Page 32 of Fighting Fate

I shake my head. "I'm just tired from the workload this semester."

It's partly true; I am taking a heavy course load. But that's not the whole story. Coach, sensing there's more to it, doesn't press further, which I appreciate. He nods and heads off.

The others disperse, but Luke hangs back, eyebrow raised. "How many credits are you juggling?"

I slump onto the bench, taking in the familiar surroundings of the locker room. The beige and white checkered floor, the panther blue walls, and the spacious, high-end lockers all speak of NorthRidge University's excellence in sports and academics.

"About 25 credits," I reply, avoiding his gaze.

Luke's eyes widen, taken aback, and I get it. Most college students only take around 12 credits and that's full time in a semester. But then again, he doesn't know the full extent of it. This intense academic focus is essential for my dream of becoming a doctor. It's a hefty load, but necessary for my goal of getting into top medical schools like Harvard, Baylor, or the University of Pennsylvania. These are the institutions I've aspired to since I first dreamed of becoming a doctor.

And really, it's easier said than done. Getting my grades back on track isn't exactly a walk in the park, especially after I slacked off during my first few years of college. But I've learned from those mistakes. I'm determined to become a doctor, no matter what it takes.

"Man, Chasen, why are you piling on so many credits?" Luke inquires.

I offer a casual shrug. "Well, for one, I plan to graduate with you guys, obviously."

He gives me a skeptical look before suggesting, "You know you could still make it to the NFL, even without finishing your degree, right?"

I roll my eyes and reply, "Yeah, I know, but what's the point? I'm close to graduating and I'd prefer to have a degree, just in case life has other plans for me."

Like becoming a doctor . . .

I have no doubts about my NFL prospects. Dad's training and guidance, especially since my recovery, have been invaluable. Surviving a health scare at seven and bouncing back only fueled my drive to excel, to never show weakness.

Luke nods, seeming to understand as he opens his locker.

Just then, Cam's voice echoes from the shower area. "Hey Chasen, you hitting up the Alpha Rho Tau party tonight?"

I shake my head, amused. Trust Cam to be thinking about parties straight after practice. I recall my own early days in college, just as eager for the social scene.

Approaching Cam with my sweat towel in hand, I twirl it and playfully snap it against his thighs.

He yelps dramatically. "Dude, what the hell? That's going to leave a mark," he complains.

I chuckle. A little bruise is nothing for a college football player. He could even spin it as a battle scar from practice to impress a girl. Which is what I would have done, but that's not my scene anymore. There's a new focus in my life now: Football. Graduation. Medical School.

"Sorry, man. Just felt like messing around. You were conveniently there," I respond with a shrug.

Cam shoots me a look. "You walked over here to hit me. I didn't exactly get in your way."

I turn back to the others, an amused grin on my face. "Guys, was Cam in my way?"

They all nod enthusiastically, chiming in with a resounding, "Hell yeah!"

Luke chimes in, "Cam, you've got one of the best damn mentors this year, but I'll warn you—he won't hesitate to pick on you for the fun of it, no doubt about it."

Luke's comment fills me with a sense of pride, and for a fleeting moment, I entertain the idea of a real bromance. But I quickly shake off the thought, smirking as I playfully gesture toward him and retort, "He's right, you know, you were in my way, Cam."

Cam rolls his eyes and mutters, "Oh, screw off," but we all end up laughing, easing into our usual post-practice routine.

I rush through my shower, my mind already on my studies. Since our freshman year, Luke and I have been roommates, first at Alpha Rho Tau. I stuck with the fraternity, knowing it could bolster my medical school applications. Holding the presidency twice was a point of pride. Now, though, Luke and I live off campus in a sturdy brick and wood house we bought together. It's an older place, full of character and potential as a future rental for other students—our so-called "Football House."

I quickly gather my things, slinging my bag over my shoulder. As I pass by Cam, I drop a piece of advice, "Best to avoid those Alpha Rho Tau parties on weeknights, especially if you want to stay on top of your game."

He looks puzzled, so I break it down further. "Think about it. Drinking and then trying to perform at practice? Recipe for disaster. You don't want to risk getting benched, do you?"

With that, I head out to the parking lot, making my way to my Chevy CK. Some might wonder why, with my dad's resources, I'm driving this old truck. It was my grandpa's, and the hours we spent fixing it up are some of my fondest memories. Every repair was a lesson, a bonding experience. He used to say, "If you can fix a car, you can fix anything." Driving it now is a tribute to him, a way to keep his memory alive.