The Newcomer (Thunder Point #2)(70)

“Good,” the man replied. “A beer’s on the way over. Take a seat.”

“This looks downright ominous,” Cooper said, pulling out a chair. And before they could get down to it, his beer arrived.

“When Cooper showed up in town, he looked like some kind of jet jockey—leather bomber jacket and boots and short hair. Now he’s starting to look like a beachcomber,” Mac said with a laugh.

Cooper looked down at himself—soft scrubbed jeans, sweatshirt, well-worn topsiders on his feet. His hair had got a little long and he needed to take time for a haircut. As far as he was concerned, he was attired in the uniform of the day.

“There’s some news coming our way,” Mac said. “Coach?”

The older man cleared his throat. “It’s been a rough year, but I don’t have to tell you that. You’re here because you lost a good friend—Ben Bailey. And you’re good friends with Landon Dupre. We all know he went through some hard times when he first moved here.

“I expected to teach and coach till I’m seventy-five,” the coach said. “I’ve been here a long time. Been growing up the young men in this town for decades. I’m sixty-five. I think it’s time for me to step down, let a younger man take over, if one can be found.” He shook his head sadly. “I missed so many warning signs—I was coaching a kid who had been a lethal bully for years and I never saw what was happening.”

“As I’ve told the coach, there were a lot of us who regarded Jag Morrison as a spoiled pain in the ass, but never realized he was capable of taking that to the next level,” Mac said, referring to the kid who was now in detention for manslaughter. Mac lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

“You can’t hold yourself accountable for him, Coach,” Cliff said. “No more than I can. I’ve been friends with his dad, Puck, for years and I couldn’t stand the way Jag treated his folks or the folks around town, but I never said anything. I never did anything.”

“What could you have done?” the coach said. “I was in a position to take a stand—he was my player.” He turned his attention to Cooper. “I’ve written a letter of intent to the school board and they’ll receive it tomorrow. I’m resigning as athletic director and head coach effective the end of the school year. I can stay on as a consultant to a new coach—I know the town, I know the boys. But that’s the best I can do. I think the team needs better instincts, younger eyes.”

“You took the team all-conference last year,” Cooper pointed out.

Coach Rayborough shook his head, looking down. “There’s more to it than that,” he said. “I’ve always tried to impress on the kids that there’s more to it than just winning. It’s about making your school and your parents and your town proud, and that goes beyond the field.”

Cooper took a drink from his beer. Then he asked, “Have you thought this through? Maybe you’re just disappointed. You have a right to be—you were as let down as anyone in learning that your team captain was felonious. But the boys—they held it together through some pretty rugged stuff.”

“I went to his sentencing hearing today,” the coach said solemnly. “I watched a boy not yet eighteen sentenced to prison and he still smirked and laughed as he was being led away. There’s evil there. And I never saw it.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Cooper asked.

“Dupre, for one,” Coach said. “The kids in this town need good coaching, good role models. Most of ’em come from simple families—fishermen, small business owners, folks with jobs out of town, public servants. These aren’t rich folks. Their kids need scholarships if they can get ’em. They all work, with few exceptions. They get through high school struggling for the best grades, hold part-time jobs and if they’re athletic or musical, they put a lot of time and heart into developing those skills to help them land scholarships. We’ve been real lucky—we’ve turned out some damn fine athletes. There have only been a couple of pros out of Thunder Point, but there have been a lot of college degrees.”

“Cooper,” Mac said. “How’s your game?”

His eyes widened and he snapped to attention. “My game?” He laughed. “First of all, I have a year and a few credits of college and that’s it. I could teach just about anyone how to fly a helicopter, but not much else. Second, I played sandlot football—I could catch a ball if someone walked across the parking lot and handed it to me. Is that why you wanted me to come over? Hoping I could step up? Because, man, I love the game but...but I love the game enough to stay the hell out of the coaching business.”

“Actually, I wanted to call you because of Landon,” Mac said. “He’s got a lot riding on his senior year.”

“No kidding,” Cooper said. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Well, you’re his mentor,” Mac said. “You’re his closest adult male influence. He probably can talk to you about things he can’t really talk to Sarah about. He might be in the market for some serious moral support. I’m sure he’s counting on the coach being there.”

Cooper shot Coach Rayborough a look. “Listen, I get that you’ve had about enough. I understand, seriously. But if there’s not a decent coach on scene...”