Practice ended at 6:40.

I stayed behind to stretch like I always did. The rest of the team filtered out of the locker room in twos and threes, laughing, complaining about drills, slamming lockers. I waited until the last voice faded down the hallway. The heavy door clicked shut. Silence settled over the empty room — just the drip of a showerhead and the low hum of the fluorescent lights.

I was peeling my sweat-damp sports bra up over my head when the door opened again.

Coach Damian Wolfe stepped inside and locked it behind him.

I froze, bra still tangled around my wrists, bare breasts exposed under the harsh...