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“Who’s my real father?” When no one answers, I raise my voice. “Who is it?”
Mum shakes her head. “Conrad–”
“WHO IS IT?”
I look over at Bill–his mouth is twisted up in a sick grin. The satisfaction on his face is going to make me hurl, and when he spits out a name, I do.
“Sam Breed.”
* * *
COACH SHAKES HIS head when he turns the corner. He’s just laid eyes on me and Dave standing outside his office. It’s the disappointment in his eyes that completely guts me.
“You knew what would happen,” is all he says as he unlocks the door.
We follow him in and Dave closes us into the room. I stand in front of his desk with my hands behind my back. “With all due respect, Coach. I think I’ve been set up.”
Coach sighs as he settles into his chair, gesturing for both of us to take a seat. “The results don’t lie, Conrad. Your tests came back positive.”
“I’ll take a blood test.”
He steeples his hands against his chin. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” Dave asks. “I’m here to vouch for him, Coach. Conrad hasn’t touched anything in months.”
I’m grateful to Dave. I showed up at his place after walking out on my parents and he let me crash there, no questions asked. I shut my phone off so they couldn’t contact me and haven’t thought about it again. I told Dave about the drug test and said that my dad kicked me out. It was his idea to meet with Coach. After he called to set up the meeting, we crashed for the night. Not that I got a wink of sleep.
“It’s not fair to the other boys,” Coach says. “You know we have a zero tolerance. Hell, I don’t even understand this, son. The drug tests were your idea.”
“Exactly. So why would I screw it up? Please Coach, you’ve got to believe me. Someone set me up.”
He narrows his eyes. “Now, Conrad. That’s quite an accusation. The containers were labelled. So how do you suppose that happened?”
I pass Dave and Gibbo coming back from the bathrooms. I push open the door and crash into one of the first-year players, Tyson Antanovic, on the other side. My container is knocked out of my hand and goes skidding along the ground, coming to a stop at Palmer’s feet.
“S-sorry Foster,” Tyson stammers. “I didn’t see you there.”
“All good,” I grunt out, giving him a tight smile as I step aside so he can leave.
Palmer chuckles, holding out my container. I snatch it back without so much as a thanks and head over to the urinals. I fill my sample, tighten the lid, and move to wash my hands.
I groan as Palmer sidles up to me, slapping me on the back with an irritating grin. “I don’t know what you’re so carefree about,” I say to him. “I can’t see you passing this after your weekend.”
“Oh, ye of little faith, El Capitano,” he says with a wink.
I make a disgusted sound and walk away.
“Hey Cap!” I turn around and he’s holding up my sample. “You forgot something.” He tosses it to me, and I catch it with a scowl.
I slam the bathroom door behind me and storm out to the weights room to hand over my cup. He checks the label and ticks my name off the list, and I take that as my cue to leave. Surely Palmer’s not going to pass this test. Maybe I’ll finally be rid of him.
Son of a bitch–it was Palmer. I don’t know how the fuck he convinced Tyson to help him out, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. The only problem is, I can’t exactly prove it.
I clear my throat. “Am I the only one that failed?”
“You know I can’t discuss that information with you.”
“Please,” I choke out. “You don’t have to give me names. I just need to know.”
