27. Jeff
JEFF
A fter telling the guys everything, I expected there to be a slight difference in how they treated me once we got to practice the next day.
I kept waiting for it to come, a subtle hint like my time in the cages wasn’t as important as theirs or a comment about how much pressure they were under.
That never happened and I smothered the guilty feeling that I’d underestimated my friends.
It’s because Amber is meeting with the dean and I’m on edge. That was what I told myself.
“I think Coach has shown up late to practice once in the four years I’ve been here.” Aaron scanned the field and blew onto his fists to get warm. “Wonder where he is.”
“Ten bucks says it’s wife trouble,” Tanner said.
“Nah, I’d say fighting with our trainer over something. Him and Nicole get into it once a week.” Zade nodded to himself. “Plus, we start practice ourselves anyway.”
“Yeah, but he’s always around, watching how we react with other players and if we give it our all every stretch.
You know his motto, players are given opportunities to advance on fifty percent skill, fifty percent character.
He’s probably watching from somewhere,” Aaron said before going into a sprint.
They were all probably right in their assumptions, but my gut told me it was something more.
He hadn’t shown up to check in with the captains or to give us any updates that tended to be about the focus of the day.
It wasn’t entirely uncommon for him to stroll in five minutes late with a stern look and a clipboard, but his timing wasn’t great for my nerves.
Is it Amber? Is she okay? I snuck to my catching bag and glanced at my phone resting on the side pocket. We weren’t allowed phones unless it was an emergency and while no one would agree with me, this felt like one. My screen showed no messages, just the time.
She should be out by now.
“Jeff, let’s go throw a little,” Zade yelled, and I forced myself to not be annoyed. We were at practice and my job was to be a leader. Pitchers and catchers were supposed to work together every other day and Zade had to throw a certain number of pitches before we could move onto the next drill.
I dressed in my full gear—something our coach wanted me to get used to before the season started—and got lost in the routine of it all.
The sound the ball made when it hit my glove, the whirl of Zade’s pitches and the smell of the catching gear I had worn all these years.
It comforted me to not think about Amber or my coach and to just catch, throw and repeat.
It went on for an hour and Zade went to see Nicole, giving me a spare minute to scan the field for our coach.
Still nothing.
“Where the fuck is he?”
“Who?” Brandon asked, matching my aggressive stride as I head into the dugout. Of all the people to hear me talk to myself, I didn’t want it to be him.
“Our coach.”
“Something’s going on, I think.” He stopped walking when I put my arm in front of his chest, preventing him from going farther. “Dude.”
“What do you mean, something is going on?” I asked in a lower voice, noting how two of our other coaches stared at us.
“I heard shouting coming from his office and Tee and Mac have been real dicks so far today. They’re usually chill but I think it has something to—” His eyes widened and he whispered, “Do you…do you think it has something to do with you know what ?”
“I don’t fucking know, but Amber is in the middle of it. I can feel it.”
“Because her uncle?—”
“Yes, but don’t talk about it here.” I cut him off and ran my hand over my face, suddenly exhausted at balancing it all.
We still had some time running through plays on the field, which could last two hours if we really got into it, and my body sagged.
I wanted to find out what happened with Amber and to not be in a constant state of worry.
“Maddow!” A stern voice had me looking up and I didn’t expect to see Nicole glaring at me. “Get over here.”
I shared a worried glance with Brandon and adjusted the strap on my shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin toward her office. I caught up to her but whatever had her pissed off radiated in the air and I remained quiet. Normally, she’d be busting my balls about what I was eating or drinking before the season, but this time, the quiet unnerved me.
Does she know what’s going on, too?
“Get in.” She almost forced me into her office before shutting the door.
She stomped to her desk and slammed her hands on the top of it.
“Are you shitting me? Seriously? Senior year, Jeff? You? Yeah, you were kinda a dipshit for a bit, but you got your head on straight.” She put her head in her hands and gave me the saddest, most disappointed look I had ever seen in my life. “You failed the drug test.”
No.
No way.
I laughed. “Uh, come again?”
“You failed your drug test, Jeff.” She showed me a piece of paper just as the door slammed open and my coach walked in with a lethal look on his face. “Coach.”
“I told you to wait, Nicole .” His gaze never left my face and his tone sent a tremor of terror through my body. “Get your stuff and meet me in my office.”
My throat closed up and my body froze in place. He added, “ Now .”
My legs could barely move, like my shoes filled with cement with each step I took. Some of the guys on the team stared at us, but I could only look at the ground. Failed? How? How could I fail the drug test?
“Tee—end practice early and have everyone report back here first thing in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glanced up to Coach Tee and my entire body tensed at the almost happy expression on his face. His eyes bore into mine and I swore he winked. He’s framing me. “Coach, listen?—”
“No, you listen.” He slammed his office door when I got inside and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We will retest you at the end of the week but until then, go to the house and stay low.”
“There has to be a misunderstanding. I think—” I paused, unsure if I should continue.
He could be in on it, too, but I never imagined he’d let Coach Tee frame me for a failed drug test. I swallowed, the action feeling like nails in my throat, and hated how my voice trembled. “I don’t do drugs, dir.”
“You’ll come back Friday to test again. Don’t say anything to your roommates until they get home. You understand?”
“No. No, I don’t fucking understand.” I stood up, on the edge of hysteria at the bullshit going on. “Someone framed me.”
“And why would anyone frame you, Jeff?” he asked, a glint appearing in his hard eyes. “Who would have motivation or the time?”
My voice stopped working. I wanted to tell him it had to be Coach Tee unless it was him. But I had no proof. The anger pouring off him scared me to the point where I thought I might throw up and my phone felt like ten pounds in my pocket.
The texts.
If I could find out who’d sent the warning texts than I’d have a leg to stand on. In a scratchy voice that sounded like I had been living in the desert for a week, I said, “I don’t know, sir.”
“Then own your results. You’re lucky I’m letting you test a second time.” His jaw tensed and he appeared much older than I was used to seeing. “Now leave.”
Without another word, I left his office and kept my head down on the walk to the car. My mind swirled with anxieties and my throat burned. I knew it was a possibility that I’d piss someone off, but fucking with my scholarship and playing time?
Who are these people?
“Fuck!” I screamed and slammed my fist against the steering wheel.
Lost. I felt lost and I fumbled with my phone and called Amber.
It rang for a full minute before it went to voicemail—so I tried again.
This time, she answered and relief flooded my senses, causing me to relax for the first time since she left me that morning.
“Amber, Christ, I need… Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m walking home. What’s wrong?”
“They framed me.” My voice cracked at the end and I rested my forehead on the top of the wheel. “Can I come over, please?”
“S-sure. Give me ten minutes.”
I gave her eight and waited on her front door step.
The cold didn’t bother me. A terrifying numbness took over and when she walked up to me and put a hand on my face, I almost fell apart.
I yanked her against my chest and held her tight.
She hugged me back and I focused on the familiar comforting scent of her hair. It calmed my breathing.
“Come on, let’s make something warm for you.” She took my hand and led me inside, taking charge of removing my coat. “You’re freezing.”
“I waited outside for you.”
“You’re still in your practice gear.” She frowned and busied herself with making something from the kettle. It rattled around when she held it and I hated to see her shaking with worry over me.
“I’ve never fucked around with steroids my entire life. There’s no way I failed the drug test. It has to be them, Amber.” I hung my head and she returned to the couch and cradled me against her chest, rubbing her hands up and down my back.
“It’ll be okay, Jeff.” She kissed the top of my head. “There has to be a mistake.”
“My coach told me to go home and not come back until Friday to retest. I don’t…
What if he’s in on it? A second time doesn’t mean shit if they were willing to forge this one.
I just…” I squeezed my eyes tight and focused on her.
“Are you okay? Please tell me they aren’t fucking with you, too. I can’t handle it if they are.”
“I’m okay,” she said softly. A weird expression formed on her face, one I didn’t recognize. She pressed her lips against mine and I wished I could rewind my life by a couple of hours. “Tell me more about what exactly happened.”
I sighed and told her everything. Instead of being raging pissed on my behalf, she nodded. “That’s interesting.”
“I tell you all that shit and you think it’s just interesting ?” My voice rose and my temper flared.
“The timing of it all. Your first game is in a week. They could’ve done this at any point, but now? It’s interesting.” She patted my face and gave me almost a pitying smile before getting up. “I think I’m going to wait to post the article until this plays out.”
“No! Go after these fuckers now. I’m already screwed.”
“Trust me, Jeff. Waiting will be a good thing.”
Her eyes had a glint in them that was unfamiliar, and the way she said trust me reminded me of something someone else had said.
I couldn’t figure out what my mind was trying to tell me and I sank farther into her couch.
The words were easy to say, but difficult to mean and I ignored the warning bell in my gut. “Okay. I’ll trust you.”