Principal Morrison steps into the office, his gaze immediately finding me. "Miss St. Claire. Working hard, I see."
"Yes, sir. Coach Reynolds is helping me with some final scholarship paperwork before I graduate."
"Excellent." His smile seems genuine enough, but there's something in his eyes that makes me nervous. Something that looks like suspicion. "Murphy, could I have a word? In private?"
My stomach drops to my shoes. This is it. Someone saw something. Someone said something. We're about to lose everything.
Murphy's expression doesn't change, but I see his hands clench briefly at his sides.
"Of course. Taryn, why don't you take those applications home and look them over? We can discuss them tomorrow."
"Yes, Coach." I gather my things and stand, careful to maintain the appropriate distance between us. "Thank you for your help."
"Anytime."
I sidestep past Principal Morrison with what I hope looks like casual confidence, but inside I'm screaming. This is it. This is how it all falls apart.
CHAPTER 8
Murphy
The second Taryn disappears down the hallway, Morrison closes my office door and takes a seat across from my desk. His expression is unreadable, which in my experience means I'm about to get fucked.
"So," he says, settling back in his chair. "Taryn St. Claire."
I keep my face neutral. "Bright kid. Full ride to State."
"Yes, I'm aware of her academic achievements. Probably better than you are." He pauses, studying me. "I'm also aware that you've taken a particular interest in her... success. On the track, I mean."
"She's got more potential than most. Deserves the guidance."
"Of course she does. And I appreciate your dedication to our students' futures." Another pause, and I see something flashbehind his eyes. Anger? No, something else. It looked like jealousy. "I've just been hearing some... interesting observations from other faculty members."
Here it comes. "Such as?"
"Such as the fact that you and Miss St. Claire seem to spend a lot of time together. More time than you typically spend with other students seeking college advice. And the door to your office is often locked when the two of you are here."
"She's got more applications to review. More deadlines to meet. We don’t want the constant interruptions."
"I'm sure that’s all true, but you can see how it might be perceived by someone with a suspicious mind." Morrison leans forward, his expression sharpening. "Murphy, I've known you for three years. You're a good coach, a good teacher, and a good man. Which is why I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here."
I say nothing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"But I'm also going to give you some advice, man to man. Whatever's going on with you and that girl, you need to be very, very careful. Because if there's even a hint of impropriety, it won't just be your job on the line. It'll be her future too."
It’s worded like a warning, but the inflection makes it sound like a threat. It hits like a punch to the gut, but I keep my expression steady. "I appreciate your concern, Phil, but there's nothing inappropriate happening here. I'm helping a student with college applications. End of story."
"Good. Because Taryn St. Claire has been through enough in her young life. She doesn't need the scandal that would come from being involved with a teacher."
"She's not involved with a teacher."
"Of course not, but like I said, suspicious minds..." He stands, moving toward the door. "I’m sure there won’t be any problem with you maintaining appropriate professional boundaries. No more private meetings unless there's another staff member present. No more special attention that could be misinterpreted. Just coach and student, nothing more."
The demand hits me like a physical blow. No more private meetings means no more stolen moments in my office. No more quick encounters between classes. No more of the desperate, hungry kisses that get me through the day.
And my mind keeps going back to what she said, about the way girls talk. About the way Phil Morrison acts. About the things I’d likely kill him for if I had even a shred of proof.
"Is that an order?"
