Chapter 45: Fight to the End

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"Sports administration covers hiring coaches, daily operating costs, sponsorship revenue, facility upkeep, and use of the stadium," John said with a helpless smile. "The athletic director’s office controls those areas. I am acting in that role temporarily, but I do not intend to charge into every business arrangement already sitting there."

Nolan knew BHHS answered to a district, a board, and a network of donors with their own influence. He did not know the deeper power structure.

"As for the support I mentioned," John continued, "that would come in the school’s name. Thomas, yes, I recommended him. We worked together once. But his contract was negotiated through the athletic director’s office on behalf of the school."

So that was why John had arrived as a private visitor first.

Even Thomas’s bonus trail led back to the athletic director.

"Where is he now?" Nolan asked.

"Occupied by other matters."

That was all John would say.

Whether the athletic director was transferred, fired, cleared, or allowed to drift quietly out of sight did not matter much to John.

Nolan considered asking Lisa.

Before he could decide, the game outside ended. Coaches and players began returning to the locker room. Seeing the principal and cheer coach there made everyone stiffen.

Thomas, in particular, looked like a man trying to hide behind his own bruises. Every coach on staff had marks on his face. If John asked one direct question, the night out would become a disciplinary problem.

The more Thomas avoided eye contact, the guiltier he looked.

John walked toward him.

Before the interrogation could begin, Grace spoke from beside Nolan.

"You want to hold a charity sale on campus. That takes approvals. But if you really want to do it, there might be a way. Provided..."

This was, Nolan counted, the third time she had personally pursued him for cheer. She had followed him all the way into a locker room. It was probably time to be direct.

"Even if I said yes, I could not commit fully to the cheer squad," he told her. "Football has too many games. I cannot split myself in half."

Cheer depended on the girls who trained for it. Nolan would only be extra sparkle.

"Fine." Grace sighed, disappointment finally settling in. "I suppose I should stop trying."

"If you need people," Nolan said, remembering who her father was, "I can recommend a few girls with real potential."

"No need. Focus on football." Grace paused. "I can still help push the charity sale. That is as much as I can promise."

Nolan felt a small, unexpected warmth from her.

"Thank you. Sincerely."

Across the locker room, John had begun pressing Thomas about the bruises.

Nolan stepped in before Thomas said something that would bury him. He explained that the coaching staff had used someone else’s field for an emergency late-night practice, gotten into a dispute, and stepped forward to protect the players.

They had lost the fight.

That was why they were embarrassed.

Nolan kept signaling teammates with his eyes, and one by one they backed the story. By the time the fourth player added a detail, the lie had become team history.

"Thomas," John said after hearing it, "we go a while without seeing each other and you reinvent yourself. This does not sound like the old you."

He assumed Thomas had taken a beating for the players and did not want the truth out because pride hurt worse than bruises.

"BHHS finally has a gifted player," Thomas said, smiling through pain. "About time I worked harder."

When John and Grace left, the coaches exhaled like men pulled off death row.

Nolan had saved them.

"Drinks tonight," Thomas said at once. "My treat."

Against Burbank, even Thomas had clearly placed something with Murphey. The odds were tiny, but a little money was still money.

"Maybe think about the defending champions first," Nolan said.

He had already talked too much to accept losing quietly now. In the days left, he wanted Thomas studying Santa Ana until the coach saw their playbook in his sleep.

"You do not actually think we can win, do you?" Thomas muttered low enough for only Nolan to hear.

The gap between the teams was not a mystery.

Santa Ana High shared a name with the New Orleans NFL team, and the Santa Ana Saints had become a Southern California machine. Last year, four players made the West Coast high school all-star group.

In the last decade of CIF Southern Section play, Santa Ana had finished first eight times. Their last stumble had been five years ago.

BHHS’s best postseason finish over the same stretch was a second-round exit.

’What exactly were the Normans supposed to beat them with?’

"You can doubt yourself," Nolan said. "You still have to believe in me."

Thomas looked at him.

Nolan was reckless, arrogant, immature, and far too willing to talk before thinking. He was also young in a way Thomas had almost forgotten. That was not only foolishness. Sometimes it was courage.

For one second, Thomas saw the man he had been thirty years earlier.

And felt something familiar wake up.

Fine.

One more madness.

The hangover haze in Thomas’s eyes cleared.

"We fight them to the end."

"To the end," Nolan said, and spiked his drink bottle against the floor.

"To the end!" the team roared, pounding chests and lockers.

Outside the door, a few Burbank staff members turned to look.

The door was closed, but the sound coming through it had weight.

It was the kind of young courage that made walls seem temporary.

...

"Dad, Nolan needs money," Grace said as she drove. "Why not approve his idea?"

John sat in the passenger seat with his eyes closed.

"Dad?"

He scratched one ear, resigned.

"Because it is a business matter, not a children’s lemonade stand. If it fails, it distracts him. If it succeeds, then what? Does he keep doing it? If money is involved, the school will not sit back forever. Someone will pull control back to the administration. Either way, the boy gets dragged into politics."

Years inside a public institution with private-school appetites had taught John the smell of that particular trap.

It always became business.

"If you do not help," Grace said, "I tell Mom about the Fenwick rod, the full Castaic Lake setup, and the little boat you bought."

John opened his eyes and turned.

’What exactly did that mean, Grace?’

"Tell her," he said. "A man is allowed to have hobbies."

The words had courage.

The tone had less.

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