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Evan wasn’t wrong. But how could Cornell ask those kids to do something that if he were in their shoes, he might never do himself?
“Look, I want you to give Graham less reps starting tomorrow. And that’s not for any reason other than his accuracy has been down this week.” Evan tilted his head to peer at Cornell over his glasses. “Could be nerves, I guess. But let’s work Julian in more, see what the kid’s got. We’ve got some time until the season starts to get it together. But when you run film today, make sure to let your players know that what happened was not acceptable, and they’ll be paying for it. All of them.”
Cornell nodded, his eyes drifting down toward the ground before stopping at a frame sitting on Evan’s desk, a photo of his family—his wife and four daughters.
“I know what you’re thinking. If that little shit even looked at one of my girls the wrong way, I’d tie him to the back of a truck.” Cornell looked up at Evan. “But he didn’t. And I’ve got to remember I’m wearing my coaching hat and not my father hat.”
I’m not a father. I still want this guy to be someone else’s bitch behind bars.
“This place,” Evan began, “this program, takes kids from the bottom of the barrel, no matter the reason. Guilty or not, he’s here. We’ve got to do our job, and if we do it right and he cooperates, he’ll be out of here and someone else’s problem. And if he comes out of this place just a little of a better person, well, then, that’s a win for everyone.”
Cornell gnawed on the inside of his cheek, feigning interest as Evan carried on before leaving. When he neared his office door, Mowgli popped out charging straight into Cornell.
“Hi. I heard what happened,” Ali said. “Are you alright?”
Cornell entered his office, watching as she placed Mowgli’s leash on his desk. “I’m alright.”
“How bad was it?”
He sat on the couch, Mowgli plopping down at his feet for a belly rub. “Have you ever seen Prison Break?”
Ali sighed. “Is Graham okay? I heard he—”
“Graham?” Cornell scoffed. “You’re worried about Graham? Come on, Ali. He—”
“He what, Cornell? Hit himself? Busted his own nose?”
Cornell looked at her in disbelief. “What they did was wrong. But—”
“He deserved it?”
Yes. Cornell gnashed his teeth, his molars grinding, but said nothing.
Ali shook her head in annoyance and pushed off the wall. She turned from the doorway. “If you’re not leading by example, you’re not leadingat all.”
* * *
“Shit!”
Cornell yanked a potholder from the drawer, opening the oven as smoke clouded the kitchen. He pulled the foil-wrapped, charred garlic bread out and threw it into the sink, drenching it with water before sliding open the window. Mowgli’s questionable stare from below bore into him.
Cornell sighed. “There’s still pasta.” He walked over and opened the screen door leading out to the patio, trying to fan the smoke lingering. “What do you think, Mowgli?” he asked. “She’s going to leave me in the dog house longer for this, huh?”
It had been days of Cornell teetering around Ali, of her one-worded answers, of the two of them driving separately to and from work, of her going to sleep curled up facing away from him on the far side of the bed. It wasn’t a fight, Cornell knew, just a battle of stubborn wills. And part of him knew that Ali was right—not about Graham, but about what Cornell should be doing about him.
I should be talking to my offensive line. I should tell them that when they signed up, they signed up to protect their quarterback at all costs. I should tell my receivers that they should do anything to make their quarterback’s catch. I should tell my running backs that if they want to run the damn ball, they need the quarterback to hand it off to them. There’s no team without a quarterback.
And Cornell knew exactly what Ali did. There was no team without a relationship between coach and quarterback.
“What happened in here?” Ali asked, pulling Cornell from his thoughts.
Shit, she’s back already?He looked at the table that wasn’t set, the bag with the candles he bought, the bottle of wine unopened. Grabbing a dish towel, he dried his hands, grunting at the burned garlic bread in the sink.
“A near catastrophe,” he said, leaning back on the counter. Ali was in her yoga clothes, clutching her bottle of water and keys. “I think I have to surrender my kitchen privileges.”
Ali fanned the air. “I think so.”
“I was trying to be a good boyfriend and cook you dinner.”
