Page 25

Chapter Eighteen

I ’ve been pacing outside the district offices for at least thirty minutes.

I sent my parents inside, along with my dad’s coaching staff, who all showed up for support.

I know they mean well, and the show of strength probably plays in my favor, especially when it comes from the football side, but my mind keeps wandering to the size of my audience rather than the content on my notecards.

I have some major points to make, and I don’t want to get rattled.

It’s particularly hot out; August in Arizona doing its thing.

I’m so sweaty, I consider swapping out my suit pants and blouse for the dress I brought as backup.

The bead of sweat slowly crawling down my spine almost pushes me over the edge, but thankfully, Wyatt’s mom pulls into the lot with my husband in tow.

Something about knowing he’s here helps shore up my resolve. I’m glad he came.

I hold my cards at my side, my lips moving with the words as silently I run through my opening while Wyatt and his mom walk up to me.

“How are you feeling, hon?” Wyatt’s mom gives me a quick hug.

I draw in a deep breath and let my shoulders fall with my exhale.

“I’m definitely prepared.”

She runs her palms over my shoulders, brushing away loose hairs from my deep purple jacket.

“Well, you look like a prosecutor. Go give ’em hell.”

She gently tugs my lapels, straightening my jacket before giving me a reassuring smile and glancing at her son.

“I’ll be right in,” Wyatt says, kissing his mom on the cheek before she heads into the public meeting room that is starting to reach capacity.

I’m thankful I have yet to see anyone from the media.

I’m sure the reporter from our local paper will tune in to watch the stream of the meeting online.

That’s better than a bunch of cameras parked out front.

“How was the drive?” I ask him once we’re alone. He told me about his bold reaction when Jeff answered his mom’s phone. I figured the hour drive from Tucson would give them some much-needed time to talk.

“Well, we talked about you. The photo. Your hearing tonight. The baby. The last ultrasound. Oh, and what I think my odds are for starting the next preseason game. So, yeah. It was eventful.” His sarcasm is showing.

“You know, you could have brought it up, too. It’s not just on your mom to come forward and share her personal life.”

I give him a wry smirk as he stares at me blankly for a full breath. He looks to the right as he exhales and hunches, probably from all the valid points I just piled on his shoulders.

“It’s not like she’s been hiding things. They’ve both been out in the open about spending time together, showing up places together, being together. Maybe—and now, just hear me out, but maybe—your mom simply assumed you knew and were okay with it.”

My husband blinks his focus back to me, his lips pursed.

“She’s been a widow for a long time. And honestly, if she had to catch feelings for someone, wouldn’t you want it to be a man like Jeff?”

His shoulders sag as his lips flap with a frustrated breath before relenting.

“Yes. I know you’re right. Damn it, you’re always right. It’s just . . . weird.” He pulls me in for a hug, and kisses the top of my head.

“Life is weird, Wyatt. It’s a series of one weird thing after another. Now, put on your big-boy pants and go sit with your mom while I practice a speech about why it’s okay to be affectionate with my husband.”

His chest rumbles with his chuckle.

“Fair enough. And hey, pencil in some time to be affectionate later tonight. I fly out in the morning.”

“ Mmm , we’ll see. Kinda depends how this thing goes.” I step up on my toes to give him a quick kiss before he heads inside.

I run through my note cards two more times before tucking them in my jacket pocket and everyone heads inside.

I make a stop in the ladies’ room to shake out my nerves and touch up my lip gloss.

When I push through the door, it flings open as someone pulls the handle from the other side, and I stumble out.

“Sorry, Coach . . . oh . . . ”

I pull myself together quickly at the sound of Alissa Sommers’ voice.

It’s not her fault that her mom is pushy.

Honestly, I like Alissa. She’s a terrible tumbler, and she can’t project worth a damn, but she works hard and is a huge help at practice.

I’ve dubbed her team manager for a reason.

Her mom thinks her daughter is someone else, though.

She thinks Alissa is the same loud, athletic cheerleader she was when she was in high school.

And the fact Alissa isn’t going to perform with the squad in competition baffles her.

What Alissa needs is to be valued for exactly who she is.

Not your place, Peyton. Keep your mouth shut. Especially now.

“It’s okay, Alissa. I’m a bit of a mess. I’m sure I would have tripped all on my own.” I force a pleasant smile on my lips, but it breaks down when Alissa’s mouth quivers and her eyes tear up.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, her hands flying to her mouth, cupping it.

I shake my head and glance around the foyer of the meeting room. It’s clear, so I shake my head and pull down my emotional mask for a moment.

“It’s not your fault, Alissa. And no matter what, you will continue to have a place on the squad. You’re a natural leader. And not all leaders have to be loud.”

She nods as her hands slowly drop to her sides.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice a whisper.

“No. Thank you for everything you’ve done to help the team.” I stop myself from apologizing for her mom acting the way she is, because as ugly as her attack on me is, I know the root of it is because she believes she’s defending her daughter.

Alissa attempts a smile, however tepid, then heads into the restroom.

I make my way into the full meeting room, taking a seat in the very back, next to the other speakers who have been called on for tonight.

Granted, the guy right next to me is presenting on the quotes the district received for replacement concrete for one of the elementary schools, and the woman next to him is asking for a budget for an eighth-grade winter dance. I wish I could trade places with her.

To spare the other guests from a late night, the board president, a retired teacher named Chuck Darwin of all things, shuffles the agenda and lets the two other presenters go first. The wait has me sweating, but it’s too late to dip into the bathroom and swap the suit for a dress, though the thought of dashing out after a superhero-esque change is tempting.

“Now to the matter of the indecent photo?—”

I get to my feet the second Chuck utters that word. Indecent.

“Excuse me. I would like to speak and correct what I suspect may be some dangerous misrepresentations of, well, me.”

“ Hmm ,” he grumbles into his mic.

The applause from the audience buoys me as I step up to the podium in front of the dais. There is one section of the room that’s quiet, the one where Alissa’s mom is sitting with her cohorts. Strange how those are the parents of the girls I either cut from tryouts or offered non-performing roles.

Football doesn’t have to put up with this shit.

I clear my throat and adjust the mic, the snickers from my haters catching my ears.

They must catch my mom’s too, because she levels an audible shh that carries across the room.

I breathe in slowly through my nose rather than cringe.

Mom is defending me. And that’s what Alissa’s mom thinks she’s doing.

Maintain composure. Stick to the message.

“I didn’t come here tonight to defend a photo.

I came to defend my name. My family’s name.

A name that means something because of the things we’ve all done for this community.

My grandfather put this place on the map.

Leading the high school to its first state football championship.

Opening the first auto dealership in town.

Serving as the president of this very board when my dad was a baby. ”

I glance to my right to find my father leaning against the wall alongside his coaching staff and several of his players.

“My dad carried that torch, and he didn’t need to come back. I won’t lie, there were times when I was sixteen and . . . well . . . acting my age, and I thought ‘Man, it would be nice to live in Malibu instead of a desert that tops out at a hundred and twenty-three degrees in July.’”

The crowd chuckles. Heat jokes always play well in this place.

“But nah. Not Reed Johnson. He wanted to come back to his roots. He wanted to help guide the inevitable growth. To pour money into the sport here, to the place that gave him a career in the first place. The man spends more time on that high school field than any of you ever have. My mom, too. And the ranch she’s built, the way she’s helping people, families, to find joy and to feel a connection through animal therapy.

Yeah, the Johnsons are good for Coolidge. ”

I’m feeling my rhythm, which is probably why Chuck feels the need to clear his throat in his mic right now.

My eyes flit up from my note cards to meet his.

I haven’t had to look at them much, but so far, I’ve stayed on message.

But the way he’s looking at me, boredom drooping his face, means my words aren’t really sinking in.

I set my cards down on the podium and take a step back for a moment, dropping my head and shaking it. I’m going to have to go off script. I approach the mic again, this time gripping the edges of the podium and taking my time to meet the gazes of all five board members.

“You know, we wouldn’t be having this meeting if I were the football coach.

If this was a football parent filing a complaint.

If this, what did you call it . . . indecent?

Yeah, if this indecent photo was of my dad, one of his staff, one of our beloved players or alumni who wore the jersey, we wouldn’t be having a meeting at all.

Hell, I bet at least one of you on that board would turn it into a meme or a Christmas card. ”

Travis, who played for Coolidge with my Uncle Jason years ago snaps his gaze to me. I smirk, and he cracks a little under the guilt, smiling back on one side of his mouth.

“It’s interesting that I’m not the only person in this photo, yet I don’t see my husband being dragged before you all to be embarrassed.”

“Mrs. Stone, your husband is not a member of the faculty?—”

I hold up my hand and utter, “Ah ah ah.”

I glance at Wyatt, and he leans forward, sitting up tall.

“Hey, sweetheart? What was that thing you got in the mail the other day, you know, right before you left for training camp?”

My husband smirks, then stands, causing a wave of chatter and whispers to filter throughout the room.

“It was a letter stating I would be considered ‘on sabbatical’ until further notice. The football boosters were hoping I could maybe contribute to the spring program, help with workouts, and motivate the kids.”

“So, basically, remain on staff,” I lead, quirking a brow. I may have missed my calling as a lawyer.

“Basically. Yeah,” Wyatt says, giving me a wink before taking his seat.

This time when I turn back to face the board, Chuck, along with Tammy Neddles, another retired teacher who always votes his way, are both sitting back with their arms crossed. They look pissed.

“We probably should have booked more time for this meeting, then, right? I mean, clearly, you’re also going to evaluate how this sordid situation impacts my husband’s role at Coolidge High.

We’re in the same photo. You know, both clothed, and married, and showing we love each other.

To be clear, I did not take this photo. My husband also did not take this photo.

We thought we were in the privacy of our hotel quarters, reconnecting after a few weeks apart.

And he’s kissing my belly because, not that this is anyone’s business, but we’re having a baby. ”

Maybe this is what I should have said in the first place, because the second my news breaks, the crowd becomes excited. There are a few whistles, some sweet awws, and there’s applause. Plus, it’s probably not a good look to come after the pregnant lady.

The gavel coming down on the dais startles me, along with many in the crowd, and decorum comes around.

I have one last shot to make my case. The board members are all glancing at one another, leaning in and whispering.

Conspiring. Yeah, I was wearing a Coolidge High cheer uniform.

I paid for the thing when I was eighteen.

I should get to wear it anytime I want. And again, I was wearing it.

Not stripping out of it. And as far as anyone can tell, we were simply embracing—showing love.

“You know, a lot of things have been swept under proverbial rugs around this place when it comes to football. A certain fire my senior year comes to mind. And the underage drinking and skinny dipping in the river are a very public secret rites of passage. Oh, and I think there was a drag race or two between Coolidge players and Vista players. And?—”

“Your point is made, Mrs. Stone,” Chuck says, not wanting me to list more of the town’s dirty laundry.

“It’s Stone-Johnson,” I correct, making sure to note that Johnson name in the record. I may as well cash in on it if it helps.

“Noted,” Chuck says in a dry, emotionless tone.

“Thank you.” I curtsy, mostly because I’m nervous, then head back to my lonely chair in the back of the room while Chuck makes a public appeal for any more speakers on the topic. I’ve become a topic.

I stare at the back of Adrian Sommers’s head, my molars smashing together while I hold my breath. When the tight, blonde bun wiggles as she shakes her head, passing on the chance to judge me publicly, I spit out my breath and let my back rest against the hard metal of the chair.

The board ultimately votes to dismiss the complaint against me when I skate by three against two.

Chuck, of course, votes to suspend me, as does Tammy.

I’m not surprised by their decision, but I am a little shocked by the outcome.

This town likes to act small when it’s convenient, and when it’s about something gossipy at the expense of a woman, it gets small real fast.