Stranger in Town. Brenda Novak

junior. Until Duane Steggo blew out his knee a month later, Gabe hadn’t even been on varsity.

      But Coach Hill did more than notice. Late one afternoon, he called him in and sat him down in an otherwise empty locker room. Then they had the talk. Coach Hill explained that there were two kinds of men: strong men, who remained true to their internal compasses regardless of all else; and weak men who were easily misled and wound up cheating themselves of all they could be. He’d told Gabe he only wanted strong men on his team, and asked which kind of man Gabe wanted to be. That’s when Gabe quit worrying about fitting in and decided to put his energy toward being the best—at everything—and wound up graduating with a 4.0 grade point average and a football scholarship to UCLA.

      He wasn’t sure he would’ve turned around without Coach Hill. His own father had tried to motivate him in many ways. But somehow it was Coach Hill who’d made the difference.

      “Gabe?” Mike pressed.

      Gabe scrubbed a hand over his face, then frowned when Lazarus laid his snout in Gabe’s lap and stared up at him as though pleading Mike’s case.

      Maybe Gabe could turn down a national sports show but, given what Coach Hill had meant to him—what Mike meant to him—he couldn’t turn down his best friend or his old alma mater. “Fine,” he said at last. “But tell the school board to find a replacement for me as soon as possible because one year’s the most they’re gonna get.”

      Grabbing his hat, Mike stood and clasped Gabe’s hand. “Thanks, buddy. I knew I could count on you.” He strode to the door but hesitated there. Predictably, his visit wasn’t over yet. “Don’t suppose you’d consider coming to my house and letting Lucky make you dinner in the next week or two,” he said.

      Gabe clenched his jaw. Mike extended an invitation like this almost every time they saw each other. But Gabe couldn’t really hold it against him. Mike loved Lucky. Of course he’d try to get her whatever she wanted, and ever since Gabe’s father had taken that paternity test, it was no secret that she was eager to become friends with the family she’d so recently discovered.

      “Maybe sometime,” he said.

      Mike sighed. “The old ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you,’ huh?”

      “You got me to coach. Be happy with that.”

      “I am happy with that.”

      From his friend’s sudden smile, Gabe suspected Mike was secretly congratulating himself despite the failed dinner invitation. He’d just handpicked his father’s successor and dragged Gabe back into society at the same time.

      But coaching was a concession Gabe had to make. He owed Coach Hill. And he hated Melvin Blaine.

      “MOM, WHERE ARE YOU?” The front door slammed shut behind Hannah Price’s oldest son, and his footfalls landed heavy on the stairs as he took them two or three at once. “Mom!”

      A chill of apprehension swept down Hannah’s spine at the distress in the sixteen-year-old’s voice. It had already been a rough week. What was wrong now?

      “In my office,” she called and set aside the frame she’d been examining. One of the manufacturers she’d been working with for the past several months was starting to send her substandard material. She had to put a stop to it—but that could wait.

      Kenny charged into the room wearing gym shorts, a cut-off T-shirt that was soaked with sweat, and a pair of muddy cleats. He’d obviously come straight from practice, but she didn’t scold him for tracking mud into the house. She was too worried about the pained expression on his face.

      “What’s the matter?”

      He slumped onto the step stool Hannah used to reach her office supplies on the top shelves of the closet, and for probably the hundredth time this summer, Hannah realized just how tall he was getting. He’d been stocky as a young child—like Brent, her seven-year-old, who’d come as a complete surprise long after she’d decided not to have another kid. But over the past few years Kenny’s baby fat had melted away. With his thick brown hair and brown eyes, he looked so much like her he sometimes resented it. Too many people told him he was almost as pretty as his mother.

      “Why did Coach Hill have to die?” he asked, sounding more like the little boy he used to be than the man he was becoming.

      She smiled sadly at him. “You’re missing him, huh?”

      The news of Larry Hill’s passing had moved her son to tears even though he considered himself too old for crying. And he hadn’t been alone. The entire football team had wept through the funeral. Hannah was grieving, too. As a single mother, she was especially grateful to Dundee’s football coach for taking an interest in Kenny and for being such a good role model. Especially because owning her own business—a photography studio, which she ran out of her renovated garage and spare bedroom—meant she couldn’t always be available to her son.

      “The guys are saying I won’t get to play this season,” he said.

      She shoved some of the files she had stacked on the floor to the side so she could scoot her chair closer to him. She was tempted to go into her “don’t worry, it’s just a game” speech, but didn’t. Russ, her ex-husband and Kenny’s father, cared more about Kenny’s football career than Kenny did. Five minutes with him would wipe out all her attempts to bring football into perspective. It always did. “Of course you’ll get to play. You started every game last year.”

      “That was JV, Mom. Coach Blaine called me up to varsity yesterday. And now that Coach Hill is gone—”

      “Whoa.” She squeezed one of the overlarge hands dangling between his knees. If Kenny ever grew into his hands and feet, he’d be a very tall man indeed. “Whoever they find to replace him will recognize your talent.”

      “They’ve already found someone,” he said glumly.

      “Who?”

      “Gabriel Holbrook.”

      Hannah jerked back at the name. “What?”

      “You heard me.” Kenny blinked rapidly, as if he was close to tears again, and she could understand why. In her mind, she heard the collision that still haunted her dreams, felt that weightless, ominous tumbling….

      “The guys are right, aren’t they?” he added, head and shoulders drooping. “He’s gonna hate my guts.”

      “Of course he won’t hate you,” she said, but in her heart she wasn’t sure. How would Gabe feel toward her son? Would he really want to see Kenny excel at a sport he could no longer play because of her?

      Kenny kicked a brightly colored ball she used when photographing babies. It hit the wall with a sharp smack. “I wish that accident never happened.”

      If only she could turn back the calendar…. Hannah had regretted leaving the house that night every minute of her life since.

      Her son looked at her imploringly. “Maybe it wasn’t totally your fault. Maybe he was driving too fast and—”

      “No, it was me.” Of course, she wouldn’t have been on the road, driving like a maniac if not for Russ and the panic she’d felt for her children’s safety. But Hannah knew it wouldn’t do any good to point that out. She was the one who’d hit Gabe head-on as he was coming home for the Christmas holidays. With a tragedy like that, reasons and explanations didn’t help.

      Kenny shoved the hair out of his troubled eyes. “I’ve heard what everyone else has to say about the accident. But you never talk about it. What happened, Mom?”

      Hannah shook her head. She couldn’t give him the details. The repercussions of that night made her too heartsick. She’d grown up knowing Gabe. He’d been larger than life, talented, charismatic, the guy who had it all.

      In the space of a heartbeat, she’d changed everything. The new Gabe hid a world of hurt behind his blue eyes, kept to himself and rarely ventured into