One
Camden
October, Senior Year — Seven Weeks Later
My head hangs toward the floor as the sounds of plastic and metal colliding with wood echo throughout the locker room.
It was a particularly grueling morning practice, and most of my teammates shed their gear in silence, a somberness in the air after Coach spent the last hour handing a good chunk of them their asses on a silver platter.
After winning the Frozen Four two years ago, it was a harsh slap in the face to not even make the playoffs last season. And with the way things are looking this morning? We’re doomed to repeat it if the lines don’t start meshing.
It’s like the pre-screwing days of Quinton and Oakley all over again, and unfortunately, I don’t think any of these guys are willing to go to the lengths they did to start playing better.
The thought of my friends sends a twinge through my chest—a pang of longing and jealousy all mixed into one. It’s a feeling I don’t get to sit with long, though, because Coach calls out my name, causing my spine to go ramrod straight.
“Steele! See me in my office before you head out.”
I expect a round of jeering or taunts from my teammates—similar to when someone’s called to the principal’s office in grade school—but Coach’s tough love from earlier must’ve dampened their moods more than I realized, because I don’t hear a peep.
In fact, Brody Andrews, our captain this season, is the only one who acknowledges the demand when he glances at me to softly ask, “What’s that about?”
I meet his gaze while shoving my helmet into the top of my cubby, followed by my pads.
“No idea,” I utter truthfully, yet something about Coach’s tone doesn’t sit right with me.
My brows furrow as I continue undressing, my mind going over every move I made on the ice, not just today, but all week in practice.
Hell, I deep dive into the past couple weeks, only to realize—unlike some of my teammates—I’ve been on my A-game since first setting foot on the ice this season, which makes me doubtful Coach’s summoning has anything to do with my performance.
If that’s not the issue, then what—
“Maybe the video?” Brody suddenly asks, cocking his head.
I mumble a soft curse. Because…yeah, the naked dancing video Heather put online earlier this week is definitely something that’d warrant Coach calling me into his office. I just can’t believe I didn’t immediately think of that myself.
Blowing out a breath, I mutter, “Only one way to find out.”
Making my shower a quick one, I re-dress in a haze while worry and dread cause my stomach to do acrobatics. They continue coiling within me as I haul my bag onto my shoulder and head to Coach’s office, only for a thousand pinpricks to break out across my skin when I knock on the open doorframe.
“Coach. You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door. Sit down,” he orders without looking up from the paperwork in front of him. “Give me a minute to get Louis on the phone.”
Shit.
“Spaulding? My agent?”
This time, Coach does look up. Though, when the arch in his brow reads something like who the fuck else would it be, I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut.
“Door. Sit,” is all he says, leaving little room for debate.
I may as well be a freaking puppy with how quickly I obey his command this time, letting the door fall closed behind me before gingerly dropping into the chair across from his desk. Silently, I watch as he dials Louis and swaps the call to speakerphone.
My heart may as well be in my ass, pounding a thousand miles an hour with every ring.
“Hey, Trevor,” Louis greets after the fourth ring.
“Louis. I’ve got Camden Steele here,” Coach says, his tone remaining neutral. “There are some things I need to discuss with the both of you.”
Louis is silent on the other end for a moment before he states, “I assume this has something to do with the video.
Shit.
Coach’s gaze slides to me. “Not entirely.”
My stomach twists and turns on itself, churning like it’s attempting to make butter or something.
Partly out of not knowing what the hell is going on, but mostly because I hate to think I’ve done something else to upset him, especially with all he’s done to help me grow as a hockey player.
By coming here—by playing for Leighton—I’m learning from one of the best in the game.
The Reed brothers were legendary, and my talent aside, being coached by one of them is the biggest reason I have a chance at going pro next year.
Hell, I think it’s the entire reason I already have Louis as an agent.
Though, just from his tone through the speaker, there’s a good chance he’s regretting it.
“All right, then. Lay it on me.”
“Look, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this. We’re dangerously close to loss of eligibility here.”
The floor drops out from under me, and the only sound my mouth is capable of making is a high-pitched “What?”
“With your recent online…exposure, the school has the grounds to open an investigation for sexual misconduct. It wasn’t something they were pushing for, per se, as no one has come forward with claims of harassment, leading us to believe it was obviously a consensual, private moment that was unfortunately leaked.
The problems this video causes falls more into your area, Louis.
In terms of how this will impact his desirability with any professional teams.” Coach pauses, his gaze slicing to me.
“The real issue in terms of your eligibility has come from learning you’re failing one of your classes. ”
Double shit.
I’ve made sure to maintain the minimum 2.
3 average my entire college career to prevent this very thing from happening.
Then again, for the past three years, I’ve always had more than a few “friends” willing to help me out when it came to exams—be it getting a copy of the test ahead of time or swapping test booklets with someone else in the class.
And while I generally don’t condone any form of cheating, it wasn’t like I was going for perfect grades; just enough to pass so I could keep playing hockey.
“Which class?” I whisper.
I think I hear Louis mutter a faint “Jesus Christ” through the phone. Meanwhile, Coach lifts his hand to his face and squeezes the bridge of his nose. And having been on this team long enough, I know that’s never a good sign.
“Did you not check your scores after midterms?”
That would be a negative, Ghost Rider.
I shake my head slowly—knowing it’s the wrong answer—before dropping my gaze to my lap and picking at the skin around my thumbnail.
To be honest, I know I’m not doing great in any of my courses this semester. I just didn’t think it was dire. I did, however, think I’d managed to scrape together a passing grade for all my midterms.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I feel Coach’s penetrating stare locked on the top of my head, but I don’t dare look up and meet it head-on.
“Your philosophy class,” he finally replies.
My teeth sink into the flesh of my inner cheek, and I nod.
Philosophy 101 has been killing me this term, more so than any others. Theo and Holden both took it their senior year and said it was the easiest A they’d ever gotten, which is exactly why I added it to my schedule.
Of course, that was before I realized it would shine a light on my biggest weakness in school. And by the time I did, it was too late to drop the class.
Louis asks something, but I don’t hear what it is, nor Coach’s reply.
All the words filling the office become fuzzy, my vision going out of focus as I process the weight of the situation.
Because if I’m suspended, I can kiss the NHL goodbye.
They won’t touch me after this, even with Louis at my side—though, there’s no telling if he’ll even stay there after the video leaking.
“I…” I swallow hard, looking for the words before meeting Coach’s eyes. “How long before I’m suspended?”
“That’s the question of the hour,” Louis chimes in.
Coach hums, nodding in agreement. “We’re in a deadlock between the athletic department head and the university administration.
But after speaking to them and framing it as an issue that would severely impact your future in the NHL, we were able to scrape together a compromise.
” Coach pins me with a look that clearly screams for me to pay close attention, and I sit up a little straighter in my seat.
“Your professor is willing to allow you to make up some of the grade. You’ll do a couple extra credit assignments that need to be done before the end of the month, and she will weigh those against your midterm.
Which means you’ll remain eligible to play as long as you do well with those assignments. ”
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” comes from Louis, and honestly, I have to agree.
It’s like I can breathe again. Like I’ve been given a new lease on life.
“In the meantime,” Coach Reed continues, “I’d suggest utilizing some of the resources the school provides for student athletes if you’re having issues with time management for studying.
Or maybe look into a tutor if you’re struggling with the material for that specific class.
Because make no mistake, you need to do well these next two weeks. ”
My lips part, an objection already on my tongue, but he’s quick to cut it off by raising his palm.
“They’re at your disposal for a reason, Steele, and we need you on the ice this season.
No one wants to revisit this conversation at the end of the semester, which would have an entirely different outcome. ”
He’s right, of course, which means there’s no point in arguing the matter. So I nod my head and mutter a soft “Yes, Coach” before making a mental note to schedule a session with a tutor when I get home.