center gave a purposeful pause “—later on down the road.”
Jackson crossed his arms and began to spin back around on his stool. He’d heard enough to get an idea where this was headed. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
The ringleader’s smile faded as he held up a hand. His face seemed to be growing more flushed by the minute. “One more thing, Coach. We also want to express our concern for the other boys who were involved in this incident.”
And there it was.
Jackson felt like his coffee was burning a hole through his stomach, and Bailey hadn’t even finished making it yet.
The red-faced man in front of him slung his hands on his hips and kept on talking, oblivious to Jackson’s intense discomfort.
Either that, or he didn’t care. Probably, the latter.
“They’re good boys, Coach. You’re still new here, and you might not realize that.
I’m Earl Whitaker, the president of the Victory Club, and I’ve lived in Bishop Falls my entire life, so I know a little bit about our players and their values.
This was just a little accident, that’s all.
Some people around town are even saying it’s because of the—” he lowered his voice to a whisper “—curse.”
Another of the men piped up again. “College scouts are already looking at Stokes, Collier and Brown. Missing even a single game would put their futures at risk, especially since their stats aren’t as high as they could be, given your decision to sub them out for the fourth quarter in nearly every game. ”
Ah, so any subsequent recruiting problems were Jackson’s fault. The teenagers who’d outright assaulted one of their fellow players were just innocent victims. Un-freaking-believable.
“The team needs those kids, Coach. They’re the backbone of our entire program this year.
The Bulldogs have had a great season so far, but we’ve still got a ways to go to get to State.
We’re sure you know that, but I want to make the position of the Victory Club board clear.
” Earl circled a finger in the air, encompassing the other men surrounding him, who were apparently the other members of the board of directors.
“We support all our players. The best thing for everyone involved is for the Bulldogs to advance to the championships. I’m sure you agree. ”
The Victory Club president finally paused and twirled his championship ring around his finger with the pad of his thumb while he waited for Jackson’s assurances.
He knew what he was supposed to say. They’d all but written a script for him. The Victory Club didn’t want to see anyone suspended from any games, full stop.
The club president’s bushy eyebrows crept closer to the brim of his Bulldogs cap. “Do we have an understanding, Jackson?”
“Your coffees are ready!” Bailey chirped as she swished toward them from behind the counter.
Jackson wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her from the waist down before. On busy mornings like today, she never budged from her spot at the espresso machine.
She winked as she handed him his cup and then turned toward the Victory Club guys. “Now shoo, y’all. Leave the coaches alone. They’ve got to get to work, and I know you don’t want to make them late. Right?”
She crossed her arms over her apron. It had little footballs topped with pink bows printed on it. Bailey might look sweet and delicate on the outside, but Jackson had an inkling she had more grit than most people realized. This rescue attempt only confirmed that suspicion.
The men shifted awkwardly in their cowboy boots.
“You heard me. Now, go.” Bailey made a shooing motion with her hands, and somehow managed to make even that look graceful. “Unless you need coffee. And if that’s the case, I’ll meet you right over there.”
She pointed to the far end of the counter, and the Victory Club board begrudgingly followed her command.
“That was genuinely impressive,” Jackson said, smirking into his coffee cup.
“Yeah, well.” Cade’s eyes followed Calla’s friend and sister-in-law as she floated back to the espresso machine, pausing on the way to reach for a dog biscuit from her pocket and slip it to Bishop. “That’s Bailey for you.”