Page 94 of More Than Chemical
“Was there a particular coach that was recruiting you who is in this room?”
My heart thumped like a bass drum.
“Yes.”
“His name?”
“David Bianchini.”
“If you could, please point this person out to us.”
Dallas paled, almost as if he didn’t want to do it. Like if he did, it would mean more than just answering one of the prosecutor’s yes or no questions. It would be evidence of his betrayal. He glanced at the defendant’s table and, with hesitation, pointed at my dad.
I looked away. I couldn’t watch his condemning finger angled right at Dad. It physically hurt.
“Let the record show that Mr. Reynolds has indicated the defendant.” After a pause, the district attorney continued. “Mr. Reynolds, I would like for you to explain to us what happened to you and your family leading up to your dealings with Mr. David Bianchini, the defendant.”
Dallas looked directly at me again.
“Mr. Reynolds?”
He glanced away. “The year after I graduated from high school, my mom’s cancer returned. After six months, the medical bills were piling up. At the same time, I had multiple colleges pursuing me to play hockey. But then she passed away, and everything fell apart.”
My chest ached. Cancer. He’d never told me.
“Everything fell apart in what way?”
Dallas’s voice was clear and steady. “My dad got laid off from his job. We had to organize and pay for the funeral, figure out where we would get the money to cover her medical bills and end-of-life care. When you play in the USHL, you’re an amateur. They don’t pay you. They only pay for your expenses.”
A heaviness grew inside me.
“Did you figure out where the money would come from?” the district attorney asked.
I was having trouble breathing.
“Coach Bianchini set it up. He would give us enough money to pay for the funeral, the unpaid medical bills, and then some.”
“Do you remember the exact sum?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
Omigod. Omigod. Omigod.
“And how do you know that the two hundred thousand dollars was from Coach Bianchini?”
Dallas rearranged himself on the chair. Then he swallowed hard. “He told me that as soon as I signed my letter of intent, we would get it, how we would get it, and that we shouldn’t mention anything to the university.”
Blood rushed to my head. The pressure in my ears was like an emergency descent in an airplane.
“And then what happened?” the attorney asked.
Dallas fidgeted. It was as if he suddenly didn’t want to go on.
His voice lost all of its power. “I signed the letter. I took the money.”
I sucked in a breath and slowly let it out.
“Thank you, Mr. Reynolds. A couple more questions and then I’m done. Do you play college hockey now?”
