Page 43 of Built To Perform

Time stretched out, excruciating. Like drawing out a splinter that never ended.

Finally, he set his pen down. “Talk me through it, then.”

No time to replay those five words in my head, to assess them, tease them apart for any inkling of his mood. Coach didn’t like to ask twice.

“I... I’m not sure what you know already, sir.”

He looked up, expression cold. “Well, figure on my already having had a full summary from the team medic. Figure on my already having seen the tox-report, which thankfully confirmed the only freshman on the team was not drugged while in attendance at a club he’s still several years too young to legally enter. Figure, as well, that his team captain had to go collect that freshman, who was barely dressed, soaked in liquor, and with an open head-wound and possible concussion. Oh, and that only the fear of more far-reaching repercussions to that establishment prevented charges of assault being brought against that team captain.”

My stomach had been sour before. Now it felt like someone had dragged a sharp knife across its bottom, and all of my insides were spilling out into a steaming pool at my feet.

“As you figure those things,” Coach continued, volume creeping into that crisp, unflinching tone, “include the fact that I gave said freshman what I thought to be a clear, unmistakable instruction that, if he wanted to remain on this team, he was not to return to that club. Not to perform, not to watch other people perform, and certainly not to allow himself to be locked in a room with sexual predators!”

His voice had risen to a shout by the end, loud enough to set me rocking on my heels. He slammed his fist on the desk, shoving himself to his feet angrily.

“What the hell were you thinking, Eoin? Was I not thoroughly clear the other day? Did I leave some crucial detail out?”

“N-no, sir.”

“So this is just a sign of the degree of respect you hold this team in, then. The respect you have for your teammates, and for me, and for yourself, dammit.”

I could feel the tears building, the itch at the corners of my eyes. The lump in my throat growing; knew, too, that it could either come out as a breakdown or a howl.

“I had to!” The force of it surprising us both, it felt like. “For... for Brayden. He doesn’t get a scholarship, he doesn’t have parents paying his way. If he lost that job, what then? He’d have to drop out, and then what would happen to the team?”

Coach’s jaw was tight. “Disobedience for altruistic reasons is still disobedience, freshman.”

“So, what? I let him fail?”

I knew I should stop, should take a breath. At least try to think about the words, rather than that horrifying feeling that I was hearing them as fresh and raw as Coach was. But everything in me was boiling over; all the fear, and the worry about Brayden, and the knowledge that yes, I’d fucked up, and yes, Jefferson had needed to rescue me, but I’d done it for the best of reasons. Because your brothers are your brothers, and if they don’t mean everything to you, then they mean nothing.

“Didn’t you tell me, once, that I shouldn’t finish here with regrets? That there was nothing worse than looking back, and realizing you’d not attempted a challenge?” I bit my lip, remembering that moment when I’d stood in this same office, listening to Coach’s pep talk. Never guessing that one day I’d use those same words to defend myself.

For a moment - long seconds dragging out - he stared at me. Long enough that I could feel the cold sweat building under my arms; that my eyes felt gritty, because I was too terrified to blink.

And then, with a sharpness that spoke of ripping off a bandage, he sat down. Reached for the discarded pen.

“You knew the rules. You were aware of the consequences. Regardless of your motivation for doing so, you still elected to break those rules and flout those consequences. Never mind the risks to you, to your fellow wrestlers, and to the reputation of this team.” He weighed the pen between his fingers, staring at it. “Actions have repercussions.”

It was a sentence that had weight. Cold, dark, terrifying weight.

“Coach, I... I just...”

He pulled a stack of papers closer, clicking the pen pointedly.

“You’re dismissed, freshman; we’re done here. You’re done here.”

Chapter Twenty-One

I stumbled back to my dorm room in a daze. Feet working on autopilot and the exact details of the journey lost. Terrified of bumping into one of my big bros; of having to explain what’d just happened, what Coach said, the implications of it all.

Terrified, too, of having to tell my teammates that I no longer counted as one of those. Even just skirting around the edges of the idea was enough to leave me dizzy.

For a moment I thought I was going to make it there without having to talk with someone, without having to pretend my brain could manage small talk any more. Only to practically run into Asher as I lurched down our corridor.

“Hey, Eoin. You okay? What’s with the bandage?”

I stared at him, mind blank, words beyond me. Knowing I must look strange - Asher’s smile slipping, the frown forming - but equally sure that I could stand there for a hundred years and not manage to say a word.