Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Windy

I'm still riding the high of falling asleep with a hot ass and trembling thighs thanks to Coach McCree, err, Daddy's loving last night. At least, that's what I'm blaming for my distraction when I bump into the absolutely not-athletic body of the school's athletic director. How a man so decidedly non-sports-like got to the position of running the entire athletic program of a university as renowned for its championship-winning teams, I'll never know.

"Miss Howell. Carelessness appears to be a habit for you lately." Disdain drips from him and it's only due to years of being conditioned to respect my elders from my parents that I manage to hide my answering dislike.

"S-Sorry, Director Franklin." I don't know how it is on other campuses, but here at University of Mariposa, there's not a jock on campus who doesn't cringe when they see him coming. He's a tyrant and a bully, definitely the last person I want to see when I'm in such a good mood.

"Shouldn't you be on the field for warmups already? I don't think tardiness is something a scholarship student like yourself can afford. Hmm?" The threat isn't even thinly veiled. Franklin dangles my ability to finish school over my head like the most obvious Sword of Damocles.

"Yes, Director. I'm going there now. Practice doesn't start for a little bit yet. I won't be late. I promise!" Mentally, I want to slap myself for kissing his butt like this.

If Taryn were here, she'd have a great clapback to put him in his place. She's so good at being bratty in just a polite enough way to keep out of trouble. Me? Not so much.

"Nevertheless, young lady, I think I'll escort you there. Athletes like you are expensive commodities for this school, and it's my duty to ensure you live up to your potential value."

There's something in his tone. An ugly expectation that in any other circumstance might feel like pervy harassment. Nothing about the appraisal he's giving me feels overtly sexual, thankfully. It's just calculating and cold. Like he's tallying up my value as a human being and finding me lacking. I guess I can be glad it's not a sex thing. Because eww .

We walk side by side around the corner of the indoor training building. The path is wide enough there's no reason for him to take my arm and pull me into the grass when a student on a bike glides by. That doesn't stop him, and the feel of his cold hand with fingers clamped too tight for casual guidance sends skitters of nerves up my spine.

"One last item to discuss before you scamper off to kick the little ball around like your heart depends on it." He's so dismissive of the sport I've bled and cried for. Irritation has me balling my fists and tensing as he tugs me closer to the ball of the building, away from anyone who might interrupt and provide me an out.

"When you suffer injuries that keep you from practice, you cost the program, the school, money. You're lucky your little tumble on the track the other day wasn't more serious. It means you have a small latitude to make a decision yourself before I step in and remove your free will."

Obviously he's got a point to make, so I stand frozen, my back pressed to the scratchy brick of the wall behind me. His breath fans across my cheeks as he leans in close enough to me that even if someone were nearby, there's no chance they'd hear him.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me what your options are? I swear, you idiot athletes are all the same. Doesn't matter whether you're on the men's or the women's teams. Dumb jocks, the lot of you."

He's being deliberately provocative. Psych 101, freshman year. Even my dumb-jock self can tell that. I bite back the retort burning my tongue. Whatever the choice is, I don't want to make it. Instinctively, I know both options are going to suck.

"Ask me to tell you what your choices are before I become more irritated, Miss Howell."

"What, um… what are my choices, Director Franklin?" I hate the quiver in my voice. I cast my gaze around me, the quad area that spans the center of campus filled with students and faculty rushing to their morning classes or meetings. No one's paying us a lick of attention.

"You will start taking Meldonium, that's Met-88 if you haven't heard of it before, immediately. You will take it until the conclusion of your senior soccer season. You will tell no one about it and if discovered, you will accept the blame for it yourself." The drug he's talking about is one I've only even heard of because of the five-time grand-slam tennis champion who got busted using it.

"And if I take option B?" It won't really be a choice at all because there's no way I'm agreeing to use a banned drug. It would get me kicked from the team if I got caught, and be a scandal for the whole team. Plus, it's known to have a lengthy list of adverse effects. I'm not risking my future health for whatever Franklin is trying to achieve.

"Either you go on the medicine,"— Ha. Medicine —"like a good girl, or your little dalliance with Deke McCree becomes the reason I nullify his contract and he becomes a publicly disgraced former head coach. Morality clause and all that delicious gossip fodder. You know?"

Now Director Franklin leers down at me, the altercation taking on the pervy vibe it was lacking before. His bruising grip on my wrist tightens just enough to draw a fresh wince from me before he releases my arm and steps away from me.

"You'll be in my office tomorrow morning, or I'll be forced to proceed with ruining the good coach's life. I'm sure he'll still want to fool around with you after his career is destroyed. Right?"

Director Franklin turns and casually strolls back to the sidewalk, leaving me slumped against the rough brick wall behind me. My brain races a thousand miles an hour.

How did he even know about Da—er—Deke and me? What am I going to do?

I don't know how much time passes before the vibration of my smart watch drags me back from the ledge of a panic attack. I'm definitely late for practice now. I shoulder the duffel with my gear onto my shoulder and turn to make my way through the building to the fields, only to see Coach Deke McCree glaring at me from behind the glass door.