“Yes.”
He looks at the monitor. Then back at me.
“Do you understand what you did to this girl?”
“Wren.” I swallow. “Yes.”
“No,” he says quietly. “You understand what this did toyou. That’s why you’re here.”
The correction lands clean.
I steady my voice. “She was my target,” I say. “Then she became someone real. And that doesn’t matter, because I started with her as a target.”
Coach holds my gaze.
“You didn’t just lie,” he says. “You engineered proximity. You used your status. You used your access. And you did it to someone with less power than you in every way that counts on a campus.”
“Yes.” I swallow, then force the rest out. “And I created the environment that made Reed think what he did was acceptable. The jokes. The culture. The way we talked about—” My throat closes. “I broke his nose. But I built the world that told him it was okay to try.”
Coach’s expression doesn’t soften, but something shifts behind his eyes. Recognition.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “You did.”
“Compliance will open a parallel review,” he continues. “Not for Reed. For you.”
My stomach sinks.
“They’ve already asked whether the relationship began consensually.”
“It did,” I say quickly. “I didn’t force myself on her.”
“After you manipulated the conditions,” he corrects.
“Yes.”
Silence stretches.
Then he says, “Here’s what’s going to happen.”
My hands curl, then I force them open.
“You’re suspended from all team activities,” he says. “Effective immediately.”
I nod.
“You will not practice. Travel. Dress. Or enter the locker room.”
Another nod.
“You will turn in your alternate captain letter today.”
My throat burns. I nod again.
“And you will not contact her.”
My head lifts. “Coach?—”
“No,” he says sharply. “You don’t need to explain. You want relief. You want to put your guilt on her and call it closure.”
