Stranger in Town. Brenda Novak

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      “Won’t Kenny Price be playing on varsity this year?”

      At last, Mike began to look a little uncomfortable. “He doesn’t have to. He’s only a sophomore.”

      “But he’s good.” Gabe knew how good because he’d seen him play. Since he’d lost the ability to walk, it was always a bittersweet experience to visit the stadium, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. When football season rolled around, he drove into town to watch both the junior varsity and varsity games. Besides an occasional trip to the grocery store, it was one of the few places Gabe still bothered to go.

      “I know you’ve got to feel strange toward his mother. If you don’t think you can live with having him on your team, it’s no big deal,” Mike insisted. “Let him play JV another year.”

      Strange didn’t begin to describe how Gabe felt toward Hannah Price. But even at sixteen, Kenny was a better quarterback than senior Jonathon Greer or junior Buck Weaver. “I wouldn’t play a kid based on his age. I’d go by talent. And from what I’ve seen, keeping Kenny on JV wouldn’t be fair to him or the team.”

      “Gabe, unless you take over as coach, Melvin Blaine’s going to get the job.”

      If he could turn down a multimillion-dollar contract with ESPN, he could certainly reject this opportunity, he told himself. “So maybe it’s a throwaway year. Replace Blaine after the season’s over, when the board is able to find someone better suited to the job.”

      Mike looked at him as if he had to be crazy. “A throwaway year? You think that’s fair to the boys? Would you have wanted to bust your ass for a team with no promise?”

      Gabe was far too competitive for that, and Mike knew it.

      “Besides, it won’t be that easy to replace Blaine,” Mike went on. “If he gets in, he’ll stay until he does something stupid. Something like he did to you. You really want to give him that opportunity?”

      Gabe continued to rub his temples but said nothing.

      “Come on, it’s only for one season.”

      Wadding up the paper towel he’d used to wipe the blood from his arm, Gabe banked it off the wall, into the kitchen wastebasket. “I loved your dad, Mike. I owe him a lot. But—”

      “Then do it for him, Gabe.”

      Shit… The memories Gabe had been fighting finally intruded, and he pictured Coach Hill asking to meet with him at the beginning of his junior year, just after he’d been caught ditching school. Because he was so much younger than the other guys, he’d been trying to prove himself, which at that age meant drinking and being careless about grades and rules in general. He’d never dreamed Coach Hill would notice or care about a fifteen-year-old 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?”

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