Anything for Her Children

He hadn’t expected to recognize the name, but he was sure he’d heard it before. He searched his mind but couldn’t place where or when.

“Well, then, Keri Cassidy, I’ll tell you what I told Bryan. I don’t care how good he is, if he cheats at school, he gets suspended.”

“What?” The early January air was cold enough that her breath came out in a frosty puff. “Bryan doesn’t cheat.”

“I say he does.”

“He doesn’t need to cheat. He’s a good student. He’s getting at least a B in every class.”

“Those aren’t necessarily the grades he deserves.”

“That’s for his teachers to decide.”

“I am one of his teachers.”

He could tell the information surprised her. Bryan must not have told her he’d had a teaching as well as a coaching change.

“Which class?” she asked.

“Nutrition and exercise. I took over Coach Cartwright’s classes. The students are required to write papers. I have information that Bryan didn’t write his.”

She angled her head, and he felt as if she was trying to see inside him. “Information? From whom?”

“From the girl who wrote the paper for him, which I understand happens in his other classes, too.”

“Did Bryan admit to this?”

“No.”

Her head shook, rustling her hair. “Then you can’t possibly know for sure it’s true.”

“I wouldn’t have suspended him if I didn’t believe it.” He stamped his feet. The temperature felt to be in the twenties and dropping. His hands were cold, and he no longer had sensation in his ears.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he stopped her. “Go home and talk to Bryan. If you have more to discuss, I’ll be in my office after practice tomorrow. Noon.”

She seemed about ready to protest, then a squall of wind whipped across the parking lot, blowing hair into her face. She brushed the strands back. “Oh, I’ll still want to discuss it. You can count on that.”

She hurried off. Despite the cold, he stared after her, noticing the same girl he’d seen with her earlier now waited in the lighted lobby of the gym. A younger sister? Another adoptive child?

He craned his neck, expecting to see a man with them, but they were alone when they emerged from the building. Keri Cassidy put her arm around the girl, as though shielding her from the world. They headed for a dark-colored Volvo across the lot from where he was parked.

Halfway there, the girl looked up and stared at him. Keri Cassidy’s head lifted. He couldn’t see her expression or hear what she said but knew by her body language that it wasn’t good.

The wind gusted again, this time carrying a few snowflakes. Grady became aware that he hadn’t moved since she left his side. He fought to keep his chin up as he walked through the wind-whipped parking lot to his car.

After what he’d been through at Carolina State, he should be used to people thinking the worst about him. But somehow, he wasn’t.

CHAPTER TWO

K ERI FOUND B RYAN LYING on his bed, his earphones blotting out all noise except the songs on his MP3 player.

She knocked on the open door, but he didn’t sit up until she stepped into his field of vision. His eyes were no longer red, but a few balled-up tissues littered the floor near the wastebasket. He wore a Springhill High basketball T-shirt and team sweatpants.

She didn’t yet have all the facts, but her heart already ached for him. She hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, which wasn’t usually the way she felt around Bryan. It was how she always felt when dealing with Rose.

“Springhill lost by six,” she finally told him.

Bryan indicated the sleek black cell phone beside him on the bed. “I know. Hubie text messaged. He told me about the college scouts.”

Keri nodded. The verification seemed to make him feel worse. He hung his head, his expression dejected. Keri had never seen Bryan like this before.

If not for basketball, Keri might have worried that the easygoing Bryan would let life pass him by. But on court, he turned into a fierce competitor.

“Can I sit down?” she asked.

He moved over, making room for her on the extralong bed she’d special-ordered so his feet wouldn’t hang over the end.

His bedroom couldn’t have been more different from Rose’s. Everything had a place, from the neat rows of books on his bookshelf to the stacks of CDs behind his bed. He’d replaced the posters of NBA stars that used to adorn his walls with an assortment of excellent photographs he’d taken himself, but left in place shelves crowded with basketball trophies.

“I talked to Coach Quinlan after the game,” Keri said.

Bryan let out a harsh sound, making it very clear what he thought of his basketball coach. Keri was still making up her mind. Aside from his height, the coach hadn’t looked the way she’d expected him to. With short brown hair that sprang back from his forehead in thick waves, high cheekbones and clear hazel eyes, he resembled a grown-up version of the All-American boy. But she had enough sense not to judge the caliber of a man by the strength of his good looks.

“I didn’t know Coach Quinlan was one of your teachers,” she continued.

“Lucky me,” Bryan muttered under his breath, his sarcasm heavy and uncharacteristic.

“He said he suspended you because someone else wrote the paper you turned in.”

Bryan spun toward her, his dark eyes wide. He looked so much like his mother at that moment that Keri’s breath caught. “And you believe I’d do something like that?”

She didn’t. Rose hadn’t been far off when she’d remarked that Bryan didn’t drive Keri crazy. In the three years since she’d become their guardian and later their adoptive mother, Keri had few complaints. Oh, Bryan sometimes forgot to phone and let her know where he was. And he’d arrived home after curfew more than once. But overall, he was a very good kid.

“I didn’t say I believed it,” Keri said slowly, “but I would like to hear your side of the story.”

“I wrote my own paper. That’s my side.”

“Then why does Coach Quinlan think someone else wrote it?”

“Because Becky Harding is mad I didn’t ask her to the Snowball Dance.”

“Becky Harding?” Keri tried to remember if he’d mentioned the girl before but couldn’t place her name. So many girls congregated around Bryan that Keri couldn’t even recall the name of the tall, willowy blonde he’d taken to the dance. “Who’s she?”

“Some cheerleader who has a thing for me. We hung out a couple of times, sure, but she made too much of it.”

“So this Becky Harding, she told Coach Quinlan she wrote your paper?”

“Yeah, but she can’t prove it. It wasn’t handwritten or anything.”