Chapter 97: Potential Fatal Weakness

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"Woo-hoo!"

Grace stood in the passenger seat of Lisa’s BMW convertible with both arms raised while Nolan drove, earning startled looks from half the people on the street.

"Sit down before a traffic cop decides I kidnapped the athletic director," Nolan said.

Grace dropped back into the seat, flushed and laughing in spite of herself.

"I needed that."

"Budget season?"

"Budget life."

The E36 convertible was not a supercar, but it was clean, quick enough, and more than enough to make Grace forget school forms for ten minutes.

She glanced at Nolan. "So this is what your life looks like now? Cars, football, movie people, and a house next to adult-video crews?"

"You make it sound messy."

"It is messy."

"Organized mess."

Grace looked away, still smiling. "You are too young to talk like this."

"I am old enough for the responsibilities everyone keeps handing me."

She had no clean answer to that.

...

When Nolan returned home, Charlize had midnight food waiting.

This time the meal was edible.

"Improving," he said.

"Do not sound surprised."

"I am deeply moved."

Charlize rolled her eyes, but she did not leave.

The house was quiet. Mia had already gone to bed. Nolan had a flight in the morning and a road trip that would test more than the scoreboard.

Charlize leaned against the counter, nineteen, sober, and watching him with the sort of choice that did not need much translation.

"Last dance before Utah?" Nolan asked.

"If you are going to be dramatic, at least be good at it."

He stepped closer, then stopped.

"Say stop if you want me to stop."

Charlize’s expression softened, just a little. "I know."

"I mean it."

"I know."

She came to him first.

The rest of the night stayed private, adult, and clumsy in the places first steps always were. When it hurt, Nolan slowed. When she asked a question, he answered. When she wanted reassurance, he gave it without turning it into a joke.

Near dawn, Charlize lay against him, exhausted and quiet.

"Will it always hurt?"

"No."

"Good."

"Regretting it?"

She turned her face into his shoulder.

"No."

...

The flight to Salt Lake City reminded Nolan why Lisa hated coach.

Boar looked folded into his seat. Nolan was not much better. Even Thomas, across the aisle with a copy of Playboy open in front of him, looked offended by the legroom.

"Do first-class seats actually have space?" Thomas asked.

"Yes."

"Then why are we back here?"

"Because Grace gave us a budget, not a miracle."

Thomas grunted and went back to pretending he was reading for the articles.

The group traveling to Utah was larger than a normal football trip: players, coaches, trainers, managers, and twenty cheerleaders, including Amy, Naomi, and Sarah. With the cheer squad included, the total approached eighty people.

Nolan had used Katherine’s connection through Elizabeth to arrange a three-star hotel tied to her family’s holdings in Salt Lake City. Rooms, meals, buses, and basic incidentals came in under the fifty-thousand-dollar ceiling, though not by enough to make him careless.

Sarah heard the numbers and immediately tried.

"So if there is money left, we can go out?"

"No."

"Just a little."

"We are not tourists."

"You are cruel."

"You are rested."

They landed, loaded into two buses, dropped bags at the hotel, and went straight to Wasatch Ridge High for a light training session.

Nolan kept himself out of most drills.

Wasatch Ridge would have film. They did not need more.

Reese took reps with the offense while Nolan studied the field, the stands, and the way the stadium had already been dressed. White banners, student-section signs, school colors, and a clean, hostile order that reminded him of what BHHS had tried to build after he turned their crowd into a weapon.

Wasatch Ridge had been doing it for years.

Sarah watched from the sideline, arms folded.

"Why are you not practicing?"

"Why are you?"

"Grace is not here. Someone has to keep the cheer squad from wandering off."

"Then supervise."

"I am."

Nolan looked at the cheer routine and stepped in just long enough to ruin a stunt. His hand landed at the wrong waist angle, Sarah lost the line, and the entire formation broke.

"Nolan!"

She chased him across the sideline while the players laughed.

Across the field, several Wasatch Ridge players watched.

"He is flirting during practice," one of them said.

The coaches watched something else.

They had studied Nolan’s games and found the same answer their film kept giving them.

Nolan Callahan was terrifying.

His teammates were not.

That was the potential fatal weakness.

...

"Special training?"

Nolan turned and saw Penny Webb walking over with a microphone in hand. Mike trailed a few steps behind her like a weary guardian angel.

"Prime Ticket sent you?" Nolan asked.

"Southern California’s most famous high school quarterback plays a Utah title favorite tomorrow. Of course we are here." Penny glanced at Sarah, who was still glaring at Nolan. "Your warm-ups are unusual."

Nolan lowered his voice. "Come to my room tonight."

Penny’s mouth twitched. "My coworkers are watching."

"Promise first."

She sighed, but the look she gave him was not fear. It was calculation, appetite, and the familiar knowledge that she was choosing the risk.

"Fine."

Mike saw only the sigh.

His face tightened as if he had just witnessed a hostage negotiation.

Penny ignored him and lifted the microphone.

"Now give us usable footage before my producer kills me."

Nolan walked back onto the field.

Behind him, the Normans began whispering.

The cheerleaders noticed too.

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