“He’s a lucky kid.”
She didn’t like the predatory way that sounded, and suddenly she was wishing poor Sophie didn’t raise her physics grade just so she didn’t have to see Hank Osbourne again. It made her feel awful.
“I should be going. I’ve got customers,” she lied.
“Oh, sure. Just one more thing. Will’s doing okay with all this scrutiny of his former college coach, isn’t he? Things are starting to get a little ugly. Names are going to come out. I just need Will to keep us informed if any issues arise so the front office can keep ahead of it.”
Annabeth paused in restacking the scarves. She was grateful Will had been given the opportunity to get into Yale and play on their football team. It had been his escape from Chances Inlet, a town Will hated. Coach Zevalos had literally provided her son a one-way ticket out. But the man wasn’t a saint. He’d been just like all the other men who’d paraded through town, assuming Annabeth would be grateful enough to do whatever he asked.
“That’s something you should speak with Will about. Please tell Sophie I said hello. Good-bye, Mr. Osbourne.” She hung up before she heard his response.
Twelve
“Sources close to the investigation indicate that more names will be released in connection with the alleged Bountygate masterminded by former Yale and New Jersey Generals coach Paul Zevalos. According to these unnamed sources, while defensive coordinator with the Generals, Zevalos maintained a secret fund to pay his players rewards if they inflicted an injury on an opponent. Twelve players have filed suit against the Generals, the NFL, and Zevalos, alleging they were injured as part of that scheme. A Senate committee has also been convened to look into how the league has handled the investigation and the ensuing lawsuits from the players injured. That’s SportsCenter in a minute. Now, back to Major League Baseball.”
“Jeez, this bounty hunt is getting pretty intense,” Gavin said before taking a swallow of his beer.
He and Will were sitting in Will’s study watching the Atlanta Braves pummel the Mets. Owen was scarfing down another bottle; his son was perpetually hungry.
“It’s nothing.”
“Really?” Gavin asked. “Because it sounds like they’ve got a lot of nothing to warrant an NFL investigation. Not to mention one in the Senate.”
“What a waste of taxpayer dollars.” Will shifted a fussy Owen to his shoulder to try to get him to burp.
“You know Zevalos pretty well, and you were with the Generals for a training camp and preseason. You mean to tell me this is all a bunch of bullshit?”
Owen cried a little harder, refusing the bottle when Will tried to give it to him.
“Come on, Owen, give Daddy a break here.” Will stood and walked around the room, grateful that Owen’s tears provided a quick distraction from the subject. Gavin was perceptive, and Will didn’t want to have this conversation with his best friend right now. “What’s the matter, little man, huh?”
Apparently, Gavin realized Will was done with the subject of his former coach because he let out a resigned sigh. “Maybe you should get Julianne.”
“No, she’s trying to nap. He’s had us both up multiple times these past few nights. She needs a rest.”
“Well, well, not just a doting father, but a doting husband.”
“Shut up, Gavin,” Will said over Owen’s screams. Doting husband was a stretch, but he did have a newfound respect for Julianne. That first night home had been a paradigm shift for both of them. Since then, they’d settled into an easy camaraderie, each of them taking turns caring for Owen. It also helped that he avoided touching her and looking at her for extended periods of time. “You have younger siblings and a niece; what should I do here?”
“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout burping no babies.” Gavin took another swallow of beer.
Will swore at his friend.
“Hey, not in front of the baby.” Gavin laughed.
The door leading into the house from the verandah burst open, and Will expected to see a wild-eyed, frantic Julianne. Instead, Brody Janik stood on the threshold.
“Dude, are you sticking pins in that baby?” Brody shoved his sunglasses onto his head as he waltzed into the room, infuriatingly cool, impeccably dressed, a wrapped gift in his hand.
Will stood with a screaming baby in his own hands, spit-up decorating his Yale T-shirt, and a two-day growth of beard on his face. He was used to Brody’s unexpected appearances, but today his jarring perfection pissed him off. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You’ve been married a week and I haven’t given you a wedding gift,” Brody said as he gingerly tossed the gift onto the sofa. “Apparently, I got here in the nick of time. Let me have that baby.”