Page 30 of Campus Muscle

Trace moved to the rack, loaded more weight onto the bar, and pretended the conversation wasn’t happening.

“That’s a pretty big jump,” I added, hoping for something.

Once again Trace didn’t respond, so I stepped closer to where I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“So what changed?”

“Nothing.” The word had all the emotional depth of a dial tone.

“That’s the least believable thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Then don’t believe it. Your assumptions won’t change the facts, and neither will your need for a sensational story.”

I huffed out a breath as my frustration got the better of me. I had never met anyone as infuriating as him, and could’ve sworn he was just trying to see how long it would take before I snapped.

“You don’t get to shut down every single question because you don’t like where this is going.”

Trace turned on me. “And you don’t get to act like you know anything about me because you read a couple of articles and decided they meant something.”

“I’m trying to understand, but you’re making it really hard.” I said, standing my ground.

“No, you’re trying to prove something, and I’m just an obstacle in your way.”

Why couldn’t I do both? It wasn’t as if I didn’t need to know about his past for my article, or that the answers to these questions wouldn’t be fascinating. It might just have been more helpful if they perfectly aligned with my theory.

Trace let out a short, humorless laugh. “See, exactly what I thought.”

He lay back on the bench and reset his grip. I moved into position automatically, and my hands hovered near the bar as he lifted. It went up, down, back up again, and then I decided to give it another shot.

“You don’t just become that good out of nowhere. So either you’ve been playing longer than you’re saying, or someone’s helping you.”

Trace shoved the bar back into the rack harder than necessary and sat up again. I could see his frustration breaking through his expression, and I instantly knew that I had pushed the right button.

“I’ve always played,” he finally snapped.

I blinked in shock. Not because of the volume of his voice, but because of the actual answer. Trace stood up and started pacing, looking like he needed to move to burn the edge off what he was feeling.

“But I didn’t play where it counts for people like you,” he added quietly.

“What does that mean?” I asked, straightening slightly. “How can you not have a record?”

“There’s no proof because I never played for a team. I never had the time to join practice sessions and go to games, so…”

“I don’t get it.”

“You would if you actually listened to what I’m saying to you.”

I opened my mouth to continue my line of questioning, but then I really focused on what he said and tried to decipher it. Maybe he was trying to give me an answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to spit it out.

“Do you have any idea what it takes for me to be here?” Trace continued. His voice wasn’t loud anymore, but it carried a weight that made me pause. “I’m the first person in my family to finish high school. The first to go to college. That didn’t happen because I had time to mess around on the field after school.”

My breath caught in my throat, and my grip on my pen tightened. I was finally starting to understand why he didn’t want to talk to me. He had secrets that no one would willingly believe. But he didn’t stop there.

“I needed to get good grades, and I don’t mean barely a pass or scraping by. They needed to be real and solid. They needed to be good because scholarships don’t just fall into people’s laps like you wish they did.”

He shook his head in disgust, and I couldn’t stop myself from averting my gaze. Guilt rose in my chest, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

“I’m not one of those guys who just gets the topic they need to study. I have to work at it every time. In every class and on every test. So yeah, I didn’t try out, and I didn’t play for a team because I was too busy studying to focus on something like that.”