I pick up the first statement. It’s from Roman, Sean, and Beck together, an official statement as co-captains. They detail Pierce’s ongoing pattern of harassment towards me. Instances where they reprimanded him. Times he ignored them. They describe a lot of what they witnessed in detail, and use words liketargetingandhostile environmentandconcern for team cohesion.
I flip to the next.
Jay’s handwriting is cramped and furious. He writes about the way Pierce talks about my family and his blatant homophobia. About how far Pierce took things before I broke and swung. He says he believes I showed restraint for months longer than any reasonable person would.
My throat closes.
“Keep going,” Coach says quietly.
I do.
There’s an incident report from two freshmen who admit to slashing my tires under the instruction of Pierce, who told them they had to follow through on pranks to earn their place. How he framed it as tradition, as team hazing, and would dole out punishments when they didn’t complete the tasks to his approval. They write that they’re willing to accept whatever punishment comes their way but feel it’s important for the administration to know that Pierce orchestrated the entire thing.
I flip the page and nearly choke.
Someone, Sebastian again, based on the shaky handwriting, details how Pierce tried to spike a drink at a party. One that was purposefully meant for me, to get me drunk. Sebastian details how he purposefully spilled the drink on Pierce and took the heat for it. He writes about being forced to do naked pushups in the hallway of their dorm as punishment.
I flip more pages, and find more accounts from trainers about overhearing Pierce’s comments. Notes about reminding him of team policies. Emails from the athletic department documenting past warnings.
Then my heart somehow squeezes tighter when I find a page that’s different. Cleaner. It’s on official letterhead from the athletics office.
Character assessment: Broderick Miller.
It’s a list of my grades, which are all above a B+. My history of volunteer work. My transcripts from Nebraska. Conduct statements from my professors and athletics instructors at both schools, which are full of comments likeconsistently on time,well-liked by staff,models positive attitude in workouts and goes out of his way to help others.
“I—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “I don’t… understand.”
Beside me, Beck is quiet. His knee touches mine, solid and warm.
Coach steeples his fingers on the desk. “What you’re looking at, Mr. Miller, is the reason you’re sitting in that chair today instead of cleaning out your locker permanently.”
I blink, trying to catch up.
“There will still be consequences,” he goes on. “You swung and hit another student in the face in front of multiple eye-witnesses.”
“Yes sir,” I whisper automatically.
“But.” He taps the folder with one blunt finger. “Because of your exemplary conduct and rapport with this team, which brought every single member together to take up your case, we have a very different path forward than we thought we would two weeks ago.”
My head is buzzing. “What does that mean?”
“It means there will be a disciplinary hearing. You and I will both be there, as will legal, athletics, and student conduct. Mr. Jamison’s parents have, unsurprisingly, been eager to pursue charges, but once all this documentation surfaced, they became very aware of how much their son has to lose if the full story is on the record.”
He leans back, mouth twisting into something that might be a smirk if he weren’t trying so hard to look professional.
“In my professional opinion, with the evidence we have of Mr. Jamison’s long-standing behavior, with your teammates and the entire wrestling admin at your back, I believe there’s a good chance you’ll take a hit with a suspension, but I think you will keep your scholarship. And your spot at this university.”
The words land in pieces.
Keep your scholarship.
My chest seizes.
I look back down at the pile. At all those names. All those pages. So many people stepping up for me, when mere months ago many of them treated me like I was less than. Because these statements aren’t just from friends. Not just the guys I’d already started to feel anchored to.Everyone.Guys I thought barely tolerated me. Guys I assumed sided with Pierce because they laughed at his jokes or didn’t step in when he ran his mouth.
They were watching. They were paying attention. And when it mattered, they choseme.
I didn’t know I was gripping the arms of the chair until Beck’s fingers quietly cover mine, prying them loose so he can lace our hands together. I stare at our joined hands for a second.
