Jack watched them go, his mind already cataloging the details. Third row, halfway down, the locker with the dent. Oval pale-yellow pills. A man in a hoodie cursing about clumsiness. A wrestler nervous enough to drop what he'd been given.
This was real. Something had definitely happened. And Jack needed to figure out who was behind it before one of those kids got hurt. He walked to the other coach and told him that he needed to check something out, then headed to the locker rooms.
Jack walked inside, his footsteps echoing on the tile floor. He found the row of lockers where Robbie would have been hiding and located number 34 with the dent in the door. He was much too large to fit inside, but he leaned his back against the locker and squatted until his eyes were at the level of the slats. That gave him the angle that Robbie would have been looking at.
He could see the bench clearly from this angle. Could see where someone would have been standing if they were talking to a wrestler sitting down.
Jack then walked over to the bench and knelt, looking at the floor. Robbie said the pills had scattered.
The floor was clean now, swept and mopped by the janitorial staff. But Jack got down on his hands and knees anyway and looked underneath the lockers. They were up on a rise about a half inch from the floor, just enough space for something small to roll under.
Jack pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it under the nearest locker. Nothing. He moved to the next one, then the next. On the fourth locker, his light caught something yellow next to the back wall. Two oval yellow pills.
He called Mark immediately. “I have evidence. Two pills underneath a locker in the boys’ gym. I need you to come with evidence bags.”
“On my way,” Mark said without hesitation.
Fifteen minutes later, Mark walked into the locker room looking like any other parent or staff member. Mark handed him the evidence bag, and Jack reached underneath the locker with a pen, rolling out the two pills. Once bagged and labeled, Mark signed off on it, documenting the chain of custody.
“When this comes back from the lab,” Mark said quietly, “we can open a case if it turns out to be what we're afraid it might be.”
Jack nodded, his gut tight with anticipation and dread. “How long for the lab results?”
“A few days. Maybe a week.” Mark tucked the evidence bag carefully into his jacket. “In the meantime, keep your eyes open. Don't tip anyone off.”
“I won't.”
Mark left, and Jack stood alone in the empty locker room. He thought about Robbie hiding in that locker, watching something he didn't fully understand, but his gut instinct was that it wasn’t good. And how he told his two best friends. And Carson, who told Rachel in a roundabout way. Then he thought about all the other kids who might be at risk, who might be taking something they thought was safe because someone they trusted had told them it was okay.
He thought of how Colt had protected him when he was younger, and now it was Jack's turn. He left the locker room and headed down to the field for practice. Carson looked over, and Jack gave him a small nod. Carson nodded back.
And Jack made himself a promise. He would find out who was putting these kids at risk and stop them. He had a legacy to protect… paying forward the protection he'd received. Making sure the next generation had someone fighting for them the way Colt had once fought for him.
26
Rachel was having a shit day.
It started when her alarm didn't go off, or rather, when she discovered she'd set it for p.m. instead of a.m. the night before. She woke to sunlight streaming through her bedroom window and the sick realization that she had exactly thirty minutes to get ready for school.
She dressed quickly, swiped on tinted moisturizer and mascara, grabbed her purse, and raced out the door without breakfast or coffee. By the time she skidded into the faculty parking lot, she had five minutes to spare before the first period began. She practically ran to her classroom, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Cindy was waiting by her door, concern written across her face. “Hey, are you okay? You look?—”
“I'm fine,” Rachel said, fumbling with her keys. “Just running late.”
“You're never late.” Cindy followed her into the classroom. “Are you sure you're okay?”
Rachel dropped her bag on her desk and turned to face her friend. “Yes, but there's just a lot going on now.”
“You'll talk to me later?” Cindy's voice carried the weight of years of friendship, of knowing when Rachel was holding something back.
“As soon as I can, yes,” Rachel promised.
Cindy squeezed her arm and left just as the first bell rang. Rachel took a deep breath, smoothed her shirt, and tried to compose herself as students began to file in.
First period was a blur of creative writing prompts. Rachel went through the motions, but her mind kept drifting to Carson, to what he'd told her, and to the pieces of this puzzle slowly coming together.
Then one of the assistant principals walked in.
