Page 23 of The Charlie Method

Bullshit. Jensen didn’t agree to it. I bet Dad went to the dean first.

He confirms that suspicion by saying, “Dean Allen is also on board. Anything to highlight and showcase Briar’s achievements.” He gives me a pointed look. “Now eat your food before our lovely waitress starts to think something is wrong.”

I offer a fake smile and shove a french fry in my mouth.

He nods. “There you go.”

I have an afternoon class that doesn’t start for a couple hours, so usually I’d go home and grab a nap first. Today I decide to drive right to campus, heading for the Graham Center. The arena’s namesake donated a shit ton of money to Briar in order to upgrade the facility. We’re talking massive upgrades—a brand-new gym and training center, hot and cold tub rooms, two rinks, an entire corridor of media rooms. It’s probably the best hockey facility in the entire country.

I make my way to the coaches’ offices, reaching Jensen’s door at the same time as a man exits. He looks like he’s in his early forties, with hair that’s more gray than brown and blue eyes that give me a once-over when they land on me.

“I feel like I know you,” the man accuses.

I blink. “Oh. Maybe? I’m not sure.”

“Do you know a kid named Hudson? Fitzgerald?”

“No…”

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.” He’s squinting at me now. “You don’t look like a freshman. Hudson’s a freshman.”

“At Briar?”

“No, he goes to UConn.”

Then why would I know him?I want to yell.

This entire exchange is baffling and uncomfortable, so I inch toward Coach’s door with a hasty, “Anyway, gotta go.”

I make my escape, knocking on the door even as I’m already opening it. Coach is at his desk, glancing up at my entrance.

“Coach, hey.”

“What is it, Larsen?”

“You spoke to my father,” I respond in a flat tone, because he didn’t mention anything about it at practice this morning.

He nods. “Come in.”

I close the door, then sit in the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk. There is no way Coach is going to offer comfortable visitors’ chairs. The man doesn’t want visitors. Everything about him, from his no-nonsense buzz cut to his perpetual scowl, screamsstay the hell away from me.

I slump into the chair. “I’m sorry, Coach. I didn’t know he was going to do this. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.” I shake my head at Jensen. “Why would you agree to it?”

“The dean didn’t give me much of a choice. Besides, I’ve dealt with bigger nuisances, and I run a clean program with good men. We have nothing to hide.”

“I know, but it’s annoying.”

“There is very little about life that isn’t annoying, kid.”

My gaze flits toward the photographs on the shelves behind his desk, all featuring smiling members of his family. Jensen sports a smile in some of them too, which is, frankly, shocking.

“I don’t know,” I point out, nodding toward the frames. “Your life seems pretty good.”

Prettygreat, in fact. He has two daughters. A couple of grandkids. A wife who’s still smoking hot even in her sixties.

“Trust me, they annoy me too. My daughter Taylor is throwing my granddaughter a unicorn party for her tenth birthday. Morgan insisted on it.” He scowls. “Everyone has to wear horns.”

I swallow a laugh. “Don’t worry. I think you could rock a unicorn horn,” I say helpfully.

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