Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(9)

“This isn’t something I can just take your word for and hide it, de Haas. Of course, we had the lab check for which opioid it was, seeing as one drug that falls in that category is heroin—”

“Heroin?” I almost screech.

“—but it came back as hydrocodone. Vicodin.”

Oh.

Well, I guess it could have been a lot worse.

“Look, Quinton. Vicodin might not be heroin or coke or meth, but prescription narcotics are still classified as banned substances without a medical exception filed with the NCAA...” He continues on, droning about the policies and bylaws enacted by both the school and the NCAA—ones I’m perfectly fucking aware of, because unlike some, I’m not one to waste an opportunity I worked my ass off to earn—while I try my best to figure out how the hell this could’ve happened.

The more I think about it, the only possibility besides the lab results getting mislabeled or swapped somehow, would be that I took something without knowing it.

Could there be something in the medicine cabinet back at my apartment that was mislabeled?

It’s a long shot, considering I don’t even have any narcotics prescribed to me currently. Never have, apart from the one time years ago I just mentioned to him. I doubt Hayes, my roommate, does either. He’s as straightlaced as they come, but I still make note to ask him about it when—

“...and because of it, I have no other option than to suspend you.”

His statement snaps me back to reality as the floor seems to fall from beneath my feet.

This is exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to avoid. But here we are, my heart crawling into my throat at hearing the consequences all the same.

“Suspend me for something I didn’t do?”

His lips form a tight line, and then he sighs. “I have to until I can prove you aren’t using, de Haas. My hands are tied. You have to realize it’s my ass on the line too, especially with the way the NCAA is cracking down after the shit that happened with Blackmore and Lincoln Center.”

I look between the three of them again, unsure where to go from here. But from the solemn expressions aimed at me, there’s nothing to do but accept the punishment.

There has to be something that can be done. Anything.

I’m damn near close to getting on my knees and begging at this point. Because this can’t be the way my hockey career ends. No team in the NHL would dare touch me if this catches wind and I’m suspended for drug use. Drugs I didn’t even fucking use to begin with.

That won’t matter to them, though. This would be a black mark on the resume I’ve been building since the first time I put on skates as a kid.

Dejected and defeated, I cradle my head in my hands.

“But…” he says, trailing off.

That one word breathes new life into me, and I lift my head. “Please tell me that’s the good kind of but and not the kind that will make this even worse.”

Coach lets out a bark of laughter, eyes softening around the edges. “We can get you retested. Today, before we start talks of complete ineligibility. After all, if you were a habitual user, the drugs would still be in your system. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll submit an appeal on your behalf. Like I said, I don’t think you did this. The last thing I want to see is you being punished for someone else’s mistake, if that’s truly what this is.”

“None of us do,” Coach Davis—one of the assistants—cuts in.

“That’s good,” I breathe, letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s really good.”

Coach nods. “We still can’t let you play until the second set of tests come back—hopefully, negative—at the very least. Which could very well be another week. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Better than nothing,” I repeat, feeling a small amount of hope blossoming in my chest.

It’s all gonna be fine. I’ll test negative and the appeal will go through and everything will be back to the way it was before I pissed in that damn cup.

I’m too busy chanting silent prayers to listen in on what the three discuss among themselves. After all, if this has been my luck lately, I’m gonna need all the help I can get. Especially from the hockey gods.

But something Coach says snags my attention, causing my hair to stand on end.

“Get Reed in here for me, will you?” Coach says to Coach Jacobson, who nods and exits the office silently.

“Reed?” The dread in my gut returns. He’s the last person I want to see or talk to right now. “What’s he got to do with this?”

Coach sighs, like he always does when Oakley and I are involved. It’s not like we’ve made it easy on him these last few years, and honestly, I’m sure he’s ready to be rid of us. Even if Oakley’s his own flesh and blood.

“We need another captain on the ice while you’re on temporary suspension,” he says just as the door opens again, revealing Oakley and Coach Jacobson.

“Suspension?” Oakley says, clearly catching the tail end of his uncle’s sentence. His eyes land on me while the door clicks shut behind him. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll be taking over as captain, Oakley. Effective immediately,” Coach says gruffly, and I flick my attention back to him to find his attention still locked on me.