he usually did. He looked his age. Too old for me, I thought for the first time.
“I don’t know. But I’m hopeful that we can.”
“Oh, you’re hopeful?” I said, a caustic edge in my voice that scared me.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m angry,” I said, finally acknowledging the emotion I’d been suppressing.
“At me?”
“Yes,” I said, shocked by the emotion, the very notion that I could be angry at Coach. “You should have reported it. You should have at least helped her report it.”
“Yes … I should have … I know that now … But, Shea … I honest to God didn’t think he raped her. I still don’t.”
I looked at him, thinking this was the wrong response, feeling a fresh wave of indignation, this time on Tish’s behalf. “That’s not the point,” I said. “That wasn’t up to you to decide.”
“I thought it was,” he said. “So I decided.”
“What about Cedric’s Escalade?” I said, now pacing along the runner in his hallway.
“What about it?”
“You know. The car that nobody in Cedric’s life could possibly afford,” I said, shifting into full-on investigative reporter mode.
“Is that a question?” he said, adopting his prickly press conference voice. “Or an accusation?”
“Did you really think that was okay? For Cedric to be given a car? Just because he was poor—and a good kid? That means you can break the rules? Or did you just want him to play for Walker that badly?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but I kept going. “And what about Reggie? What do you really know about this current investigation? What are you covering up? Because I want to know the truth. I want to know what you’d do to win,” I said, pointing at him.
His eyes went from hurt to pissed, the hue of blue actually seeming to change, deepen. “Well, I wouldn’t let a girl get raped, if that’s what you’re getting at …”
“But you’d look the other way, wouldn’t you?” I demanded, my voice shaking. I hated myself for asking these questions, but I’d hate myself more for not asking them.
“Look, Shea. If even one percent of me—even half a percent—believed that Ryan had hurt that girl, I would have reported it … And I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you go out with him. Think about it.”
“I am thinking about it,” I said, staring at him, my arms crossed.
“And?” he said, raising his voice.
I took a deep breath, now on the verge of tears that I managed to blink back. “From the time I was a little girl, watching that SMU death penalty press conference, I really thought you were different. I thought you were one of the good guys. Unlike the other coaches. Unlike my own father. You were one of the few who would never cheat. One of the few who didn’t believe that winning was … everything. The only thing,” I said, quoting Vince Lombardi, his hero.
Coach shook his head and said, “Wow. And you think making love would have fixed this?” He motioned in the space between us, our huddle of two.
“Just tell me,” I said.
“Tell you what? What do you want to know?”
“I want to know … is winning everything to you?”
“Do you think it is, Shea? Is that what you think?”
“Did you choose not to report the incident because of the Cotton Bowl? What if the season had been over? Or what if Ryan had been a redshirt? Or a benchwarmer? Would you have handled it differently? Would you have taken her more seriously?”
“I chose not to report the incident because I didn’t believe that girl,” he said, now shouting and pointing back at me. “Listen, Shea. I am the head coach of a major football program—”
“Which means you have a responsibility—” I jumped in, my voice as loud as his.
“Yes! A responsibility to ninety guys. If I had sat Ryan, I would have penalized eighty-nine other guys who had worked their asses off all year, some of them for four years. I would have penalized their families and friends. I would have punished my coaching staff and every Walker student and alum. Every man, woman, and child who gives to this program. Gives their blood, sweat, tears, dollars, time, hearts. I could have ruined Ryan’s football career. Changed his entire future.”
“But if he raped her—”
“And what if he didn’t! Can you really picture him doing that, Shea?”
I hesitated and then shook my head. “No. I can’t imagine him doing such a thing,” I said quietly. “But I still would have reported it