Chapter 08

Sage's POV 

The morning light, usually a gentle caress, felt almost accusing as it filtered through my curtains. My leg throbbed a dull ache beneath the bandage, a constant reminder of yesterday's debacle. Still, practice called. I wasn't going to let a little pain keep me off the court, not today. My fingers flew across my phone screen, texting Pauline.

"Off to practice. Meet you at school?"

Her reply was instant, almost eerily so. "Are you sure you can drive with that leg?”

I rolled my eyes. Trust Pauline to worry. "Uber it is," I typed back, already opening the app. Within minutes, a car was on its way.

The school was a silent, cavernous space when I arrived. The air hung heavy with the faint scent of stale sweat and polished wood. Perfect. Alone time to brush up. I limped onto the court, the rubber sole of my shoe squeaking softly against the polished floor. I tried a simple pivot, a quick jab step, but a sharp pain shot through my calf, and I gasped, leaning heavily on my good leg. This was worse than I thought.

"Well, well, look who it is."

The saccharine voice, dripping with mock concern, made my blood run cold. I knew that voice. I turned, dread coiling in my stomach, to see Rina sauntering in, her usual entourage trailing behind her like obedient shadows. Her eyes, sharp and predatory, immediately fixated on my bandaged leg.

"Oh my god, Sage! What did you do this time?" She clasped her hands to her chest, a performance worthy of an Oscar. "Was ruining our team's chances last time not enough for you? Always the attention seeker, aren't you? So selfish. Injuring yourself on purpose just to get sympathy, to cover up your failures." She turned to one of her minions, a girl with a perpetually vacant expression. "Isn't that the same leg she injured before?"

The minion giggled, a high-pitched, annoying sound. "You're right, Rina!"

Rina stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that still carried in the quiet court. "You were always a loser, Sage. And you'll remain the same selfish, ungrateful loser you always were."

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. The words were like poisoned darts, each one finding its mark. Anger, hot and stinging, flared within me, quickly followed by a suffocating wave of shame. I hated her, hated her for always knowing how to twist the knife.

"Is something wrong?"

The deep, calm voice cut through the toxic air like a beacon. Andrew. They all scattered, melting away to their positions on the court, Rina casting one last smug, triumphant look over her shoulder before disappearing into the throng.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, a maelstrom of fury and humiliation swirling inside me. I barely registered Andrew's approach until his fingers, warm and gentle, touched my arm. A jolt, like a sudden burst of electricity, shot through me, snapping me out of my trance. I gasped, my eyes locking with his. He was so close, his scent, clean and faintly masculine, filling my senses. 

The world tilted, blurring at the edges until he was the only clear thing in focus. His touch, though fleeting, seemed to ignite something dormant within me, a warmth that spread through my veins, chasing away the chill of Rina's words. For a fleeting second, everything else faded away. It was just us, suspended in a bubble of unspoken tension.

The rhythmic thud of a basketball bouncing against the polished floor shattered the spell. Andrew pulled away, so smoothly, so calmly, that I instantly doubted if he'd felt anything at all. He turned to the others, his voice clear and commanding. "Alright everyone, let's start practice!"

Everyone moved, a flurry of motion and anticipation. I started to hobble towards my usual spot, determined to push through the pain, to prove Rina wrong, to prove myself wrong. But Andrew's voice stopped me.

"Sage."

I turned, a glimmer of hope in my chest. Maybe he’d acknowledge me, ask if I was okay.

"You're not ready to play yet.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Hurt, sharp and unexpected, pierced through me. He was stopping me? My coach, the one person who should understand my drive, my need to be on that court. Confusion etched itself on my face as I stared at him.

He met my gaze, his expression unyielding but not unkind. "You're injured, Sage. You can't join training until you recover."

Anger, raw and bitter, surged through me. He wasn't stopping me to protect me; he was stopping me because I was injured. Because I was weak. I turned on my heel, a searing heat in my cheeks, and stomped over to the bench, collapsing onto it with a huff.

From my solitary perch, I watched the others move, of blurred motion. And then, I saw Rina, her head tilted, a smug, knowing smile plastered on her face. 

A shiver ran down my spine, cold and unsettling. There was something about her open taunt, a subtle shift in her usual aggression. It wasn't just about me failing; it felt like something more.

When the last dribble faded, and the last shoe squeaked to a halt, I found myself standing in the center of the court, the echoes of their laughter and shouts still lingering in the air. My gaze drifted to the basket at the far end, the orange rim a distant, unreachable circle. I had never felt so utterly alone, not even when my parents, wrapped in their own world of ambition and finance, merely handed me money instead of the emotional support I craved. Money, I realized with a profound ache, couldn't buy happiness. It couldn't fill this void.

The place, once a place of vibrant energy, now felt like a lonely echo chamber. My leg still throbbed, but a stubborn defiance simmered within me. I wasn't going to just sit here. I picked up a ball, its familiar weight a comfort in my hands. Dribble, dribble, shoot. My movements were clumsy, restricted by the injured leg. Frustration gnawed at me. I tried to ignore the pain, tried to force my body to cooperate, but it was useless.

"Just one good shot," I muttered, gritting my teeth. I decided to take the risk, a desperate lunge towards the basket. My ankle screamed in protest, twisting sickeningly, and I pitched forward, bracing for the inevitable impact of the floor.

Then, a strong arm materialized around my waist, yanking me back. A gasp escaped my lips as I was pulled upright, a solid chest pressing against my back. The scent of warm skin and a familiar, comforting cologne enveloped me. Andrew. My mind reeled. He always stayed after practice, didn't he?

The tension that had flickered between us earlier now crackled, thick and palpable in the silent gym. My breath hitched, becoming shallow, as he didn't move away. Did he feel it too? This strange, undeniable pull? My skin glistened with a sudden sheen of sweat, and my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. His hand tightened, just a fraction, but it was enough. Enough to answer the unasked question in my mind. I yearned to lean into his hold, to breathe in his masculine scent, to lose myself in the moment.

"Ahem."

The sharp sound cut through the silence like a knife. Andrew's hand dropped from my waist as if he'd been burned, and I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. It was Rina again. She stood there, a suspicious glint in her eyes, a mock-apologetic smile playing on her lips.

"So sorry to interrupt," she purred, "but I'd like a word with Andrew, our coach, privately."

My cheeks burned. "I-I'll just head to the locker room," I stammered, awkwardly excusing myself. Andrew simply nodded, his expression unreadable. Did he feel anything at all? My stomach twisted with doubt.

I took a few steps, my mind still reeling from the encounter, when two figures in crisp uniforms approached. School security. My brow furrowed. What did they want?

"Are you Sage Davis?" one of them asked, his voice stern.

My frown deepened, confusion clouding my mind. "Yes," I replied slowly. "What's the problem?"

"We've received information that you're hiding illegal drugs."

My eyes widened in shock. "What? No! I don't use illegal drugs!" My voice rose in disbelief.

Just then, Andrew appeared, Rina trailing behind him, a smug expression on her face. "What's going on here?" Andrew asked, his voice calm but firm.

The security guards immediately greeted him, then explained their suspicions. "I've never touched illegal drugs!" I insisted, my voice trembling with indignation.

Andrew turned to them. "Are you sure? There might be a mistake, or the intel could be wrong."

They remained firm. "We need to search her locker and belongings to be sure."

"You can't!" I protested, my voice rising. "You're wrong!"

"It would be best if you cooperate, Ms. Davis," one of them advised. "It will be quick."

Rina, standing nearby, chimed in with a mockingly sweet tone, "If you have nothing to hide, then you should let them."

Frustration and a bewildering sense of injustice washed over me. Andrew, however, remained calm. "Sage, just follow the process and prove them wrong," he said, his voice reassuring. "Once they search and find nothing, we can report this to the school and find out where this information came from."

I hesitated. "I'm telling the truth!"

"I believe you," he replied, his gaze unwavering, "but the school security will need to see proof to believe you."

Left with no choice, I led them to the locker room. My hands shook slightly as I handed them my bag. They searched it, my mind a whirl of confusion. I didn't panic, though. I knew I was clean. They found nothing, as expected, and handed my bag back.

"Is that all?" I asked, a flash of relief. "Do you have your answer?"

"We need to search your locker next," the guard stated.

I was about to refuse again, but they insisted. I glanced at Andrew, and he gave me a subtle nod, a silent signal to comply. With a sigh, I opened my locker.

They immediately began their search. The seconds stretched into an eternity. Relief began to bubble up as they found nothing. My sigh was short-lived.

One of the guards, with a triumphant gleam in his eye, pulled out a plastic bag. Inside, a white powder. Cocaine.

My breath caught in my throat. Shock, stark and terrifying, consumed me. How? How did that get there?