Page 143 of Bitter When He Begs

I woke up early, felt clear-headed, hit the gym before classes, and even managed to get through most of the morning without feeling like I was waiting for something to go wrong.

But now?

Now, I’m standing in my coach’s office, my stomach in freefall as he levels me with a stare that makes my skin crawl.

“Say that again,” I manage, my voice tight.

Coach sighs, rubbing his temples like he knew this conversation was going to happen. “Your test came back dirty, Luca.”

I blink, not understanding the words at first because they don’t make sense. I haven’t touched anything. Not in over eight months. Not since I made a promise to Damon, Eli, and Julian. Not since Sage started curling around me in his sleep and breathing against my throat like I’m something worth holding onto.

“That’s not—no. That’s wrong.”

Coach doesn’t blink. “It came from the same lab we’ve used for the last two years. Standard panel. Flagged immediately.”

I shake my head. “It has to be a mistake.”

He watches me like he’s trying to read through the layers of me, through my skin, past my face. “You want to tell me something before this gets out of hand?”

“I haven’t used again,” I snap, sharper than I mean to, but I can feel my blood pressure spiking and my chest starting to close in on itself. “I’ve been clean for over eight months. Damon’s been monitoring me, I’ve been transparent with Eli and Juls, and the guys. Hell, Sage has been with me practically every night since I got clean—I haven’t taken anything. I swear to God, Coach. I haven’t touched a thing.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Please,” I say, more quietly this time. “There’s gotta be a mix-up. Test me again.”

“I’ve already scheduled a retest for this afternoon,” he says. “But if it comes back the same, I’m going to have to take other measures.”

“Like what?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears—tight, defensive, panicked.

“You’ll be off the roster until further notice,” he says. “Pending review. Suspension is on the table if we can’t prove otherwise. I can’t cover for you anymore, Devereaux.”

I drop into the chair across from him without meaning to, knees buckling like someone knocked them out from under me. “You don’t believe me.”

Coach exhales. Not angry, but not sympathetic either. “It’s not about what I believe. You’ve got history. And when you’ve got history, these kinds of things don’t just get brushed off. You know that.”

“But I’ve worked for this,” I say, and it comes out choked because all I can hear is my dad’s voice from that hotel room call, telling me I’m a disappointment. “I’ve put in the work. I’ve been clean. I’ve done everything right.”

“I hope the second test proves that,” Coach says. “I do. But until then, I have to bench you.”

I stare at the floor for a long time after he says it. My hands are shaking and I clench them into fists, pressing them against my thighs like I can make the tremors stop if I just hold tight enough.

“I didn’t use,” I say again, like maybe if I say it enough someone will hear me. “There’s nothing in my system.”

“I hope that’s true,” Coach says, then nods toward the door. “Go get some air. You’ve got a few hours before the retest.”

I walk out on autopilot. The hallway looks the same. The players filing in for practice look the same. But the second I pass the weight room, I feel all of it settle in my chest like concrete.

Benched.

Coach doesn’t believe me, and why the fuck would he?

I just turn and walk out, my entire body thrumming with rage and fear. I don’t stop walking until I reach the parking lot. I don’t stop moving until I’m in my truck, my hands gripping the wheel so fucking hard my knuckles go white.

Then I snap.

I slam my fists against the dashboard, my entire body shaking.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

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