In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(57)

“It’s a pretty big motivation to kill Heather,” Mint said, pulling no punches. “Killing her would keep her from telling your dad about Jack, maybe making him suspicious, making him ask you questions.”

Frankie’s mouth dropped open. All around us, people kept shouting his name.

“I can’t believe you guys. I didn’t tell you about Heather’s plan to out Jack because I didn’t want to say something so ugly about her.” Frankie scrubbed his face with his hands and paused. “She wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“How do you know?” Caro leaned against the rail, dark hair fluttering in the wind.

“Because she regretted even telling me Jack came out to her. She cried and said she was too drunk, and wasn’t supposed to say anything, especially not to me, because she thought I’d hate him. Try to kick him out of Phi Delt. She remembered what I’d said about Danny Grier the night guys were drawing on his picture in the frat house. She thought I was a homophobe. She died thinking I was a homophobe.”

I thought of how Caro had described Heather reaming out Frankie for dragging Jack into his steroid cover-up. “She was trying to protect Jack,” I said. “Like always.”

Frankie nodded. “That’s why I know she wouldn’t have told his parents. I know it in my bones. What she said to Courtney—she was just hurting and letting off steam.”

Suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know, even though Caro was going to kill me.

“Did you stop taking steroids? Senior year of college, when Heather confronted you and Jack, did you come clean like she asked, or did you have Jack cover for you? Are you still using them?”

Caro gasped, but everyone else grew deadly quiet.

“Are you suggesting Heather had more dirt on Frankie?” Eric asked, eyes narrowing to slivers. “Career-ending dirt?”

Frankie stared at me, too surprised to do anything but gape. “Heather told you?”

I could feel Caro’s eyes burning my face. “It’s not important. Answer the question.”

“There’s no way Frankie—” Mint glanced at the crowd and the other football players waving near the back of the float. It was too loud for anyone to hear us, but still, he lowered his voice. “Cheated.”

To my surprise, Frankie shook his head. “It’s true. I was an idiot. I messed around with that stuff back then. Jack helped me pass the drug tests, and the last time, senior year, Heather caught us. She threatened to tell my coach. Jack and I did it anyway, and I kept expecting the sky to fall. But nothing. I guess Heather changed her mind.” He looked at Eric. “So I had no reason to be pissed at her. And I stopped using, anyway. She scared the hell out of me, and that was what it took.”

Why hadn’t Heather told Frankie’s coach, like she’d sworn to? I tried to find Caro’s eyes, but she wouldn’t look at me. A puzzle piece was missing.

“So all that talent,” Mint said, “that was the drugs, not you? Not the pride of Oahu?”

“I swear, my NFL career has been all me,” Frankie said.

“No one’s perfect,” Coop said. “People in glass houses, right?”

“No, Mint’s right.” Frankie looked across the sea of people. “I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. I’ve done so many things because I didn’t think who I am was good enough. It’s time to stop being afraid. I’m going to have a bigger imagination.”

Before anyone could say anything, or ask any more questions, Frankie grabbed the microphone from the stand in the corner and closed his eyes—briefly, only for a second—then opened them and shouted into the mic with a giant smile: “Happy Homecoming, Duquette!”

His voice boomed through campus like the voice of God. The crowd roared back. I clutched the railing.

“My name is Frankie Kekoa, class of ’09. For those who don’t know, I led the Crimson football team to four division championships while I was here.”

Everyone shook their pom-poms and whooped.

“And then I was drafted by the Saints.”

The stomping and shouting grew louder.

“And you won a Super Bowl!” someone screamed, followed by a ripple of laughter.

“And I won a Super Bowl,” Frankie agreed, laughing. “Maybe two. Who knows? This year’s looking pretty good.”

The crowd ate it up. Frankie was a natural; he always had been. A huge personality. So much like Heather.

“But let me tell you some things you don’t know about me.”

My heart raced. I resisted the urge to throw my arms around Frankie, shield him.

“In addition to being the highest-scoring player to ever grace Crimson stadium, and the only Duquette alum to play in the NFL, I, Frankie Kekoa, love the color blue.”

Everyone laughed at the feint.

“I love a good steak,” Frankie continued. “I think Easter is the most underrated holiday. And—I am a proud gay man. So now you know a few things about me.”

It was amazing to watch hundreds of people in the throes of cheering suddenly freeze.

Oh god. Somehow, Frankie had found a way to get even more naked atop a Homecoming float. He stood stalwart, his shoulders held high, gazing defiantly at the crowd.

I shot Coop a desperate look over Caro’s head. We have to do something.