“Well, we can take a wait-and-see approach.” Coach Keller looks me in the eye, his face stony. “Do nothing and hope for the best. Or—”
His voice trails off.
“Or what?” I ask, growing more anxious and more impatient by the second. It’s my fucking future at stake here. I can’t just sit back and wait for the shitstorm to hit.
“Or we can go on the offensive. Tell your side of the story first.”
Okay, that sounds even more horrifying than the wait-and-see thing. And it could get me in serious legal trouble, too. “I signed a nondisclosure agreement.”
“Which a court can declare null and void if it’s against the public interest,” Coach Garfunkle chimes in. “Plus, it would be a public relations nightmare if the university were to try to enforce it. And Hartfield would have to prove damages, which would be difficult, if not impossible. Like, how is the school’s reputation harmed by showing they duly investigated and found the claim false? As long as you don’t name your accuser, or include any identifying information, you should be in the clear.”
I stare at him open mouthed. I swear, that’s the most words I’ve ever heard him string together. And did he squeeze law school in somewhere between the transcendental meditation, Buddhist theory, and Reiki certificates?
“I don’t know,” I hedge. “Can I talk to my father before making a decision?”
He’d kill me if I did anything without consulting him first. Besides, he’s a lawyer. He’ll know how to handle this.
“Of course.” Coach Keller nods his agreement. “I was going to suggest that you call him. But do it quickly. We don’t have much time if we want to get ahead of the story.”
“Right. Thanks, Coach.” I stand to go, my plans to meet Kolby and celebrate with the team at the Biscuit up in smoke. If I hurry, I can catch my dad before he goes to bed.
“Adam.”
I freeze. Coach Keller never calls me by my first name. I don’t know whether to be frightened that he’s using it now or flattered that he remembers it at all.
“I’m sure you’re worried about all this, but one thing I don’t want you to lose sleep over is your place on this team. As far as Coach Garfunkle and I are concerned, you’re a Moo U Bull, and newspaper article or no newspaper article, that’s not going to change.”
“And this conversation stays between us, at least for now,” Coach Garfunkle adds. “We’ll fill the team in if and when we have to.”
“Thanks,” I repeat myself, not knowing what else to say. It’s reassuring that I’m here to stay, no matter what happens. I only hope the Brooklyn Barons feel the same way.
I grab my coat and head out, focused on getting back to the hockey house so I can have some privacy when I call my dad. Maybe a little too focused because I forget Kolby’s waiting for me in the hallway and almost plow into him. He must have sent his sister home, or she got tired of waiting, because he’s alone, nervously rocking back on forth on his heels, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. One look at his ashen face and I know who the reporter’s source is.
Remember what I said about trusting the wrong guy with Chase? It looks like I’ve done the same damn thing again with Kolby. I guess it’s true what they say. You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks.
“Adam, there’s something I need to tell—”
“Stop.” I hold both hands up, palms out. “I think you’ve talked enough already, don’t you?”
He stares down at the toes of his Vans. “I guess that reporter from the student newspaper found you.”
“No, but he found Coach Keller.”
His head snaps up. “Shit. I need to explain—”
“No, you don’t,” I snarl, cutting Kolby off again. It barely even registers that he swore, that’s how angry I am. “It doesn’t matter how he found out about Chase. It’s done, and I have to deal with it.”
“I could—”
“No, you couldn’t.”
No, no, no. It’s all I can seem to say to him. My mouth won’t form words of forgiveness. Or understanding. I’m too mad. And too hurt. I trusted Kolby with my deepest, darkest secret, the one with the potential to derail my career, my future, my life, and he stabbed me in the back. Just like Chase.
I yank up the zipper on my jacket and cross my arms over my chest. “I can’t do this now.”
“Do what?”
“This.” I wave a hand back and forth between us. “You and me. I don’t have time to figure this out. I need to fix the mess you made.”
