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He shoved one hand in his pocket and then withdrew it, looking uneasy. Silence stretched between them. He shifted his weight, took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke out in a thin, harsh stream. "Listen, Phoebe, I've got something I need to tell you."
"Oh?"
"I should have talked to you about it a long time ago, but I've been avoiding it."
She waited.
He looked away from her. "A couple of years after we graduated, Craig Jenkins and I were at a party."
Every muscle in her body grew tense. The night suddenly seemed very dark and the house far away.
"Craig got drunk and told me what really happened that night. He told me he'd raped you."
A small exclamation slipped through her lips. Instead of feeling vindicated, she felt raw and exposed. She didn't want to talk about this with anyone, but especially not with Reed.
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry; I'd always thought you were lying. I went to Bert right away, but he didn't want to talk about it. I guess I should have pressed harder, but you know how he was."
She couldn't bring herself to speak. Was he telling the truth? She had no idea whether he was sincere or simply trying to win her trust so he could influence her decisions while she owned the Stars. She didn't want to believe that her father had learned the truth but never acknowledged it. All the old feelings of pain and betrayal engulfed her.
"I feel as if I need to make this up to you somehow, and I want you to know that I'm here for you. As far as I'm concerned, I owe you a debt. If there's anything I can do to make your time here easier—any help I can give you—promise me you'll let me know."
"Thank you, Reed. I'll do that." Her words sounded stiff and unnatural. She was strung so tightly that she felt as if she would fly apart if she didn't get away from him. Despite his display of concern, she could never trust him.
"I think I'd better go in now. I don't want to leave Molly alone for too long."
"Of course."
They walked in tense silence to the house. When they reached the edge of the lawn, he stopped and gazed at her. "As far as I'm concerned, we're in this together, cuz. I mean it. Truly."
Leaning down, he brushed his greedy lips across her cheek and walked away.
Chapter 8
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A vein bulged at Dan's temples as he screamed. "Fenster! On thirty-two scat left, the tailback goes left! Otherwise we would have called it thirty-two scat freakin' right!" He slammed the clipboard to the ground.
Someone came up beside him, but he was watching the tailback so intently that several minutes passed before he looked over. When he turned, he didn't instantly recognize the man, and he was about to tell him to get the hell off his practice field before he realized who it was.
"Ronald?"
"Coach."
The kid didn't look like himself; he looked like a South American gigolo. His hair was slicked back, and he wore dark glasses along with a black T-shirt, baggy slacks, and one of those boxy European sport coats with the collar turned up and the sleeves pushed to his elbows.
"Jesus, Ronald, what'd you do to yourself?"
"I'm unemployed. I don't have to dres
s like a stiff anymore."
Dan spotted a cigarette in the kid's hand. "Since when do you smoke?"
"On and off. I just never thought it was a good idea to do it around the men." He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and gestured toward the field with his head. "You're going with the new tailback sweep."
"If Fenster can learn his left from his right."
"Bucker looks good."
