Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Deke

My job as head coach takes me through the men's locker room on a near-constant basis. Still, I try to give my players as much privacy and autonomy in here as possible. They're grown men, and don't need me hovering or eavesdropping on their conversations. Hearing some discussions is unavoidable though, particularly when I spot a handful of red-shirt freshman huddled together just outside my office.

There are two ways into the head coach's office. Most of the time visitors come through the door from the main hall, but there's also a doorway directly into the locker room itself. I think sometimes players forget it's there. These guys are red shirts though, which means they're not only the youngest on the team, but also the newest. They may not even realize I can hear every word.

"What are you gonna tell him when he asks if you took it?" one of them whisper-shouts.

"Dunno, man. What should I say?" The second kid sounds a heartbeat away from a panic attack.

"I'd tell him shove that shit up his ass. I'm not getting cut for doping during season," a third claims.

"You cappin'. You know you ain't got the balls to tell the whole-ass athletic director shit." Now the second boy is pissed, and I can hear the scuffle of them shoving at each other.

"Bruh, are you twelve? ‘You cappin' like it's junior high and you a tough guy." The first one mocks the second and the sound of roughhousing gets louder.

That's not what has my attention though. All the coaches have been hearing gossip about a performance-enhancing drug making the rounds among players. If these boys are to be believed, AD Franklin might be involved. If that's true, then the problem would reach a critical level.

An athletic director involved in illegal drug use could strip a school of every title it's had during the AD's tenure, cost millions and millions of dollars, and lead to a decade or more of suspension from competition. Without athletic programs, an entire institution could crumble.

As casually as I can, I roll my chair closer to the open doorway so I can hear more clearly. The young men finish squabbling and return to brainstorming the problem, none the wiser of my presence.

"What if, like, we talked to Coach about like, a pact or something, where we could voluntarily submit to drug testing so there's a record that we ain't using. Then if AD tries to get us to take it…" one of them suggests.

It's not a bad idea, and in my head I'm already thinking of ways it could work. I could get my team captains to spearhead a campaign that could be adopted by the other teams, too. Unfortunately for the smart-thinking red-shirt freshman who came up with the idea, he doesn't have enough clout with the team yet to be a leader on such a plan. Doesn't mean I'm not sneakily craning my head close enough to the doorway to spot which young player it is. He may be too young for leadership today, but smart-thinking team players are the ones I want to encourage in my program. I want to make sure I keep my eyes on this trio because they're all showing integrity and gamesmanship.

With that under-the-radar chaos managed for now, I send a text to the seniors on my roster who actually are team captains as well as to the team physician. Before I bring up the idea of a no-doping pledge program, I need to ensure the players I want leading it are clean. I mean, I expect they are because they're the guys who have risen to the top of the top amongst their teammates, but it's best to be sure.

"‘Sup, Coach? What's going on?" Matthias Bragg charges into my office with his customary ox-like lack of grace. A senior defensive lineman, the young man is built like a barn and will one day soon be an asset to whatever pro team drafts him. He's my defense team's captain, and best friend to my O-line's captain, quarterback Crispin Harvey.

Crispin follows him into the room, softly shutting the door and taking a seat in front of the desk I'm sitting behind. Matthias follows him and the boys give me their full attention. They're great young men, and I know they're hopeful to get drafted together. Unlikely, but I've seen stranger things come to pass.

"Doctor Sinclair will be here in a few minutes with his interns. Choose two players from each of your lines who you trust the most and take them with you to meet with the doc and his team. You're all going to give me piss tests and bring me clearance from the doctor when you're done."

Crispin's jaw drops while Matthias stares at me in shock. They've been drug testing as part of athletics since they were young, so I know this isn't anything unheard of for them. The process is unique though. Typically, there's a lottery that gets pulled before every couple games and a handful of players' names get called to complete a urinalysis before taking the field. Targeted tests, especially using players selected by myself and my captains, is unheard of.

"Did, uh, did we do something wrong, Coach? Because I swear to you, we don't use drugs. I swear it." Crispin's one of those players who have risen to the top despite coming from a disadvantaged background. His scholarship is the only reason he made it into a Division I school. Having come from a similar background, I understand the almost frantic need he has to not fuck up his best chance at a future free from poverty and struggle.

"Son, it's because I trust you that you're in here. I need your help, and I need to create a paperwork trail the protects the team's integrity while we do it."

The men do as they're told without any further discussion. Being obeyed so unquestionably is just one of dozens of reasons why coaching is the perfect career for me. It's not as fulfilling as Windy's immediate desire to obey. Definitely not as arousing. But it's a close second.

I roll my chair away from the desk and kick my feet up onto the messy surface. There's more work to be done than time to do it, but for now I'm content to await the return of my team captains and let my mind wander to Windy and how fucking perfect it was spanking her ass and licking her little pussy to orgasm last night.

Getting to put my hands and mouth on her however I wanted before tucking her into my bed to sleep had me feeling on top of the world. Like royalty. My concerns about the timing of our meeting pale to the rush of pleasure being able to claim her gives me. Yeah, being Windy's Daddy makes me a king, and it's good to wear the crown.