Page 118 of Broken Breath
The official frowns, flipping through his clipboard. “I don’t see anything listed under medical exemptions.”
My heart plummets straight into my gut, and I start to ramble. “There has to be. I lost a kidney. Urine tests might not be reliable and could skew the results. I don’t want to risk that, that’s why I’ve been moved to the blood-only protocol.”
He squints down again, unconvinced. “Nothing here says that. No flagged notes. No UCI clearance filed.”
“I can go get him. Dane, my manager. He has the documents. Just let me…”
I move to turn, already halfway to the door, when his hand closes around my arm.
“Once an athlete is notified of a doping test, they’re not permitted to leave. It’s a WADA rule. You step out now, it’s logged as a refusal, and a refusal means automatic disqualification, Crews.”
My stomach lurches as a hot wave of panic shoots up my spine, hotter than the pain that’s been gnawing at me all day. The walls feel too close, the air too thin, and my skin starts to crawl.
“No. I can’t. I lost a kidney. You can’t ask me to…”
“You can provide a urine sample now,” the official says evenly. “And if there’s a medical issue, we’ll follow up with a blood test. That’s the standard protocol when something seemsoff.”
“I can’t!” My voice cracks on the last word. “I’mnot supposed to. I’m flagged for blood testing only.”
“Not according to my list.”
“Can I at least call my manager?” I ask, already digging my phone out of my hoodie pocket. “Please.”
He hesitates, then nods once. “One call. He needs to come here himself with the documentation. No phone confirmations.”
The relief has me nearly sagging to the floor. “Thank you!”
I hit Dane’s contact and hold the phone to my ear.
One ring.
Two.
Voicemail.
Shit.
He’s probably asleep again. Cold, dead to the world, ofcourse, he is. My hand drops to my side slowly, and my heart pounds in my ears. “He’s not picking up, but I can’t do this. Please? I need the blood test, it’s a medical issue.”
“Then we’llfollow up. But right now, I need a urine sample. Like I said, it’s this or it gets reported as a refusal.”
Mason seals his sample and places it on the tray, his face set in that unreadable scowl he wears as he walks to the sink to wash his hands.
When he goes to leave, I reach out before I can think, fingers curling into the sleeve of his hoodie. “Mason, wait.”
His eyes flick to me, and his brow furrows, the crease between them deepening as he takes in the room. The official, the tension, my visible distress that I’m too panicked to mask. He looks at my hand bunched around his sleeve before his eyes come up to mine again. They’re not soft, but not cruel either. Just wary.
I turn to the official, swallowing hard. “If he goes, if he gets my manager, can we wait for him? Just a few minutes?”
The official exhales hard, already tired of this conversation, and checks his watch. “Five minutes. Tops. Then you’re pissing in this cup, Crews.”
I look back at Mason. “Please. Can you go grab Dane for me? Tell him to bring the medical exemption. He’s in the bus.”
Mason scans me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m hiding, and yeah, it probably looks pretty sketchy. He holds my gaze for one more long, silent beat, then he dips his chin, turns, and takes off at a sprint.
The official walks back out and calls out another name, motioning for the rider to step in. The guy walks past me, all easy swagger and zero anxiety, and takes the empty urinal like it’s no big deal.
Because it isn’t,for them.
