Page 70 of Through the Flames
Dom groaned, ripping his cap off his head and running his fingers through his hair. “That’s not why I’m here. I need you to listen to me. Really listen.”
I led him into the living room and perched my ass on the edge of the couch, keeping a wary eye on him. He sounded serious, perhaps more serious than I’d ever heard him.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
Dom opened his mouth and snapped it closed again. My stomach dropped before he even said a word. Something was off.Way off.
He wasn’t the guy who panicked. He was the one who threw parties during finals week and still passed.
When the words finally burst out of him, it took even me a second to catch up.
“A couple of days ago … I overheard something,” he began, his voice tight. “Heard the trainers, Coach, and some of the players talking in the hallway. They didn’t know I was there. I just happened to be passing by. They were joking about thevitamins we take, but it was quite fucking clear what they were calling vitamins were actually something else. I heard enough. Whatever the hell they were giving us, the shit wasn’t legal. Coach said they were just vitamin boosters. He said the trainers used ‘em during doubles to keep us sharp. Now he’s gone ghost, and Compliance is crawling all over the fucking locker room.”
“Wait — boosters like what? Injections? Pills? What are we talking about here?” I stared at him, wide-eyed.
He was pulling so hard on his hair, I was afraid he might tear it out. “Some kind of shot up my fucking arm!”
I’d seen Dom bloodied after games, limping off the field, laughing through pain. I’d never seen him scared.
“Okay, let’s just take a deep breath. You’re spiraling.”
He glared at me. “Well, ex-fucking-cuse me for freaking out about my future falling apart!”
Then, in a softer voice, he said, “Why would they lie about that? Why would they lie to us?”
“Tell me you still have the packaging. Anything. Even a label.” I sighed.
Dom scoffed. “Never even saw anything of the sort. Coach called me into his office, said something about mandatory vitamin shots, and I fucking believed him. Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t ask questions. None of us did. We just … trusted him.”
He dropped his bag with a loud thud before he began to pace the length of the room, the floorboards creaking in uneven rhythm. “I trusted him. Itrustedhim.”
“Are we talking NCAA-level violations or ‘you’re about to grow a third eye’ kind of shit?” I inquired. I couldn’t fucking stop thinking about what kind of shit they shot up my little brother’s arm.
“Right now, I’d take the extra eye over my whole career going down the drain.” He groaned.
My head was starting to hurt; the soft and pale light filtering into the room was making the tension feeltoo visible.
The bowl of cereal I’d been munching was sitting untouched on the coffee table, now soggy.
“He said it was just B12. Boosters. Hydration. Stuff the pros use. Now they’re taking blood. They’ve brought in fucking lawyers, Ella.” He was pacing again. Back and forth, back and forth.
“How long has this been happening? Since the season started?”
“I don’t know. Maybe even longer for some of the other guys, but I just went in one time. I swear!”
I eyed him sharply. Dom and I were Irish twins. We grew up as close as any siblings could, and Iknewmy brother, perhaps, better than anyone else did.
I’dneverseen him this shaken, not even when he thought he tore his ACL.
“Dom.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “You had to have asked something. A name. A vial. Anything.”
“You think I’d do this if I knew what the hell it was? You think I’d be barging in here?” He threw up his hands, looking ready to punch a hole through the wall. “The trainers and the medical staff didn’t have a choice. Coach had them over a barrel — their jobs were on the line if they didn’t comply.”
“Shit, Dom. If this blows up, it’s not just the team. It’s your eligibility. Your draft,” I whispered, my hands clenching into fists in my lap without realizing.
He could loseeverything, and all he did was trust the wrong people. People he was supposed to rely on.
Dom collapsed onto the couch, the frame creaking under his weight, his expression forlorn. Like it was already over, like there was nothing we could do.
