Full Contact: A College Reverse Harem Romance

by Cassie Cole

“And what is Niagara Falls?” Feña went on.

  “A waterfall!” I said excitedly.

  Feña nodded in triumph.

  “Well, I mean, that’s what they are,” Lance grumbled. “Even if the words are kind of lazy.”

  A student came walking across the study hall and stopped at our table. “Hey Lance? Coach Mueller wants to see you.”

  “Probably wants to go over the coverage video for the Lone Star Tech game,” he said as he scraped back his chair and left the room.

  Danny was still grinning. “You know, it’s funny. I never thought about the dumb English words like that.”

  “We take them for granted since we grew up with them,” I said.

  Feña grinned. “Now that Lance is gone, I will admit that German has very silly words as well. The German word for turtle translates to shield toad. The word for glove translates to hand-shoe. The word for hippo translates to river horse.”

  “Etymology is a fascinating thing,” I said. “Alright, so back to studying.”

  “Hey, real quick,” Danny cut in. “I wanted to say I’m really proud of you for acing your last test, Feña. It must be twice as hard learning a subject in a second language—even if you are fluent in it. I’m glad you busted your butt and are back on track to graduate with us. Wherever I get drafted—if I get drafted—I’m going to put in a good word with the training camp and make sure they sign you too.

  “Unless it is the Redskins,” Feña grinned. Then he gestured at me. “But you should be proud of Roberta. She is the one who helped me study. All I have done is listen.”

  “You’re a good listener, though,” I said to cover my blush. “That’s half the battle.”

  “Hey, you don’t happen to be an expert in speech communication, do you?” Danny asked me. “Because I could use some help in that snore-fest of a class.

  “You’re on your own there.”

  Just then Lance came walking back across the room. “That was quick,” Danny told him. “Did you not go over the Lone Star Tech tape?”

  All the color had drained from Lance’s face. He stood in front of his seat and just sort of stared down at the desk, dumbfounded.

  I grabbed his hand. “Lance? What’s wrong?”

  “I…” he shook his head. “I’ve been suspended. From the football team.”

  “What!” three of us said at once. “Why?”

  “Our last drug test,” he said, voice devoid of emotion. “I tested positive.”

  40

  Danny

  It took a few seconds for what Lance had said to sink in.

  Then it hit me like someone running a red light.

  “What? You can’t be serious,” I said.

  Roberta was more blunt. “Tested positive? Like, for steroids?”

  Lance sat down in the chair numbly. He looked like he’d just been told that his dog was dead. “I don’t know. Coach doesn’t have much info, but I popped for something performance-enhancing.” He looked up at me. “I have a meeting with the NCAA affiliate tomorrow.”

  I looked around the room. Nobody else was near us, so no one had heard. That was good—if this was all a misunderstanding then we wouldn’t want rumors to spread.

  It has to be a misunderstanding. Right?

  “I need to go home,” he said. “I have to check everything.”

  Roberta’s eyes widened when she realized what he meant. “The supplements… Lance, you have to believe that I didn’t give you anything illegal. Everything in your regimen came from the campus store!”

  “I know, I believe you,” he said calmly. “We still need to check.”

  “Right. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  Feña closed her history book. “We can study this later. Let’s go.”

  On the walk home, Roberta kept talking about how it must all be some mistake, that the test is flawed, or any number of other excuses. Lance nodded along quietly. I was pretty sure he was in shock. He was definitely not processing it completely yet.

  A failed drug test was the kiss of death for a student athlete. Especially one about to be drafted into the NFL.

  We spent the evening cleaning out our kitchen cabinets and bathroom drawers. Even stuff belonging to me or Feña, just to be safe. We piled everything up on the dining room table and slowly went through each item. Checking the active ingredients, secondary ingredients, and other warnings. Whey powder, casein powder, creatine, fish oil, BCAA’s. It took a while since the three of us had a ton of crap. Lance had six different bottles of hair product in his bathroom, which normally would have prompted at least 20 minutes of teasing, but none of us were in the mood.

  We methodically went through each bottle, whether a consumable or not, while Roberta cross-checked them on the internet. When we reached the last bottle of aspirin from Feña’s bathroom, we were no closer to finding out the truth.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I thought out loud. “Feña and I are on all the same stuff. We would’ve popped on a drug test too.”

  Roberta turned to Lance. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you’ve taken?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not even a pill from a teammate?” she insisted. “A random painkiller during practice? Anything like that?”

  “I haven’t taken any painkillers besides what you’ve said are okay since you started being our trainer. The closest thing to a performance enhancing drug I’ve taken are the cheeseburgers in the fucking cafeteria.”

  I didn’t laugh, because he didn’t mean it as a joke. I could tell he was on the edge of his nerves, now.

  “No stimulants?” Feña asked carefully. “No weed, or anything else?”

  “You know me, bro. I don’t smoke. Plus, Coach said it was a performance enhancer, not a restricted drug.” Lance sighed. “It doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

  “When was the pee test?” Roberta suddenly asked.

  “We get tested all the time,” I answered wearily. “It’s usually random.”

  “But when specifically was the last one you took?”

  I thought for a moment. “The morning before the Midwestern game. They had half the team pee into cups before we got on the bus to drive to the away game.”

  “And that was at the athletic building?” she asked.

  “Right,” I answered.

  She chewed on the end of her pen. “Are the samples taken away right then? Or are they stored somewhere temporarily?”

  “How should we know?”

  “In Coach Mueller’s office,” Feña said. When we shot him a questioning look, he said, “I was in his office once when the samples were brought in. As the athletic director, he is required to have a refrigerated safe in his office. The man from the NCAA testing agency placed the samples inside, then locked it behind him.”

  “How long do they stay there?” Roberta asked.

  Feña shrugged. “I do not know this thing.”

  “What are you getting at?” I asked. “You think the samples were tampered with?”

  “I think it’s suspicious that Lance took the piss test that morning,” Roberta said carefully, “and that night three San Antonio assholes are hanging around the athletic building.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. But that just made Roberta glare at me.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s just so unlikely,” I explained. “They would need a key to get into the athletic building, then the key to Coach’s office. Then they would need the code to the storage safe. And oh by the way, they have cameras recording them throughout the building the whole time.”

  “I got a key to the gym just fine,” she said curtly. “They could do the same for the athletic building.”

  “It’s easy because you’re a kinesiology student,” Lance said absently. He sounded like a deflated version of himself. “They’re three students from another school altogether. I doubt it’s them.”

  “Then what explanation do you have?” she shot back. “Or have you been shooting up anabolic ste
roids all this time like Jose Canseco?”

  “I don’t have an explanation, Roberta,” Lance said sadly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s a conspiracy.”

  She still looked angry, so I put a hand on her arm. “We’ll find out at the hearing tomorrow. Then we can start wildly speculating.”

  For a moment I thought Roberta was going to argue more, but then she relented. “Let’s go to bed,” she said to Lance. “I’ll give you a back massage to help you relax.”

  Lance rose mechanically. “I think I just want to be alone. Thank you, though.”

  We all watched in silence as he grabbed his tube of toothpaste from the table—which had been inventoried like everything else—and retreated into his room.

  Roberta went home in a huff after that. I wasn’t sure if she was upset that we weren’t taking her theory seriously, or if she thought Lance’s failed test was a professional failing of her physical trainer ability. Either way, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to comfort her. I was too worried about Lance.

  I slept like shit. Feña must have too, because when I woke up early I found him already awake and drinking coffee.

  “Any closer to figuring it out?” I asked as I poured myself a cup.

  “No.”

  “Me neither.” I sat next to him at the table, then glanced at Lance’s door. It was still closed, but I lowered my voice anyways. “You don’t think… I mean, he wouldn’t… You know.”

  Feña stared at a spot on the table. “I do not think he would,” he said. “But perhaps I am wrong?”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, but even just thinking that left a sick feeling in my stomach.

  Everyone at morning conditioning knew. It was obvious by the way they practically froze in the middle of their exercises when they saw Lance and us walk into the gym, then tried to go back to what they were doing nonchalantly. That didn’t surprise me. Rumors this big had a way of creeping out. Maybe not from Coach Mueller or Brett directly, but from one of the students who was in Coach’s office when the call arrived. Or the administrative assistant who was CC’d on an email. Secrets never remained secrets for long in the 21st Century.

  Lance put his head down and did the best he could, despite the distractions. I expected someone to break the ice and give him a reassuring pat on the back, or a kind word, but the opposite happened. Nobody talked to him or even came near him, choosing instead to give him a wide berth. It was like he was contagious.

  The hearing was at 2:00 in the afternoon. I insisted on going with him, both as his friend and as captain of the football team. We put on some button-downs and ties, then made the walk across campus. This meeting was being held in the primary faculty building, not the athletic building, which made the walk feel more ominous.

  When we got there, we found Feña and Roberta sitting on the bench outside.

  “What are you doing here?” Lance asked. “And what are you wearing?”

  Feña was wearing a suit too, but that’s not what Lance meant. Roberta had on a grey pencil skirt and a burnt orange blouse with pearl buttons, and black heels. She smoothed out her skirt as she rose and gave him a hug.

  “We came to support you. It might help your case if there are more people on your side, right?”

  In spite of everything, Lance actually laughed. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’s that kind of hearing. They’re just telling me stuff today. But shit, Babs. You do look good in hose.”

  “Yeah, well it’s itchy as all hell,” she grumbled. “So I’m glad you appreciate it.”

  “I feel your pain.” Lance gestured. “I wore underwear for this.”

  Feña made a gagging noise. “I regret coming here.”

  “We’ll wait outside,” Roberta said, giving Lance another hug. I heard her whisper, “I love you,” into his ear.

  Then Lance and I went inside.

  The conference room was on the first floor, in the middle of the building. It was easy to find because Coach Mueller was waiting outside, wearing a suit himself. Coach only wore a suit one day a year—at the booster club fund-raising dinner—so seeing him in one here felt like I was seeing acquaintances at a funeral.

  I expected Coach to say something to Lance, to be reassuring or fatherly in some way, but he just gestured and said, “Go on in, we’re all here.”

  Seated around the oiled wooden table were two faces I recognized, and two I didn’t. Brett was there, looking as red and uncomfortable as a lobster at a dinner table. Across from him was Dean Pritchard. His face looked as serious as death.

  Introductions were made. One of the new faces was the National Collegiate Athletic Association representative for Texas, who looked as bulky as a former football player himself, though he was now in his 50s. The other, shriveled man was introduced as a member of the NCAA Sports Science Institute who oversaw my drug sample test.

  “Lance Overmire,” the NCAA rep said, sounding just like a judge in a courtroom, “we are here today to inform you that the sample you gave on October fifth tested positive for furosemide.”

  “I… I don’t know what that is,” Lance said weakly.

  “Furosemide is a masking agent used to hide the presence of human growth hormone in the urine. As you are aware, the presence of a masking agent in a test sample shall be treated as a positive test result unless you can provide evidence that you were prescribed such an agent for a legitimate medical purpose, and by a licensed professional.”

  “I haven’t taken furyseminide, not by myself or from a doctor.”

  The shriveled Sports Science Institute man cleared his throat. “Furosemide.”

  The NCAA rep steepled his fingers on the table. “Do you have any idea how this agent could have gotten into your body, son?”

  “I can’t even pronounce it, so how can I tell you if I took it or not? Coach, tell them I wouldn’t do this.”

  Coach Mueller’s face was stone. Brett adjusted himself in his seat. Not even Dean Pritchard looked like he wanted to say anything. Nobody wanted to come to his defense.

  Fuck that.

  “Lance is a stellar athlete with a pristine record,” I found myself saying. “As the captain of the football team, and Lance’s roommate, I give you my personal assurance that he did not take any steroids or human growth hormone or anything else.”

  “He is not here for taking one of those,” the NCAA rep said carefully. “He is here for taking a masking agent.”

  “Whatever it is, he didn’t take it,” I shot back. “I would have seen. We spend literally every moment of our day together.”

  “This masking agent can be taken orally,” the rep said calmly. “Even if you could vouch for every second of every hour of every day with your roommate, we are not interested in personal testimony. This is a failed drug test. And if he does not have a legitimate medical purpose for having it in his system…”

  There was a question at the end of his voice. Nobody spoke up to disagree.

  The NCAA rep sighed as if the hard part was over.

  “The penalty for a positive test result is the loss of one year of eligibility, and a suspension from game activities for 365 days from the date of the test. As you are a senior, this does not apply to you. I am very sorry.”

  “But…” Lance said. “That’s it? My college career is over? Isn’t there anything I can do?”

  I could hear the emotion in his voice. It killed me to see this unfolding, totally helpless.

  “You will have the right to petition your NCAA member representative to appeal this decision on your behalf,” the man said. “You may get in touch with him and begin such a process. Also, please be aware that in compliance with the NCAA Sports Science Institute’s regulations on compliance and transparency, we will be releasing the results of this test to the public at 9:00 tomorrow morning, which should allow your athletic department enough time to prepare your own statement. Now, if there are no other questions for us…? Very well, we will leave you to discuss this. Dean Pritchard, Director Mueller? Please
contact my office if you have any further questions. Thank you for your time.”

  He started to leave, then paused.

  “Mr. Overmire? I wish you the best of luck going forward. I truly do.”

  The door clicked closed as they left the room.

  Lance looked around the table. “Okay, so that sucked. Now what?”

  Dean Pritchard frowned. “Pardon?”

  “What’s the next step?” Lance asked. “Filing the appeal with our NCAA member representative or whatever, hiring a lawyer, getting out ahead of this. We’ll want to make our own statement before theirs, so people hear our story first, right?” He looked around the table. “Right?”

  Everyone was silent while he talked. I knew in the pit of my stomach what they were going to say before they said it, because it was the only thing they could say in their positions.

  “No,” Coach Mueller said, in the same tone he might use if someone had asked if they could play without a helmet.

  Dean Pritchard leaned forward in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “Appeals are extremely difficult to win. We must prove that there is a flaw in the drug testing and enforcement program itself.”

  “Well,” Lance said, “there’s obviously a flaw. Because I’m innocent.”

  “Son.” The Dean sighed. “The most important thing right now is Appleton State University’s public image. Our fine school can recover from scandals such as this, but only if we take responsibility for our actions immediately, so that the story may run its course. It will all blow over soon, even for such a high-profile player as yourself.”

  Lance looked at each of them in turn, searching for some way out. When his eyes settled on me, they were wide and despairing.

  “That’s all good for the school, but what about me?” Lance asked.

  Dean Pritchard rose and buttoned his blazer. “I’m sorry son.”

  “What about me,” Lance repeated as the Dean exited out into the hall. Lance leaped to his feat. “What the hell about me?”

  41

  Roberta

  November in Texas was downright pleasant. While other parts of the country were already deep into winter, Texas was just now flirting with fall. The sun was a weak orb in the sky, and the air was crisp and cool as it blew around my skirt.