“Like that,” I admitted. “But worse. It sounded like cover-ups. Shit being handled so the NCAA doesn’t get wind.”
The silence stretched, heavy.
Dustin finally let out a slow breath. “And the fight?”
I shrugged, tension coiling tighter in my shoulders. “They brought it up in the bar. Said I should keep my mouth shut about what I heard in the weight room.”
Dust swore under his breath. “So you didn’t start it.”
I looked at Noah, who gave a minimal shrug.
“I might have started it,” I said evenly. “But they shot their mouths off and mentioned Mason Sterling. Remember him?” I asked Dustin, who shook his head. “They said — well, theyimplied— that players who ask questions getgone. They said they didn’t need the NCAA poking its nose in again.”
“Again? Shit,” Noah mumbled. “Then they all stared at you, all bullshit like.” He looked at Dustin. “You’d have swung for them too.”
I nodded. “I sure as hell wasn’t backing down.”
“Yeah, no doubt.” Dustin rubbed his jaw, thoughtful. “If what you heard is true... and their actions afterward definitely imply there’s something to hide, then this isn’t just locker room trash talk. Do you think it’s program-deep?”
“I don’t know, but if I push too hard, I’m the problem,” I muttered. “Someone else told me to keep my mouth shut today. They don’t wantgolden boycausing waves.”
Noah slammed his bottle down. “Fuck that. You’re not the problem. You said shit about what you heard; them making it a big deal is what’s bringing attention to it.”
The room settled in a thick, loaded quiet. For the first time since this morning, I didn’t feel like I was carrying it alone.
I looked between them both. “You haven’t heard anything like that?” I asked, and both shook their heads. “What about you, Noah? You’re a transfer, there’s nothing you heard at your old school?”
He frowned. “No.” He ran his hand through his hair. “There's always flexibility," Noah said. "Guys sail through classes they shouldn't. Coaches overlook things. That's everywhere." He shrugged. "But players getting paid to keep quiet? Never heard that. Not once." He frowned. “The program being really well disciplined was one of the reasons I liked that the coaches here were looking at me and I considered it a good fit for me.”
“Itisa great fit for you,” Dustin mumbled automatically. “You’re killing it every week,” he added honestly. He stared at me. “What the fuck does ‘payouts’ mean?” He scratched his short beard. “I mean, we won, so they weren’t being paid to lose.”
“They don’t evenplay,” Noah grumbled. “What the fuck are they doing? Paying them to sit there and keep the bench warm?”
I hesitated, and Noah saw it.
“What else?” he asked. “You know something else.”
“My shoulder’s been... troublesome.” I looked between them. “I got Doug last week—”
“Trainer Doug?” Dustin asked, and when I nodded, he grinned. “Doug’s cool.”
Is he?
I plowed on. “So he asked me if he should put my injury in the report.” Both of them looked at me, and I nodded. “Yeah. What do you think that means?”
Dustin sat back. “Why would he not put it on your report?”
“I don’t know.” I looked at Noah. “Any thoughts?”
Noah was staring at the wall. “You were surprised the hockey team lost.”
I swallowed. Of course he’d remember. “Yeah.” I didn’t have a lie prepared. “I thought they were all fit and good to play. But you knew they were carrying injuries. But there’s nothing saying that, anywhere, about injuries.”
“Then why would they play if they weren’t healthy?” Dustin asked. He was rubbing his jaw, his tell when he was uncomfortable.
“I dunno. I feel like I was too close to something, but I’m not sure what that something is...”
“If they’re covering up injuries?” Dustin looked between us. “Or making people play when they shouldn’t be, that could fuck up careers.” He blew out a breath. “Fuck,” Dustin muttered. “Ifeel sleazy, and I didn’t do anything wrong.” He looked between us. “What do we do with this?”
