Page 11 of Revolve
“What’s wrong?” Kian asks through a mouthful of cereal.
I could say it was an edible mix-up, and I ate one by accident. That’s believable.
“D, what’s going on? What happened?”
Or maybe claim it was a rare result of secondhand smoking.
“Dylan.”
“What?” I snap.
Kian’s head rears back at my reaction. This whole thing is one massive fuckup, and it’s completely my fault.
“My drug test came back positive for THC,” I tell him.
Kian jumps off the counter, his mouth agape. With one sentence, I’ve made two deeply regrettable mistakes. One, letting my personal shit out in the open, and two, telling Kian about a problem he can’t fix for me. His savior complex is probably kicking in right now.
“That can’t be right. We’ll ask for a redo,” he says simply.
I thought I’d been smart, at least with timing when I would let loose at a party, but with everything going on last semester and this summer, I miscalculated. It didn’t occur to me that our preseason testing would be so soon after. There was so much going on the week we tested that I hadn’t thought twice before taking the test. The only thing on my mind was my parents’ phone call and their goddamn vow renewal.
“You’ll be kicked off the team,” he hisses. “We have to get a retest. It’s wrong.”
“It’s not.”
The silence stretches unbearably, and I can’t bring myself to look at his face.
“But you would never do that.” His voice wavers, shaky with emotion, and his words almost shatter my facade. But what could I even tell him? That I’ve been dealing with my parents’ shit for so long that this was the phone call that sent me over the edge? That I was so desperate for an escape, I didn’t think twice before letting a few puffs cost me my career?
My phone rings in my hand, and our eyes meet, fear flashing between us. Then I see the caller ID. Coach Kilner.
I swallow. This is it. “Hello.”
“Rink. Now,” he says, and the line goes dead. Just like any hope I had.
“I’M HOPING THAT’Syour good news glare,” I say when I join Coach Kilner on the bleachers.
“Sometimes, I think I chose the wrong career,” Kilner says, staring out at the empty rink. “Should’ve been a preschool teacher. At least those kids would listen to me.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Coach glares at me. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Does it matter? You found out anyway.”
His hands curl into fists, and I realize he really does need the stress ball he’s always strangling. “I would have liked to hear about the drug test from you. With an explanation.”
I shrug, keeping my eyes on my hands.
“You can sit here and act like you don’t care, but I see right through you.” Kilner exhales heavily. “I won’t pull it out of you, Donovan. But we both know you’ve been out of control this year.”
“Trust me, Coach. The test slipped my mind. I always know what I’m doing.”
“Of course you fucking do. All you kids think you do,” he says. “You’ll be suspended from the team, and the NCAA has been notified. You’ll be put on a conditional hold by the NHL. The director of athletics could ban you. Dean Hutchins could take even more severe action, given how hard he’s been cracking down on parties. You’ll be a free agent with zero league consideration once you graduate. What the hell were you thinking, boy?”
I have nothing to say to him.
“Do you know the seriousness of all this?” he presses. “All I wanted for you was to realize your potential. But you wasted it away at parties. Is this the legacy you want to leave behind?”
