"What else?"
"I can still go to class so I won't fall behind, but all my grades and GPA are in limbo until the Board has its full hearing. That's in a month."
"What? Why a month?" Mom asks. "That's a long time to keep someone in limbo.”
“Supposedly, they want to make sure that things are done right.”
Dad fumes, calming enough that he's at least not turning purple any longer. “If you get found guilty, I assume that means you lose your scholarships?"
I nod. "I know you guys can't pay for a school like Western, but I'll make it happen, even if I have to take out student loans or get a part-time job.”
"Damn right, we can't pay. You realize I just signed the papers on a new truck?" He asks, and I wince. Dad drove an old Mack for years, and by now, it has to be at least twenty years old. God knows how many miles he's put on it. “Now this."
"Dad, stop," I beg, trying not to cry. "I'll get through it. I didn't cheat, I swear to you."
"It's this Duncan's fault," Dad repeats, his voice dropping. "I just know it. Somehow, it's his fault. Of course it is. He's a Hart, right?"
"What's that mean?"
He shakes his head and gets up, leaving the camera view while Mom looks up and watches him. "Sweetie, we'll talk later," she says, looking back at me. "I'm sorry you're having trouble. Make sure you keep us up to date.”
“You know I will. Take care."
I hang up the call and lean back. Great. Just great. Like I need anything else in my life right now. The only relationship I’ve had in far too long to admit is on indefinite hiatus, I'm accused by a supposed friend of an Honor violation, and now, my parents are stressing too.
I can't even go talk to Chelsea about this, because I was told by the Dean that I’m not allowed to approach her until the hearing. What am I supposed to do?
The only other thing I can think of right now. Duncan.
Chapter 13
Duncan
Post-game activities, including a meeting with Coach Bainridge and the Athletic Director, took until nearly eleven o'clock, so I didn't get back to my apartment until midnight. I thought about calling Carrie then, but I decided against it. She was probably already asleep, and besides, what I needed to tell her, I wanted to be well-rested and ready for it.
Waking up now on Sunday, I stretch, wincing when my elbow sends out a wave of pain. I remember that last hit from the Southern Nevada safety. His face mask hit me right in the elbow, and now, I can barely move it.
I grab my phone from off my table and pull up Carrie’s number. I notice that it's already noon. I guess I was more tired than I thought. "Come on, pick up, pick up."
Carrie's phone rings twice, then a mechanical voice cuts in. "The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable. Please leave a message at the beep."
"Hey, Carrie? It's Duncan. Listen . . . we need to talk. I have something I want to tell you. I need to go down to the Pavilion. I dinged up my elbow and could use some ice and maybe a whirlpool on it. If you get this message, could you give me a hand? If not, let's talk later. It's important."
I hang up and grab my bike keys. The ride to campus is painful, but I take it slow and pull into the parking slot without a problem. I go inside and downstairs, where I find Coach Taylor going at it with his own personal workout.
The barbell comes crashing down as Coach T hits his limit for that set, and after he takes a few deep breaths, he sees me in the mirror. "Duncan. Thought you'd be chowing down on some pizza or still sleeping. Whatcha need?"
"Took a shot to the elbow. I thought I'd get some treatment. You got anyone who can see me today?"
He turns around, his hands and shins nearly ghost-white with lifter's chalk, and shakes his head. "Sorry, nope. But give me about forty-five minutes to finish this up, and I'll take a look. Where'd he hit you?"
"The facemask hit me right in the funny bone. I thought it was just that, but I woke up this morning and had a lot of problems moving it. Figured some contrast or ultrasound might be good."
Taylor nods and puts me out of his mind as Pantera thunders through the speakers and he gets back into his workout. I take a seat on a machine and watch in amazement as 'DT' Taylor goes into an intense, focused fury on the weights, battling them like they're his worst enemies, until finally, with a primal scream that would intimidate your average male gorilla, he drops his dumbbell on his last set of rows.
"Damn, hope I can do that when I'm your age."
'DT' is gone, and Coach Taylor is back, and he laughs as he kick-rolls the dumbbell back to its place in the rack. "If you get to my age, here's some advice. Take up bike riding, do some yoga, and sit back and enjoy life. Don't be middle-aged and crazy like I am. Give me five to change shirts and mop up."