Post-game activities, including a meeting with Coach Bainridge and the Athletic Director, took until nearly eleven o'clock, so I didn't get back to my apartment until midnight. I thought about calling Carrie then, but I decided against it. She was probably already asleep, and besides, what I needed to tell her, I wanted to be well-rested and ready for it.

Waking up now on Sunday, I stretch, wincing when my elbow sends out a wave of pain. I remember that last hit from the Southern Nevada safety. His face mask hit me right in the elbow, and now, I can barely move it.

I grab my phone from off my table and pull up Carrie’s number. I notice that it's already noon. I guess I was more tired than I thought. "Come on, pick up, pick up."

Carrie's phone rings twice, then a mechanical voice cuts in. "The number you have dialed is temporarily unavailable. Please leave a message at the beep."

"Hey, Carrie? It's Duncan. Listen . . . we need to talk. I have something I want to tell you. I need to go down to the Pavilion. I dinged up my elbow and could use some ice and maybe a whirlpool on it. If you get this message, could you give me a hand? If not, let's talk later. It's important."

I hang up and grab my bike keys. The ride to campus is painful, but I take it slow and pull into the parking slot without a problem. I go inside and downstairs, where I find Coach Taylor going at it with his own personal workout.

The barbell comes crashing down as Coach T hits his limit for that set, and after he takes a few deep breaths, he sees me in the mirror. "Duncan. Thought you'd be chowing down on some pizza or still sleeping. Whatcha need?"

"Took a shot to the elbow. I thought I'd get some treatment. You got anyone who can see me today?"

He turns around, his hands and shins nearly ghost-white with lifter's chalk, and shakes his head. "Sorry, nope. But give me about forty-five minutes to finish this up, and I'll take a look. Where'd he hit you?"

"The facemask hit me right in the funny bone. I thought it was just that, but I woke up this morning and had a lot of problems moving it. Figured some contrast or ultrasound might be good."

Taylor nods and puts me out of his mind as Pantera thunders through the speakers and he gets back into his workout. I take a seat on a machine and watch in amazement as 'DT' Taylor goes into an intense, focused fury on the weights, battling them like they're his worst enemies, until finally, with a primal scream that would intimidate your average male gorilla, he drops his dumbbell on his last set of rows.

"Damn, hope I can do that when I'm your age."

'DT' is gone, and Coach Taylor is back, and he laughs as he kick-rolls the dumbbell back to its place in the rack. "If you get to my age, here's some advice. Take up bike riding, do some yoga, and sit back and enjoy life. Don't be middle-aged and crazy like I am. Give me five to change shirts and mop up."

"I'll help out with that," I say, going over and getting the sponge mop in the corner and bringing it over. "Besides, middle-aged and crazy sound like where I'm headed. Too many inner demons I'm fighting."

"I've heard," Coach Taylor says. "You seem to have done a good job with it so far this past week, though.”

"I have a good reason to," I reply. "For her."

Coach goes into his office while I get the ghost of lifter's chalk up off the floor and put the bucket back. I follow him into the training room, where he flips on the heating element for the whirlpool and pours ice into the bucket.

"She’s worth it," he says simply. "Now, show me the arm."

We're both surprised by the bruise that's grown in my elbow. It looks bigger and darker than when I woke up this morning, and Coach whistles. "And you didn't drop the ball?"

"Lucky, mostly. Had it in two hands at the time."

Coach has me flex and bend my arm a few times, then nods. "Okay. Let's get it into contrast for thirty minutes, two-minute switches. Then when you get home, take a few Tylenol." He sighs. “I’m going to recommend to Coach Bainridge that you go no-contact on Tuesday. Run your ass off if you want, but you should avoid hits on that arm for a while. Why wasn't it taped this past game?"

"Carrie wasn't there," I said simply. Coach Taylor raises an eyebrow, but he only nods at what I say.

"Well, next Saturday, when she does tape you up, make sure you wear a neoprene sleeve on top of that elbow as well. The equipment guys will get you what you need. You good?"

"Yeah, I guess," I say. "Thanks."

* * *

With no contact, I didn't worry about taping at all, instead running routes and reviewing tape with everyone and getting used to my new elbow sleeve, which, to be honest, I don't like but will at least pad my elbow some for a while. We actually have a strange game this week, a Monday night game, so Coach Bainridge gives us a lighter workload. I'm still sweating, though, after ninety minutes of running routes and some light blocking, so the early stop is nice.

The only dark cloud over the day is that Carrie still hasn't returned my calls. I tried two more times yesterday, and today, I couldn't find her at all. I think about stopping by the training room, but decide instead to do what needs to be done. I can soak my elbow at the apartment later. I climb on my bike and ride to her dorm, pulling up outside. I look up to her room and see the light is on, so I go inside, ducking up the stairs and heading to the third floor, making my best guess as to which is her room.

Knocking, I feel nervous. "Carrie? It's Duncan. Please, open up."

It's a scene that I never thought I would be in, standing outside a girl's dorm room and asking nervously to be let in. My fears evaporate to be replaced with concern when Carrie opens the door and her eyes are dull, lifeless. "Duncan. Come in."

I walk in, leaving the door open like you're supposed to in the dorms, a rule I have routinely broken, but this time, I’m not worried about following. Carrie's in some sort of trouble.

"Carrie, what's wrong? I tried calling you the past two days, and you didn't pick up. I thought you were mad at me or something."

Carrie sits on her bed, more like flops onto it really, her head hanging and her blonde hair hanging limp—and it looks unwashed. She's still beautiful, but not the Carrie I'm used to seeing. "Sorry. I don't have my phone. I got a call from the Honor Board yesterday. I've been accused of cheating."

"What? You'd never cheat! You're too damn smart!" I protest, and Carrie looks up. "It's true. What did they say you did?"

"When I called you during my orgo mid-term, they said that I was looking up test answers on my phone," Carrie says, taking a deep breath. "I—I don't know how, but my phone has a data trail that says I cheated."

"No way," I reply, taking her by the hands and helping her up. “What can I do to help?”

"Duncan . . . I'm suspended from the Pavilion because of this. I can't even get within fifty yards of Chelsea, since she made the statement against me."

"Chelsea?" I ask. "You mean Chelsea Brown? She's involved with this?"

Carrie nods, and I'm pissed. Not at Carrie, but at myself. "I—I have to apologize to you, Carrie. Chelsea and I had a little history a long time back. She didn't take it well at the time, but it seemed as if she’d gotten over it. My guess is, she’s jealous and trying to hurt you.”

"But the phone? Her lies may have started the ball rolling, but my phone . . ."

I stroke her chin. "It doesn't matter. Chelsea’s clever. She probably found some way to make it look like you cheated. Don't sweat this. We’ll get through it. Besides, we’ve got time before the hearing, and there's a lot to do between now and then."

"Like what?" Carrie asks, and I give her a kiss on the forehead.

“Let’s get off campus for a little while—try to get your head right before you go back to class tomorrow. And we've got us to talk about."

Carrie nods. "Where do we go?"

I push back and look down at her frumpy shorts and oversized t-shirt. "First, how about we get you dressed in something more appropriate, then we'll figure it out?"

For the first time, Carrie smiles and nods, snapping me a mock salute. "Yes, sir!"

She grabs some clothes from her dresser and runs off down the hall to the bathroom, coming back with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, a light green sleeveless blouse, and some jeans on. "Better?"

I pull her close and kiss her, letting her know exactly how I feel. "Much. Anything else you need?”

"Let me grab a few things, throw them in my backpack, grab my jacket, and let's go," Carrie says. "Duncan . . . I'll go anywhere with you. I really do need to get out of here.”

I nod. "Let me go get the bike ready and grab your helmet.”

"Okay. I'll see you down there. And Duncan?"

"Yeah?"

Carrie kisses me, and I’m tempted to change plans, to close the door to her room and take her to bed, but I don't, slapping that inner demon away and just returning the kiss. Man, sometimes, I regret trying to be a good guy. “Thank you."

I head downstairs in a haze, waving at the few people who call out my name. When I'm in the parking lot, I see Chelsea Brown walking toward the entrance to the dorm, and I set Carrie's helmet aside. "Yo, Chelsea!"

She turns her head and smiles, walking over. "Duncan! How are you?”

"That's close enough," I say when she's about ten feet away.

I pull out my phone and turn on the video camera. In this world of accusations and campus culture, I'm not going to fuck around any longer. She’s obviously a vindictive bitch with how she’s lying on Carrie. "I'm just letting you know that I know what you accused Carrie of. I don’t understand why you decided to result to such lies, especially something as damaging as that . . . but I’m not going to let you get away with it.”

Chelsea sees my phone, then looks at me and turns, stomping off without a word. I turn off my video and put the phone back in my pocket. A few minutes later, Carrie emerges and she's smiling. Her backpack is stuffed, and I give her a questioning look. "I don't plan on coming back here tonight," she says simply. "Think you have space for me at your apartment?"

I grin, not needing to say more as I pull her in for a hug. "Hey, does Chelsea live in this dorm?"

Carrie shakes her head, confused. "No. Why?"

"She just went in a few minutes ago. Maybe I should talk to Coach tomorrow."

"No," Carrie says, shaking her head. "You don't need drama—you have your own demons to deal with. Remember, this is about us, right?"

"Any idea where you'd like to go?"

Carrie nods and kisses my chin. "Take me up to the foothills. We can watch the city for a while from Mission Park. Then, we go back to your place."