“He’s big!” he squealed, then fell over giggling as Lazarus proceeded to lick his cheeks.
“I want a dog,” Brent said, only halfheartedly protecting his face.
“You have a rat,” Hannah said.
“A rat isn’t as good as a dog. Look, Mom! He loves me.”
“You can have a dog when you get a couple years older.”
“Kenny’s older,” Brent said.
Gabe thought Brent had a pretty good point, but Hannah had an answer for that, too.
“Kenny’s a teenager. He’s gone a lot.”
Brent rolled away and tried to get up, but Lazarus wasn’t finished with him yet. A moment later, he fell down laughing again. “How old…do I have…to be?”
“At least ten,” she replied.
Gabe called Lazarus off, and Brent finally sat up. “Then can I have a big dog like Coach Holbrook’s? Please, Mom? This is the best dog I ever saw.”
Gabe couldn’t help smiling at the grass in the boy’s mussed hair—and feeling a little sorry for Hannah. She cared so much about her kids, she’d probably break down and get Brent a dog before another week was out, even though she had too much on her plate already. “Dogs are a lot of work,” he said, trying to throw a little support her way. “Especially Alaskan Malamutes. They’re typically friendly, but they’re pack animals. You have to establish yourself right away as the dominant figure in their life.”
“I could be a—a—what is it?” Brent said.
Gabe chuckled. “A dominant figure.”
“I could be one of those,” Brent said with more confidence than Gabe had expected.
“When you’re ten or so, it’ll be easier,” he insisted.
“Can I take him inside, to my room?”
“For a few minutes, if it’s okay with your mom.”
Brent checked with Hannah, and she nodded. “Come on, boy,” he said.
Lazarus followed Brent as far as the door, then paused to look back at Gabe. When Gabe nodded, the dog disappeared inside the house with his new friend.
“I wish my boys were as obedient as your dog,” Hannah said.
“Boys are a little harder to train.”
She gave him half a smile before opening the door. “I’ll see if Kenny’s still awake. Are you coming in?”
Gabe pictured trying to talk to Kenny with her possibly overhearing the entire conversation and decided to stay where he was. “Actually, maybe Kenny and I could have a few minutes alone out here on the porch.”
She hesitated. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”
He could tell that she was used to carrying the whole load when it came to the worry and care of her boys. He sympathized and tried to reassure her. “He’s a good boy. He’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” She slipped inside, and he felt some concern of his own. She’d trusted him that easily—but if Kenny let him down…
It was only a couple of minutes before Kenny shuffled out onto the porch, wearing a muscle shirt, a pair of holey jeans and no shoes. “Coach,” he said, his voice sullen.
Gabe rolled back and motioned for Kenny to sit in the chair he’d just brought. Kenny’s eyebrows lifted when he saw it, but he didn’t ask where it had come from. “Something wrong?” he asked.
Gabe indicated his face. “Looks that way.”
Kenny’s chin came up. “He got the worst of it.”
“That’s what I hear. But you could have broken a hand last night. Do you realize that?”
He didn’t answer.
“Where would the team be if our starting quarterback broke his hand before the season began?”
He shrugged. “Maybe the team would be better off.”
“How?”
“Jonathon Greer could play.”
“He could, but you’re better at avoiding a sack. You know that, right? You know our chances of winning go down if you don’t play?”
“No.”
Gabe waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “What was the fight with Sly all about, Kenny?”
Kenny seemed to be studying his bare feet. “Nothing.”
“You banged him up that bad without a reason?”
“He’s got a big mouth, that’s all. He doesn’t know when to leave me alone.”
“You’ve never had a problem with Sly before.”
“I’ve never liked him,” Kenny said.
“But you’ve never had a problem with him.”
No response.
“Is there anything going on with the team that I should know about?”
He rubbed his neck but continued to avoid Gabe’s eyes. “No, Coach. Not that I know of.”
Gabe wished Kenny’s body language was half as convincing as his words. He decided to be more direct. “Coach Blaine hasn’t contacted you, has he?”
His eyes darted up. “About what?”
“About anything.”
He blinked several times, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “No, sir.”
Kenny had spoken so softly Gabe could scarcely hear him. “What?”
“I said no.”
“Then, we’re all set for our first game this week?”
Kenny’s gaze fell again, but he nodded.
“You don’t seem too excited.”
He didn’t say anything.
“You’re going to play your heart out during that game, right?”
Kenny’s shoulders rounded a little more. “Yes, sir.”
Gabe put a hand on his arm. Finally, Kenny looked up. “I’m counting on you.”
He nodded.
“Will you get my dog and tell your mother good-night for me?”
“Sure.” He started into the house but paused on the doorstep. “Coach?”
“Yes?”
“I—I think you’re doing a good job. With the team, I mean.”
“Thanks,” Gabe said, wishing Kenny would open up to him. Gabe had been hoping that Mike was wrong. But after talking to Hannah’s son, he was more convinced than ever that something was going on.
So what did he do about it? Did he save Kenny from himself by pulling him from the game? Did he pull other key starters, as well? Did he complain about Blaine to the school board and try to get him fired?
No, he couldn’t do any of that. He had no proof. Blaine might not be his favorite person, but the guy deserved the chance to prove himself one way or the other.
The proof would be in the game. On Friday, Gabe would know who was really on his team—and who wasn’t.