Page 45 of Mine to Take

“It’s important you get the support you need through the remainder of the season. I’m sure your tutor will be able to help with your other classes as well.”

If given the choice, I would have preferred another ass reaming for picking a fight with River Thompson than this BS.

When I silently stew, he jerks a brow. “Any questions?”

I shake my head.

He pushes away from the desk. “Okay then. We’re finished here.”

I rise to my feet and head for the door, needing to get the hell out of his office. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.

As I cross the threshold, Coach says, “Maverick?”

I glance over my shoulder and meet his gaze. “Yeah?”

“I’ll be keeping close tabs on all of your classes, but especially English.”

My mouth turns cottony as I jerk my head into a nod.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Even though it’s tempting to slam the door on the way out, I fight the urge, taking care to close it gently.

It’s a struggle.

As soon as the lock clicks into place, I glance at the paper.

My new tutor’s name is Stacie.

Well, Stacie can go fuck herself.

I crumple the paper into a tight ball and shove it into my pocket before stalking back to my locker to pick up my duffle. Most of the guys have already taken off, which is for the best. I don’t need those nosy bastards getting all up in my business. They’re like a bunch of old ladies gossiping in a church parking lot after services.

My head is a mess as I leave the ice arena and stalk toward the lot on the other side of campus where I parked my truck this afternoon because I was running late for class.

English, to be exact.

It’s become the fucking bane of my existence.

I can’t help but think that none of this would be happening if my parents had allowed me to play juniors before entering the draft instead of forcing me to attend college. I’d already be playing professional hockey. In the grand scheme of things, this class is meaningless.

It’s so damn frustrating.

Midway across campus, my phone rings. I slide the slim device from my pocket and glance at the screen before answering.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Not much,” Dad says. “Just wanted to check in and see how practice went.”

It’s like the man has a sixth sense where his children are concerned. He’s always able to detect when there’s a disturbance in the force.

“It was fine. Coach came down on us like a hammer after the last loss.”

“Can’t blame him for that.” Dad’s deep voice simmers with humor.

I’m sure he’s thinking about all the times his coaches busted his balls back in the day. It might not have been fun at the time, but they sure seem like fond memories now.

Who knows…maybe I’ll look back and feel just as nostalgic.

---