Chapter 2 Jett
“Santo. My office, now!”
All three of us turned to the coach, and I saw him huff out a frustrated sigh as his eyes met mine. “You. Now.”
“What the fuck’s up his ass?” Gray asked as he watched our coach disappear into his office.
“Who knows,” I answered as I bent to pick up my book bag. “I knew Monday mornings with him would be a bad idea,” I grumbled as I started to make my way to the office. Glancing over my shoulder, I looked back at the two of them with a grin. “Wait for me, I’m starving.”
Ash nodded as he sat back down and pulled out his phone, content to wait. Gray scowled, but I saw him sit beside our cousin as I turned back to walk into the office.
“Coach,” I greeted as I closed the office door behind me.
He sat behind his huge desk, which seemed to take up the whole space of the room.
Accolades, certificates, and pictures of past stars littered his walls.
I found the room almost suffocating each time I was in here.
It felt crowded, and every time I left the office, I would take a deep breath as if I could finally breathe again.
Coach Bowers was a small, thin man, clean-shaven, with thick dark hair peppered with silver, small beady eyes, and a heavily lined forehead because he was constantly frowning.
He had been the football team’s coach for six years and was perpetually pissed off because we had yet to achieve a championship victory.
However, he was confident that he had the winning combination this time with me, my brother, and Ash.
I’d heard him tell my father that the reason he stuck with the college was because he had been promised the Santo boys.
I was a quarterback, Gray a running back, and Ash a tight end; we basically were the Cardinal Saints’ offense, and according to Coach, we were all he needed to make the championships.
Our defense was also shaping up to be shit-hot, and already our freshman year had progressed us further in the league than the football team had done for years.
Coach was sure we would be lifting that trophy before our senior year, and I was in full agreement with him.
In this, we shared an understanding as we had the same goal.
The three of us trained relentlessly. We would play in the NFL, hopefully drafted to the same team, but the odds of that were slim. However, all three of us were aiming for the draft, and each of us working together was how we were going to get there.
Coach Bowers looked at me, and I felt a moment of confusion as to why he looked so pissed off this time.
“You’re not stupid, Jett,” he began, and I knew that was more rhetorical than an actual question.
“You have a perfect four-point-oh average, so I know you have the smarts. You’re ambitious, you train as hard as anyone on this team.
You’re a leader, I see that when you’re training.
You motivate this team, which is why you are captain. ”
“Coach?” I could feel the unspoken but.
“Your brother, a loose cannon, but you keep him in line. That boy can run and catch a ball with the best of them. He’s a goddamn powerhouse for a running back, which means he has the wow factor. I like the wow factor.”
“Gray’s good,” I agreed. Where the hell was this going?
“Your cousin, best goddamn tight end this team has had in years. Ash is a coach’s dream, with his ability to defend when needed, and add on to that he can run like he can, one of the best damn catchers on this team. Him and Gray, gifts from the football gods.”
I nodded in agreement. It was true, we were all talented. We worked hard, and we deserved the praise.
“And you, the quarterback for the Cardinal Saints.”
“Is there a problem, Coach?” I asked as I straightened my spine, standing at my full six-three height.
Coach’s lip curled, and I felt uneasy as he watched me, his face giving nothing away. “Do you think that I don’t know your nicknames? The Devils?” He looked me over derisively.
“We don’t hide it,” I answered equally as coolly. “Given that our last name means saint.” I met his cold stare with my own. “We’re anything but saints.”
“Oh, I know.” Coach stood, his hands flat on the desk as he leaned on it and glared at me. “You’re not saints. The three of you are a goddamn handful, but I didn’t think you were entitled little shits who think they are invincible because of whose name’s on the college walls.”
I bristled. “That’s bullshit. We worked hard to get in here. All three of us deserve to be here.” It was true, we had worked hard, and we each had good grades. We hadn’t coasted into this college because we were legacies. We had asked for no favors and received none. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem? This is my problem,” he barked at me as he tossed a clipboard down onto the desk, with a chart on it, and as I looked at it, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Snatching the clipboard up, I read the result again. “What the fuck is this?” I asked him as I looked up.
“Watch your language,” Coach warned me. “That is a drug test result.”
“I know that,” I answered him as I clenched my jaw. “Why does it have my name on it?”
“You’re smart, figure it out.” Coach grunted as he sat back down.
“This is bullshit.” Tossing the clipboard back on the desk, I looked at him. “This isn’t mine.”
“We don’t make these kinds of mistakes.”
“Newsflash, you just did.” I met his hard, angry stare with my own. “I’m telling you, there’s no way in hell that’s mine.”
“It was taken from you on Saturday morning. Only eight players were tested. This is yours.”
Saturday morning, I remembered, I had pissed in the cup as easily as I would in the bathroom.
They’d handed me the cup as soon as I walked into the locker room, and the assistant coach had been on hand to supervise my deposit.
I vaguely remembered him labeling it as I left to get ready for the game.
Fuck, I’d been a little fuzzy from the booze the night before and had been too busy hiding my hangover from the coach.
I realized that if this result were right, it wasn’t a hangover I should have been hiding.
“Coach,” I began as my mind raced. “I don’t take drugs. All we do, all I do is train for the game; you know this.”
“I thought I did.” Coach Bowers shook his head as he looked at the wall with his prized accomplishments on it. “I thought wrong.”
“You didn’t,” I corrected him quickly as I pulled a chair out and sat down, without his permission, but I wasn’t thinking straight.
This could mess up my entire year, hell, my entire career.
“I was at a party on Friday night. I don’t remember much about it,” I admitted as he glared at me in anger.
“I thought I’d had one beer, but on Saturday morning, I woke up beside a girl.
” I ignored his look of disgust. “Ash came to get me for practice. I’m never late, but I almost was on Saturday.
He asked me about her, and I told him I didn’t remember.
” My hand ran through my hair. “I swear to God, Coach, I thought I’d drunk too much, but I wouldn’t.
” My anger was mounting rapidly. “I didn’t. ”
“You shouldn’t have been out before a game,” Coach reprimanded me automatically as he sat on his chair and considered me. “You’re saying that your drink was spiked?”
Was I? I nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t pull this shit; this is all I want. The game, the NFL, I wouldn’t risk anything for my chance, Coach.”
His small dark eyes watched me longer than I was comfortable with. “You need to prove it,” he said eventually.
My eyes closed briefly. How the hell would I do that? I had no idea who she was, and even if I did, how would I know if she was the one who spiked my drink? “I will.”
“You have two weeks.”
“You’re not reporting it?” I asked him with incredulous hope.
Coach leveled me with a flat glare. “You do train hard, you do appear to be committed, but I’ve been fooled before.
Just this once, I will give you a pass. This will go on record in two weeks if you can’t prove in that time that you, Jett Santo, got your drink spiked.
If you can, then you will be absolved of the offense you have committed. ”
“I didn’t commit an offense,” I retorted angrily.
“I don’t fucking care!” Coach suddenly screamed as he leaped to his feet.
“If you were stupid enough to get tricked, you’re as fucking reckless as I feared.
This team is not for reckless, stupid, arrogant devils.
Now get the hell out of my office, tell no one, and I want you back here in two weeks or before, with proof that you’ve been played. ”
“Two weeks?”
“Yes, you’ve got an injured ankle.”
“I have an injured ankle . . .” I stood slowly as his meaning sank in. “I’m suspended?” I demanded, outraged at the outcome.
“Yes. What? You think I would let you play?” Coach snorted in contempt as he sat back down heavily. “You may be privileged, boy, but you get no privileges in my team. Now get out, get proof, and keep your mouth shut.”
I had no choice but to leave him, and as I slammed the door behind me, I heard the crash from his office. I didn’t give a fuck what he had thrown, as I was pretty close to destroying something myself.
Gray was already on his feet as I stormed toward them. Ash was looking past me to the closed door.
“What is it?” Gray asked as I walked past them.
“I’ll tell you outside.”
We exited the locker room, and I jogged down the steps as my mind raced with the last ten minutes. Gray and Ash were silent as they kept pace beside me. When we were far enough from the sports building, the stadium rising behind it, I turned to them both.
“What did I drink on Friday?” I demanded of Gray.
“What? I dunno.” Gray looked at Ash, who shrugged. My brother tapped his hand off his thigh as he thought about it. “I wasn’t there long enough,” he said. “Why?”
“My drink was fucking spiked,” I spat out as I looked around to make sure there was no one else nearby. “I failed the drug test.”