Mr. Fiancé(129)

"I'll help out with that," I say, going over and getting the sponge mop in the corner and bringing it over. "Besides, middle-aged and crazy sound like where I'm headed. Too many inner demons I'm fighting."

"I've heard," Coach Taylor says. "You seem to have done a good job with it so far this past week, though.”

"I have a good reason to," I reply. "For her."

Coach goes into his office while I get the ghost of lifter's chalk up off the floor and put the bucket back. I follow him into the training room, where he flips on the heating element for the whirlpool and pours ice into the bucket.

"She’s worth it," he says simply. "Now, show me the arm."

We're both surprised by the bruise that's grown in my elbow. It looks bigger and darker than when I woke up this morning, and Coach whistles. "And you didn't drop the ball?"

"Lucky, mostly. Had it in two hands at the time."

Coach has me flex and bend my arm a few times, then nods. "Okay. Let's get it into contrast for thirty minutes, two-minute switches. Then when you get home, take a few Tylenol." He sighs. “I’m going to recommend to Coach Bainridge that you go no-contact on Tuesday. Run your ass off if you want, but you should avoid hits on that arm for a while. Why wasn't it taped this past game?"

"Carrie wasn't there," I said simply. Coach Taylor raises an eyebrow, but he only nods at what I say.

"Well, next Saturday, when she does tape you up, make sure you wear a neoprene sleeve on top of that elbow as well. The equipment guys will get you what you need. You good?"

"Yeah, I guess," I say. "Thanks."



With no contact, I didn't worry about taping at all, instead running routes and reviewing tape with everyone and getting used to my new elbow sleeve, which, to be honest, I don't like but will at least pad my elbow some for a while. We actually have a strange game this week, a Monday night game, so Coach Bainridge gives us a lighter workload. I'm still sweating, though, after ninety minutes of running routes and some light blocking, so the early stop is nice.

The only dark cloud over the day is that Carrie still hasn't returned my calls. I tried two more times yesterday, and today, I couldn't find her at all. I think about stopping by the training room, but decide instead to do what needs to be done. I can soak my elbow at the apartment later. I climb on my bike and ride to her dorm, pulling up outside. I look up to her room and see the light is on, so I go inside, ducking up the stairs and heading to the third floor, making my best guess as to which is her room.

Knocking, I feel nervous. "Carrie? It's Duncan. Please, open up."

It's a scene that I never thought I would be in, standing outside a girl's dorm room and asking nervously to be let in. My fears evaporate to be replaced with concern when Carrie opens the door and her eyes are dull, lifeless. "Duncan. Come in."

I walk in, leaving the door open like you're supposed to in the dorms, a rule I have routinely broken, but this time, I’m not worried about following. Carrie's in some sort of trouble.

"Carrie, what's wrong? I tried calling you the past two days, and you didn't pick up. I thought you were mad at me or something."

Carrie sits on her bed, more like flops onto it really, her head hanging and her blonde hair hanging limp—and it looks unwashed. She's still beautiful, but not the Carrie I'm used to seeing. "Sorry. I don't have my phone. I got a call from the Honor Board yesterday. I've been accused of cheating."

"What? You'd never cheat! You're too damn smart!" I protest, and Carrie looks up. "It's true. What did they say you did?"

"When I called you during my orgo mid-term, they said that I was looking up test answers on my phone," Carrie says, taking a deep breath. "I—I don't know how, but my phone has a data trail that says I cheated."

"No way," I reply, taking her by the hands and helping her up. “What can I do to help?”

"Duncan . . . I'm suspended from the Pavilion because of this. I can't even get within fifty yards of Chelsea, since she made the statement against me."

"Chelsea?" I ask. "You mean Chelsea Brown? She's involved with this?"

Carrie nods, and I'm pissed. Not at Carrie, but at myself. "I—I have to apologize to you, Carrie. Chelsea and I had a little history a long time back. She didn't take it well at the time, but it seemed as if she’d gotten over it. My guess is, she’s jealous and trying to hurt you.”

"But the phone? Her lies may have started the ball rolling, but my phone . . ."

I stroke her chin. "It doesn't matter. Chelsea’s clever. She probably found some way to make it look like you cheated. Don't sweat this. We’ll get through it. Besides, we’ve got time before the hearing, and there's a lot to do between now and then."