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t's Saturday morning and Coach Harvey has called a preliminary meeting at 10:00 am – because he's a fucking sadist – with the whole football team.

I feel sluggish, my body weighed down with the need to sleep. But sleep has evaded me completely since I argued with Cheryl Thursday night. I've felt like shit but pulled through with mere hours of slumber each night since then.

I'm giving her space and she seems to be doing fine with it. I already apologized but if she wants a few more days to fucking stew, so be it. I can give her that too.

I regret lashing out the way I did, but she doesn't seem to care. All my messages have been ignored.

She hasn't apologized to me either for her comments, but I'm trying to be the bigger person.

That's what you do when you love someone, is it not?

There's my truth. I fucking love Cheryl Anderson with every bit of my being.

We're all gathered in the locker room, no gear since pre-season hasn't begun. I'm leaning against a row of uncomfortable navy lockers, eying the chipped paint near the logo on the wall and counting down the imaginary minutes of this meeting.

Coach Harvey stands short in all his bald, lumber jack beard and golden tooth glory. "You're all probably wondering why I've called you here."

"No shit," Wyatt mumbles quietly from beside me, but not low enough because a string of laughter ensues.

Coach doesn't like that, so he smacks the clipboard against his thigh and demands silence. He's a mean sonofabitch, but he has helped a few alumni's get into the CFL and NFL, so know one disrespects him around here.

"As you know, per the rules of the university's sports association, athletes are subject to random drug testing for banned substances."

A chorus of groans and protests echo around. This is the first time he's asked for a drug test before the season has started and, as we know, he does have the right. However, no one wants to piss in a cup early morning.

My gaze drifts around, until I spot Calvin by the door, looking completely ashen. Suddenly, I know it doesn't have anything to do with lack of sleep.

Fuck. I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.

Wyatt, Calvin, and I exchange a look. We know...He's not going to pass the drug test.

Calvin tries to stay calm. But every second that goes by, I see him mentally digging his own grave, and Wyatt and I helping him pound the final nails in the coffin.

Coach is still talking while Calvin is spiralling in the corner of the room, without anyone but us three knowing what's about to happen.

"–Not only did one of you violate the association's rules, but you gave an interview with intel on the university's athletes' alcohol and drug consumption."

That last bit causes goosebumps to prick on my arms.

It's like in the movies, when everything slows down and realization dawns upon you, and you finally, finally figure it the fuck out. Coach's angry eyes and my horror-filled ones collide, and I know all accusation is being pointed at me.

Cheryl. The interview. The report. Alcohol. Drug. Consumption.

"If I do this for you – answer these questions – you swear to respect the contract and make sure I remain anonymous?"

"Promise me this won't make its way back to me, Cher."

"I can get my scholarship and football taken away from me."

I hear our whole exchange playing in my mind. Acid burns in the back of my throat.

"Your identity will remain anonymous. I swear, it'll never get traced back to you," she had said.

I read the report, and my name wasn't mentioned anywhere...

If it wasn't for Wyatt clutching my shoulder and the fact that I stood propped against the lockers, I would have fallen to the ground.

The blood thrumming through my veins seems like its slowly trickling into ice. Coach Harvey is looking at me with betrayal. My mask of impassiveness doesn't hold.

Especially not when I look to the other side and see Lance Campa with a smug expression. Right then, I know it's him. I don't know how this came into fruition, but it's got him written all over it.

How could he have gotten his hands on that report?

Of course.

My fucking girlfriend.

In the back of my head, I know Cher would not deliberately do this to me...

The room feels like it's spinning and I'm doing everything within me to keep it together. Coach barks at everyone to clear out the room – everyone except me – and go get their drug tests done.

"Reynolds, you stay," he commands.

Coach is doing this on purpose. He's going to make an example out of me, so all my teammates know. A part of me is still in disbelief. A part of me knows I fucking deserve it because I did this to myself.

There was a reason why I was reluctant to do this for her.

Lance, the fucking snitch, stays behind. But so do my friends Wyatt and Calvin.

"I read the paper. Solid one, too." Coach glares at me. "Lance is the one who brought it to my attention. Cheryl Anderson's your girlfriend, isn't she? Tell me, Reynolds. You're one of my best players. How could you be so moronic to destroy my trust? You always follow the rules. Why break them now?"

A tremor is rocking my body – anger, shock, mortification – and I'm opening my mouth to give him some explanation for this fuck-up before he ruins my dream of going pro right before my eyes.

But before I can say anything, Calvin speaks up beside me. "Coach, I'm the one who gave the interview to Cheryl Anderson."

Wyatt, Lance and I all whip towards him. Even Coach looks a bit jolted, narrowing his eyes. "Don't try to cover for him, Calvin."

I've gone mute. I'm staring at Calvin like he's grown a second head. And, maybe, he has?

Calvin casts me a quick dark look to shut me up, then turns back to coach. "How do you know it was Trent? Because as far as I know, the interview was done anonymously."

Coach shakes his head. "Trent's name was written plain and straight as the interviewee on the paper."

I reel back, about to launch at Lance. "You fucking tampered with the file!"

Wyatt holds me back and Lance cowers away like the little bitch he is. He doesn't even have to say anything. The truth is written right there. Lance put my name all over the report, the one that Coach is waving in his hands to show me for proof.

"Coach, listen to me." Calvin tries to calm him. "In research methods, the interviewee's name is never on the report. It's always anonymous when you collect data to protect the subject and maintain confidentiality. If I...If I show you the original paper, will you believe me?"

"He's right," Wyatt adds on. "Coach, putting an interviewees name on the paper would have been a violation of privacy. Lance most likely –" Wyatt throws a deadly look at our teammate. "–changed it."

"Is this true?" Coach Harvey asks Lance. "Tell me the truth. Did you or did you not put Trent's name on the file? Come clean now. If you don't and I get hands on the original report – which I will – your ass will be on the line, Campa. I promise you; I don't play nice."

We all look at Lance. My temper, my nostrils, my whole fucking body is flaring. I know when this is done, I'm killing him.

"SAY IT!" I scream at him with fury.

Lance begrudgingly admits it.

All I see is red, red, red and his blood.

Coach Harvey points a finger at him. "I know you're not the one who Cheryl Anderson interviewed, because you'd be a dumbass to hand this in. Get out of my sight right now, Lance. I'll deal with you later."

He scurries away and Wyatt finally releases his death-like grip on me.

Coach is rubbing his beard and shaking his head. "God help me right now. It doesn't change the fact that someone on the football team gave her the interview and I will find out who it is, and I won't rest this case until I do."

"Coach–" I speak up, but Calvin cuts me off again.

"I did it okay. My ex-girlfriend is best friends with Cheryl Anderson. She asked me to do it as a favor and I did." Calvin looks at me and Wyatt pointedly. "That's why she's Trent girlfriend now – Cheryl met him through me. I'm the one responsible for this whole mess."

"Calvin," I hiss. "Stay out of this."

But even Wyatt isn't letting me get involved. He's smacks my side silently, as if willing me to shut the fuck up and let Calvin become the martyr.

Coach is not looking at me. He's looking at Calvin like he's the scum at the bottom of his shoe. "Trent and Wyatt, get lost." Spit flies out of his mouth as he directs inferno at Calvin, who has the grace not the flinch under his scrutiny. "Go do you drug tests. Calvin, meet me in my office in twenty minutes. We're going to have a long discussion about your future on this team."

* * *

Wyatt and Calvin both haul me out of the locker room and shove me into a nearby hallway, where I jerk out of their hold. I hit Calvin in the chest until an oomph escapes him, and his big body hits the adjacent wall.

"What the fuck was that?" I sneer at him. I didn't react right back in the locker room because of the flurry of emotions I was feeling, but now I can. "Why did you do that?"

"Trent, hear him out." Wyatt runs his hands over his cornrows, before giving Calvin a meaningful look. "Cal is right."

"Right?" I snarl. "He's all but signed his warrant to get kicked off the team. Helluva performance, Cal!"

Calvin is suddenly up in my face, pushing me back, anger and despair pinching his expression. "Trent, man. You made a fucking mistake and it's okay." He shakes my shoulders, as if trying to knock sense into me, and I stare at him like he's lost it. "I'm not going to pass the test, okay? I had a molly a day ago."

"Cal..."

"Trent," he returns more softly. "I'm going to get kicked off the team regardless. Just let me do this for you. Let's kill two birds with one stone. You deserve to be on the team."

"So do you," I tell him, my voice croaky. This shouldn't have happened. None of this.

The school year started out on a shitty note and it seems like that's the way it's supposed to end for me.

"By Monday, when the results come in, Coach and the association will have kicked me off anyways. This way he'll also believe I'm the one who did the interview."

I don't say anything. I keep staring at him.

"We'll re-record the audios with your answers but using my voice. Everything I say will match Cher's transcript, and we can hand that in to Coach for review if he asks, along with the original report. This way you'll be safe. Don't worry."

I get where he's going with this. It makes sense. But it also doesn't. None of this shit is fair.

And I'm conflicted.

"Why did you do it, man?" I ask him, beseechingly.

Calvin takes a deep breath and smiles crookedly. It's a sad one. "What are friends for? Plus, I felt like I owed you one for fucking shit up with Tara, considering she's pretty much your family. My way of making amends."

"That's really far in terms of amends, Cal," I whisper.

"I did my part. The rest is up to you. My test will come out as positive, but at least Lance will leave you the fuck alone." He looks at me seriously, but pleadingly. "Trent, don't make me have done this for nothing."

* * *

Calvin goes to do his drug test before seeing Coach Harvey. Wyatt stays behind with me for a few while I digest everything and make my decision.

"I'm going to come clean to Coach," I tell Wyatt.

Wyatt widens his eyes. "Man, Calvin just..."

I can't let one of my good friends take the fall for my fuck-up. I need to do the honorable thing and own up to my mistake. This is life. Sometimes you get punished and you need to accept it.

I know that by going to Coach Harvey I can kiss professional football goodbye. I don't allow myself to dwell on this right now. I can crack afterwards. Right now, I need to set a few things right.

"I know and just hear me out. I have an idea."

I've been called an asshole and a bastard in the past. But for the first time, I don't mind those titles. For the first time, I'm actually about to do something that will label me as one.

I never claimed to be a saint, so I really don't give a shit.

Five minutes later, Wyatt and I go to do our drug test.

Ten minutes later, Wyatt and I have managed to sneakily switch Calvin and Lance's vials.

We'll see who gets kicked off the team on Monday.

On my way to Coach Harvey's office, I pass by Lance Campa loitering in the hallway with a few other teammates.

I fire my parting shot.

"Hey, Campa!" I holler with a menacing grin. "Last year when I fucked your ex-girlfriend, she told me I'm the best she's ever had. Oh, and that you cry like a fucking baby when you cum."

I blow him a kiss, before giving him the middle finger.

The sound of him raging echoes in the hallway along with my teammates' laughter.

Like I said, I'm not a saint.

* * *

When I step into the office, Coach's face flickers with surprise because he was expecting our quarterback.

He gives me a resigned sigh as he reclines back in his chair, realizing why I'm here.

I know this is the end for me when I start coming clean and his face transforms in disappointment.

Football is about to be in my rear-view mirror.

And I only have my girlfriend to blame.

No, I have myself to blame for being stupid enough that I couldn't resist her when she'd asked for a favor all those months ago.

Jokes on me, but at least Lance Campa isn't getting the last laugh.

I am.

Game over.

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OK so what do we think? Lance ratted out Trent? Calvin taking the hit? Wyatt and Trent conspiring together? What do you think will happen now between Trent and Cher?