“I don’t do drugs.” My tone is sharp. I’m getting pissed. I’m a lot of shitty things, but a fucking drug addict isn’t one of them.

Coach shakes his head. “You used to be the hardest-working guy on this team. Now, you show up to practice late, reeking of alcohol and tripping over your own damn feet. You’re lazy, unfocused and have an attitude the size of Texas. Doping isn’t going to make up for half-assing your training, son.”

“I don’t do drugs. And I’m not your son.” I throw the folder across the desk and pages go flying.

He sighs. “This will go on your permanent record.”

“Fucking fantastic. Is there anything else or can I go?” I stand and stalk toward the door.

“You need to be out of the football house by this weekend.”

A dry laugh escapes me as the hits just keep on coming. “Of course I do.”

“I thought you were better than this.”

“Apparently not.”

I storm out of his office, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. I almost rip my gym locker door off its hinges and throw everything into my gym bag. I’m not coming back here. I’m done with this place.

Three and a half years of pushing myself, of putting my ass on the line for this team, and it all means jack shit. A piece of paper tells them I’m injecting poison into my body and that’s what they all believe. Perfect record and all they see is where I came from. I’ll only ever be some loser druggie’s bastard.

I make it out to the parking lot before reality sets in. Sitting in my truck, I take an inventory of my life. I’m off the team. No more scholarship. No more roof over my head. Even if by some miracle I manage to finish this year and graduate, I’ll never make it into an MBA program with this on my record, much less get a scholarship.

“Fuck!” I scream at the top of my lungs and punch the steering wheel until blood is dripping from my knuckles and I can’t feel my fingers. The pain is a welcome distraction from the rest of my life crumbling around me.

* * * *

I stumble through finals week half-drunk. I have no idea if I passed any of my classes and at this point I don’t fucking care. I’m sleeping in my truck with everything I own piled in the back under a tarp. So this is how rock bottom feels.

Knuckles rap on my driver’s-side window, followed by Devin’s gruff voice. “Wake up, sunshine.”

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and shake the foggy dreams of Elizabeth’s smile out of my head.