Hastings pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Sit down, Zotov.”
I stayed standing.
Hastings frowned and pointed at the leather chair across from him. “That was not a suggestion.”
“Leave it, Gerry,” Corby said. He waved a hand in my direction. “He never sits down for these things. Just let him stand.”
Hastings clearly did not like it, but he let it go. I fought the urge to grin at the face he made.
Corby sighed. “Someone slipped an envelope under my door this morning.”
Hastings did not raise his voice. Instead, he slid a standard manila folder across his polished desk. “Take a look.”
I stepped forward and flipped the cover open. I kept my face carefully blank as I looked down at what was inside.
A stack of grainy printed photos sat in the folder. And I recognized that morning weeks ago in the parking lot right away.
The top picture showed the exact second I grabbed him. It caught the tense angle of my shoulders and the way I boxed him in. My hand was locked hard on the back of his neck.
To Corby and Hastings, it just looked like an angry senior roughing up a freshman. But staring at the paper, I saw the real problem. Anyone with eyes could see it wasn’t a fight. The shot caught Karter with his chin tilted up, not fighting back at all. It caught me leaning down, staring straight at his mouth.
I snapped the folder shut. My only way out was to swallow my pride and let them think I was just being a hothead.
“Looks like two guys arguing,” I said, dropping the folder back onto the desk.
“It looks like an assault,” Corby snapped. “It looks like a senior intimidating a freshman.”
“I didn’t assault anyone,” I fired back. “Nobody threw a punch.”
Corby rubbed his head again, his frustration clearly spiking. “Look at the damn picture, Zotov. You have your hand clamped on his neck. What the hell is going on between you two? Are you going after the only kid actually helping you keep your grades afloat?”
“I grabbed his hoodie. Not his neck,” I said flatly.
“It does not matter what you grabbed when it looks like this,” Corby said, pointing at the desk. “Why were you putting hands on him?”
“We were arguing about study schedules,” I lied, staring straight back at him. “He kept pushing me to meet at the library when I had to work a night shift. I told him to drop it and I got pissed.”
That caught Corby off guard. He dropped his hand from his head. He clearly expected me to throw a massive fit or deny the whole thing. But I just stood there and took the hit as the bad guy.
Hastings leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands. “My sense is that this is not the kind of attention anyone wants.” He tapped a finger against his desk. “The Johnston family name is on our practice facility. Have we thought about how an assault investigation involving his youngest son looks to Richard Johnston?”
That made it click.
Hastings had been looking for a reason to cut me all season. But a formal hazing investigation meant calling Karter’s dad. The athletic director just wanted to sweep a massive PR nightmare under the rug to protect his own job and the university’s wallet.
“This photo was slipped under the door anonymously,” Hastings continued, his voice perfectly level. “Right after the Chicago scouts started asking for your transcripts yesterday. The timing is very convenient.”
“You think someone on the team is trying to tank my draft?” I asked.
“I think someone is handing us a reason to suspend you,” Hastings said smoothly. “So, if Karter claims you tried to attack him, you are off the roster.”
“He won’t,” I said.
Hastings raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah.”
Hastings stared at me for a long time. Finally, he pulled the folder across the wood and shoved it into a drawer. “I am going to keep this file right here for now. We do not need a donor scandal. But you need to stay entirely away from Karter Johnston.” He dismissed me with a short wave of his hand. “Go to class.”
