“Trevor is staying the night at a teammate’s house,” he announced abruptly, the minute they were alone in his pickup. “A bunch of them are, I guess. At Josh somebody’s?”
“Loomis.”
“No. Tell me the kid’s not…?”
“Sorry. He is. Poor Coach got to watch his son triumph in company with Trevor, while the football team he coaches sucked this year.”
Richard’s low chuckle sent ripples of pleasure all the way to her toes. “Did this Josh play football, too?”
“Adding insult to injury…no. He played wide receiver until this year, but as a senior he wanted to concentrate on his favorite sport. Basketball.”
They’d joined a line of cars and trucks creeping toward the exit from the parking lot.
“Oh, man.”
Molly’s laugh turned into giggles she had trouble stopping. Maybe because she had bubbles fizzing in her bloodstream. “I feel so mean! He’s such a nice man.”
“He did get to see his kid help stomp two rival high schools,” Richard pointed out.
“There is that.”
They were both quiet for a minute that felt too long. Long enough that Molly sneaked a peek at his face in profile, only to have him turn at the same moment and meet her eyes. They stared at each other for a long time before she gulped and wrenched her gaze away.
“Trevor seems to have turned a corner.” That’s it—be upbeat, supportive, a fellow parent. Not a woman.
“Yes and no.” Richard’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “Sometimes I think so, but then we butt heads again. He still won’t tell me why he’s so angry at Alexa.”
“And you really have no idea.”
“As I told him—not a clue.” He was frowning now. They’d almost reached the street. “I keep thinking it might be the divorce. Maybe he was fonder of Davis than I realized.”
“But then why…?”
“He may be angry at me because I’m not Davis.”
Molly blinked. What an awful thing even to wonder, for a man who loved his children as much as Richard did. “Do you have any reason to believe that?” she asked tentatively.
He sighed and rotated his shoulders as if to ease tight muscles. “He did choose not to spend this summer with me.”
“But you said it was the job.”
Richard accelerated and she realized they’d finally escaped the parking lot. Which meant they’d be at her house in less than ten minutes.
I’ve already made up my mind.
Have you really?
“He told me it was the job. He may not have wanted to hurt my feelings.”
Molly thought about that, and was shaking her head almost immediately. “No,” she told him with conviction. “I don’t believe it. His anger is too personal. Too aimed at you. Although the divorce might tie in somehow. Maybe he’s mad because you didn’t stay married to his mom. He could blame you for the, er, succession of stepfathers that presumably meant moving, new schools, et cetera, et cetera.”
Richard seemed to consider that. “Maybe. He had to be upset that he wouldn’t be able to finish out high school in the same place, with the same friends, same teammates.”
“I’m surprised his coach didn’t throw himself on a sword.”
“God.” There was that low chuckle again, husky enough to feel like calloused fingertips. “I hadn’t thought about it. Maybe he did. I don’t follow the L.A. news.”
“Was Trevor mad at his mom after her last divorce?”
Richard frowned. “Not mad. Confused, maybe. He was…let me think. Eleven, maybe? Not heartbroken, I know that. I think Bree might have been fonder of Scott.”
“Do you know why her last two marriages broke up?” So not my business, Molly realized belatedly. English teacher—belated could be another word for too late.
Richard’s glance struck her as cautious. “No,” he said after a minute. “After Scott, she said she wasn’t in love with him anymore.”
She could hear the but. He knew more. Suspected more. Really not her business.
Isn’t it, when I’m thinking about sleeping with him?
The English teacher pointed out how imprecise she was being. She was definitely not planning on doing any “sleeping” with Richard Ward. Well, unless he spent the entire night.
She must have made a sound, because his head turned. She discovered he’d pulled up to the curb in front of her house.
“Alexa got bored easily,” he said, and Molly realized he’d assumed she was upset—piqued? angry? something?—because he’d quit talking.
“You don’t have to tell me.”