I nodded.
“He got a four-game suspension while the University of Georgia continued to sell replicas of his jersey at forty bucks a pop … And look at Ohio State. How do you bring down a coach and penalize a whole program because a couple of kids exchanged some gear for tattoos and a decent man tried to protect them? These are kids! By definition, they make mistakes.”
“Yeah. That penalty was a little harsh,” I said.
Coach scoffed. “They ferret out the true cheaters and get some bad guys, but for the most part, they’re on a damn witch hunt.” He leaned forward in his chair, staring at me, on a roll now. “Their enforcement is random and selective—and they violate any notion of due process. Everyone is guilty till proven innocent and there is little to no appeals process. They’re despots with absolute power, and we all know what happens with absolute power.”
I looked at him, thinking that he had absolute power at Walker and had never abused it. Never used it for personal gain or anything other than the good of his players and the program. Yet as he stood to go refill his coffee, I had the tiniest tug of doubt that things might not be quite as cut-and-dried as I wanted them to be.
Twelve
Forty-eight hours after our return from the lake, my favorite day of the year had finally arrived: the first day of practice and the official start to the college football season. Like everyone at Walker, I was charged up and more hopeful than ever. But, somehow, I didn’t feel quite the way I expected to feel.
I told myself it was just a simple case of preseason jitters—always worse when big things were expected of us. Or perhaps I was worried about the investigation. Internal rumors had begun to circulate, and I couldn’t stand the thought that the NCAA could unfairly rain on our parade.
Then again, maybe it was something else, something bigger. Maybe it was the same concerns that I’d been experiencing since Mrs. Carr passed away. The feeling that I wasn’t on the right path. That, despite all my efforts to kick-start a new career and relationship, I was still in the same exact spot. Hanging out at practice or holed up in my little office, fielding endless phone calls from real reporters.
One day after practice, I stopped by Lucy’s store, something I often did, whether to shop, or help unpack inventory, or simply say hello. She looked happy to see me, stepping out from behind the counter to give me a hug. “Hey! What’s up? You need to do a little back-to-practice shopping?”
I laughed and said, “Yeah, right. I didn’t know you carried Walker gear now.”
Lucy smiled and said, “I do have some things on hold for you in the back. Some transitional pieces between summer and fall.”
“Great. Ryan’s coming back tomorrow,” I said, feeling a tinge of excitement. “I’d love to get some new things.”
Lucy gave me a funny look and then returned to her counter, where she pulled out a tabloid magazine from a shelf under the register. “Did you see this?”
I stared down at the page to see a blurry paparazzo picture of Ryan and Blakeslee, sitting together at an outdoor café. The caption speculated that the two might be reconciling, but I was happy to note that the scene looked anything but romantic. Blakeslee appeared miffed, her arms crossed, and Ryan was staring down at his phone. There was only a bottle of Perrier, with two glasses, on the table between them.
I felt Lucy staring at me, trying to gauge my reaction while I slowly processed it myself. Was I angry? Jealous? Sad?
“Maybe he was texting you at that very moment?” Lucy said hopefully, peering down at his cellphone as if she could make out what was on the screen.
I had been wondering the same thing and asked if we knew when the photo was taken.
“It doesn’t say … Do you think they could really be getting back together?” she said, worried.
I shrugged, still staring at the magazine. Blakeslee was wearing heavy gladiator sandals, the kind that most women can’t begin to pull off, short shorts, and a chic Bohemian blouse. She was tiny and tan and pretty much everything I wasn’t. “They could be,” I said. “I really don’t know.”
“Jesus. What’s with people in your life divorcing and then getting back together?” Lucy said, referring, of course, to my dad and Astrid.
“I’d hardly put them in the same category,” I said, thinking that you couldn’t compare Ryan and Blakeslee’s reunion over sparkling water to my dad’s decision to leave me for his firstborn and clearly favorite daughter.
“I guess not,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “But this is really irritating. He didn’t tell you he was seeing her?”