Page 8 of Ruled Out

“I am,” I agree honestly. “But I’m not about to let him win. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright ladies, huddle up,” Coach Moore calls from the door leading outside the facility.

Why is he standing by the door?Once the team is circled up, he continues. “Nice of everyone to arrive on time today,” he quips, casting a devious glance my way.

“Today’s workout will be focused on recovery. Yesterday, we went heavy on the weights. I’m sure all of you are dealing with muscle soreness and fatigue to some extent. A light jog is a great way to get your blood pumping and relieve body aches. For today’s run, you will follow the paved trail outside the athletic facility. It makes a loop around campus for exactly five miles. This is an independent run, not a race. Go at your own pace but do not walk or stop. If I see anyone attempting to do either, you will start from the beginning. As Division I college athletes, a five-mile jog should be a piece of cake. Once you’ve done your stretches, you can get started. You’re free to go after you finish your run. Remember to hydrate and take care of yourself before and after each workout.”

I’m going to die,I think to myself. I just ran six miles and now he expects me to run another five in the heat? That’s almost a half marathon, for Christ's sake. Determined to not let him break me, I convince myself to block out the pain. Before I know it, my feet are shuffling on the pavement beneath me.

Mile four is when my body starts to defeat my mind. Suddenly, my feet seem to move in slow motion, my surroundings spinning out of control, and stars appear in my vision before my world fades to black.

FIVE

PHOEBE

Nauseous and confused, I wake up surrounded by a group of people – or, at least, I think they’re people. They’re blurry as my eyes strain to adjust. I remember telling myself to keep moving through the quicksand, forcing one foot in front of the other until my body would no longer cooperate with my mind.

Once my vision begins to clear, I notice I’m in a bright treatment room. I’m lying on cold padding that sort of mimics a massage table. My feet are propped up, elevated by a foam wedge, and a cold compress rests against my forehead.

“Hi, Phoebe. My name is Jonathan; I’m a certified athletic trainer. Can you hear me?” I narrow my eyes and slowly tilt my head towards the voice.

I see three people towering above me: two athletic trainers, and a very distraught Coach Moore. My eyes immediately collide with his, noticing how his brows are knitted together in an emotion that looks suspiciously like pain. His onyx hair is standing straight up from running his hands through it, something I’ve already noticed is a habit of his when he’s frustrated. His tough exterior has finally cracked, leaving him looking completely shattered.

“Phoebe? You’re probably confused right now, but I need to know if you can hear and see me,” Jonathan presses.

“Yes to both,” I croak, trying to use as few words as possible.

“Do you know where you’re at?”

I try to nod. “At the athletic facility.”

“Good. What’s the last thing you remember?” While Jonathan assesses my mental state, a female trainer hands me a large glass of water.

“Thank you,” I rasp, taking the glass from her and sitting up before responding to Jonathan. “Running. The last thing I remember is running.”

“Her memory is good, and she seems to be in stable condition,” he notes to his colleague. Shifting his attention back to me, he continues his questioning. “Do you-”

“Jesus Christ, give her a minute to breathe,” Coach Moore fires off at Jonathan.

Clearly irritated, Jonathan gives Coach a glare before ignoring him and turning his head back towards me. “I need you to drink that entire glass of water. We should be able to release you once you're hydrated,” he says with a soft smile as he hands me a rectangular package. “Here, try to eat this granola bar. It will help to stabilize your blood sugar. Do you remember the last time you ate?

“Um, I think I had a banana before class this morning,” I answer honestly.

Immediately, Coach Moore snaps his head to me, looking completely pissed.

“I see… I’m almost certain the lack of calories paired with the stress of starting a new semester is what caused you to faint. You also have to make sure you’re getting enough sleep. With the amount of training you’ll be putting your body through, taking care of yourself is key,” he adds, shifting his gaze back to Coach Moore, who’s pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“I’m going to give you some space to recover. I'll just be in the next room over.” Jonathan motions to the hall behind him as he speaks, clearly sensing the tension in the room. Once Jonathan leaves, Coach wastes no time telling me exactly how he feels.

“You what?” Coach says through clenched teeth, looking shocked. “Are you kidding me? You just attempted to run for two straight hours with nothing to fuel your body but a goddamn banana?My God, no wonder you passed out. What the hell were you thinking?” he scolds.

“I was thinking that I was exhausted, running on little to no sleep, and food was the absolute last thing on my mind. You just ran me to the point of passing out, and you’re still going to stand here and chastise me? Please, just go.” At this point, I really want him to leave me the fuck alone.

“No, you did this to yourself. You have to eat, Phoebe. I may be a hardass, but I would never put one of my athletes at risk.Ever.You should have told me you hadn't eaten today. Never pull a stunt like this again,” he says sternly.

“I should have told you?” I raise my brows and scoff. “After how you treated me yesterday, confiding in you would have been mylastresort,” I retort, staring at him like he’s the bane of my existence. I can tell that my comment hit right by his silence and the wounded expression on his face.

“I’ll see myself out,” I snark after chugging the rest of my water and jumping down from the treatment table. As my feet hit the cold tile, it takes me a second to find my balance. My body sways to one side before I feel a strong, muscular arm wrap around my waist.

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