Page 74 of Campus Muscle

They’d actually followed me, sensing the crack in my armor.

“You’re awfully quiet, Trace,” Tina said, poking me in the ribs. “And why do you keep looking at your phone?”

“Just checking the time.” I slid it back into my pocket and resolved to leave it there for the rest of the day.

“Or checking for a text?” Rachel chimed in, her eyebrows wiggling. “You’re a terrible liar. It’s a girl, isn’t it? Is she a cheerleader? Or one of those brainy library types you always said were too much work?”

I felt the heat crawl up my neck from the vivid, jarring memory of Dakota’s knees pinned to her chest and the way she’d looked at me with that unabashed hunger. I picked up my water glass, taking a long pull to keep from answering.

“Oh, he’s got it bad,” Amber whispered, her teasing tone shifting to something more concerned. “Trace, look at us. You’re not even denying it.”

The interrogation reached a fever pitch. They pounced, a barrage of questions about who she was, where she came from, and what her intentions were, while my mom kept an eye on me from afar.

I was a wreck. My skin still felt sensitized from the night before, the physical high of Dakota still humming in my marrow. I liked her. More than I was willing to admit to my sisters, and certainly more than was safe. But the memory of her was tangled up with the threat of her article.

How was I supposed to be with someone who was so willing to burn my world down for a front-page byline? Was I a person to her, or just a really good source?

“Dad, help me out here.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but my mom’s voice carried over the backyard, calling my sisters to help with the salads. They glared at me, Tina tapping her wrist to show me my time was running out as they retreated.

“Top form. You were right,” I said with a nervous laugh.

My dad didn’t say anything at first, just flipped a burger with practiced precision. We stood there for a long minute, the hiss of the grill providing the only cover.

“She that special?” he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the flames.

I leaned against the brick of the outdoor island, looking out at the yard. “I don’t know, Dad. She’s... complicated. She’s the one writing the article. The one who could end all of this.”

My dad stopped moving. He set the tongs down and looked at me. “You’re with the girl who’s trying to ruin you?”

“It’s not like that. She’s trying to do the right thing. But the right thing might involve me being collateral damage.” I looked at him, feeling the desperation clawing at my throat. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. But I don’t know if I can trust her.”

My dad sighed, a long, weary sound. He reached out and clipped me on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Son, listen to me. Life is a series of reads. Sometimes you’re on the field and the blitz comes from the side you didn’t check. That’s football. That’s school. And that’s women.”

It was wild hearing this from the man whose advice never went beyond ‘Get good grades’ and ‘Don’t drive drunk’.

He leaned in, his voice dropping. “If you’re honest and you keep your hands clean, people can’t use the truth against you. As for the girl... if she’s ruthless enough to hunt the truth, she’s ruthless enough to protect the people she cares about. You just have to figure out which side of that line you’re on. Stand your ground. Ride the wave. If she’s worth it, she’ll be there when the dust settles. If she isn’t? Then she was just another lesson.”

I nodded, the advice grounding me even as the sun began to dip below the fence line.

“Are we almost ready over here?” My mom came over, and it was clear the girls had gotten hold of her. She didn’t seem as impenetrable as she was before.

My dad nodded. “Fifteen minutes should do it.”

“Then we’ll set the table and get some drinks,” she said, patting my arm.

“Hey, Mom.” My heart rate picked up when she turned back. “I’d really like it if you guys came to the game next Saturday. It’s a big one. I want you to see what I’m actually doing out there.”

My mother’s face didn’t soften. If anything, it turned to granite.

“If you know what’s good for you, Trace,” she said, her voice trembling with a cold, final edge, “you’ll quit that godforsaken team. And that’s all I’m saying on it.”

27

Dakota

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall felt like spotlights. I stepped into the room, my chest tightening as the heavy door clicked shut behind me. Today was the deadline. The mid-semester review, where our in-progress investigative pieces were laid bare for the department to judge.