Chapter Six

Coach Taylor steps back and shakes his head. How could anyone think…he's sixty-five. He's been married forty-five years. He has two daughters older than that grad school cheerleader. Hell, he has two granddaughters who are almost as old as that girl. "How long has this been up on the Internet?" he asks the coaches.

"About an hour," John answers. "The administration is working on getting it pulled down, but…you know…once something is out there…"

Eric walks away from the coaches and paces down the field, away from everyone. He's got to call Tami and explain before she sees it. He prays to God she hasn't.

His wife started acting kind of weird after that "Sexiest Men Over Sixty" article came out. Tami did what he expected at first – poked fun at him. But then she started exercising every single morning, instead of her three times a week. She started talking about dying her hair again, after deliberately having let it gray naturally for years. He caught her one time looking in the mirror, sliding her fingertips over the light wrinkles under her eyes.

"You're beautiful," he said from behind her. She sighed and let her hands fall to the side, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind, but she said, "You've always had such a baby face, Eric. Except for all that silver-gray hair, you still don't look a day older than forty-six."

It shocked him, her sudden insecurity, after so many decades of firm self-confidence, after all the times she'd poked fun at his own minor jealousies. Maybe it had been coming on gradually, this self-doubt, and he'd been too damn busy as head coach of the number one college team to notice it. "I love you," he said, looking at their joint reflection in the mirror. "You're beautiful inside and out. You've given me more blessings that I could ever count. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He paces now while the phone rings. It goes to her voice mail. "I gotta talk to you. Call me right away." He hits end call. He still has one of the old iPhone8T's instead of an iEverything. All of the other coach's make fun of him for it, but he doesn't need all that extra nonsense.

As he's about to slip the phone back in his jacket pocket, it rings. When he answers, Gracie doesn't even give him a chance to say hello. "What the fuck, Dad? You know I'm up for appointment to the North American Union Council. Only three Congressmen in the entire U.S. get that nomination. This cheerleader sex scandal could completely tank my confirmation hearing."

"I didn't do it."

"I know you didn't, but appearance is everything. I've already got a herd of reporters lined up outside my office. Capitol police can't beat them back. You've got to clean this shit up!"

"Gracie, I don't care for your language."

"I don't give a fuck what you care for. We're not having tea with the queen right now. Listen, I keep a tight rein on my people. I don't see why you can't keep a rein on yours."

"My people?"

"This scandal could destroy everything I've worked the past three years to build. I may be the strongest voice on that Council in favor of an independent currency. If I don't get on there, it's quite possible they'll be paying your salary in inflated NAU dollars two years from now, assuming you still have a job."

"Gracie, damnit, I didn't– "

"I know you didn't. I know you never would. That age difference is so vast it's sick. Not to mention that it would be adultery. But what happened? Who's in those pictures, if not you?"

He explains.

"You've got to get Coach Swainson to come forward," she says, "publicly clear you."

"Trust me, I intend to try, but - "

"- You want me to send my people to talk to him?"

He's not sure who her people are. Or how they define talking. "Nah. I'll handle it."

"Just don't kill him before you get him to make a public statement clearing you. And if you don't clean this shit up, I'll have to."

"Damn, Gracie, do you swear like this on the floor of the House?"

"Can we not argue for once, Dad? I don't have time for some faux war with you. You know I'm a little busy trying to get our boys home from a real war. One we shouldn't even be involved in."

"Well who the hell else is going to stop Golden Dawn?"

"I don't mind arming the rebels in Greece, but we shouldn't be sending our young men and women overseas. Why is it our responsibility to defend Istanbul? Let the Turks handle it. They're not much better these days. "

"You know Golden Dawn isn't going to stop at Turkey, Gracie. Not unless we stop them."

"Yeah? If you're so committed to this war, why don't you encourage all your players to sign up?"

"Some of them have. I had a hard time recruiting for this season." Of course, so have the other college teams, so he's not at any relative disadvantage.

"I didn't call to argue about the war. You need to fix this mess before it becomes a big enough scandal to topple my career. Not to mention your marriage. How's Mom taking it? She knows it's not you, right?"

"I don't know how she's taking it. She didn't answer my call. But I can't believe she'd ever believe…" He sighs.

"Dad," Gracie says, her voice suddenly soft. She was like that even as a kid – all full of passion and rage at the injustice of her world (an unwanted time out, a denied second dessert), and then suddenly gentle. "I'm sorry you're going through all this. This has to suck for you. And it's probably going to suck for weeks to come. Hang in there."

"Thanks, Congresswoman." He gazes out over the field, where his assistant coaches are trying to run a chaotic, distracted practice. "I love you too."