1. Austin #2
“Yeah, yeah, don’t put that bad energy out there.” I wave my hands through the air, physically shooing away his negativity. “I passed the rest of my classes.” Barely . “It’s just one. One stupid class. All I need is a tutor, and Coach will never know.”
They shake their heads, glancing away as they finish gearing up.
I drop onto the bench, pull on my skates, and lace them up tight.
“Alright you guys, I’m counting on you.”
I kiss my fingers, then press them against my skates. The guys don’t even blink. We’re all superstitious as hell, and the first time I got a hat trick, I was nervous as fuck and randomly did this before the game. So yeah, now it’s stuck.
If only it worked for school. Speaking of which?—
I glance up, scanning the room. “Hey, anyone here know a Maisie Wilson?”
“Never heard of her,” Nathan says, shaking his head.
“Me either,” Ryan adds.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face, shutting my music off. “How the hell am I supposed to find this girl when no one knows who she is?”
Cole arches his brow as he steps past me, already fully geared up. “Better find her, or you’re a dead man.”
Logan sighs. “Hate to agree with him, but yeah, you’re screwed, bud.”
I turn to Nathan and Ryan, but their matching expressions don’t exactly fill me with confidence.
I tip my head back, squeezing my eyes shut. “Fuck,” I grit out.
Ryan stands, his helmet tucked under his arm. “See you out there.”
“If he plays,” Nathan adds as Ryan walks out.
My eyes snap to his, and I put on my best puppy dog face.
Nathan recoils. “The fuck are you doing? You look creepy as hell. Cut that shit out.”
I drop the act with a sigh. “Can you talk to Coach? Daddy-son privileges and all that?”
Nathan makes a gagging sound. “First of all, never say “daddy-son” ever again. Second, that’s not how it works. On the ice, I’m just another player. Not his son.”
I grunt, yanking my jersey over my head and push open the door. “He won’t know I failed if none of you fucking talk,” I say, bumping Nathan’s shoulder as we leave the locker room. “Just don’t say anything, and it’ll be fine.”
Nathan shakes his head. “I hope you’re right.”
Fucking hell. I hope I’m right too. Hope the guys are all wrong, hope Coach doesn’t find out, hope I can still play, hope?—
“Rhodes,” Coach’s voice booms from across the rink. “Where the hell are you going?”
Both me and Nathan freeze at the sound of Coach’s voice. He’s standing there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and that godawful whistle of his dangling from his neck.
“Well, I was going to practice, but if you wanna go on a date, you need to ask first, Coach,” I joke, throwing him a wink.
He does not appreciate it. At all.
Ah, well. Win some, lose some. As long as he lets me play, I’ll cut the jokes out altogether… Alright, maybe not altogether , but I’ll tone it down. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get on the ice.
Coach doesn’t say a word, just points behind him to the rink. “Nathan, get on the ice.”
Fuck. Not a good sign.
Stay calm . Maybe he just wants to talk. Maybe he wants me to give him sex advice or something. His wife is hot as hell, and I doubt he’s putting in the work to keep her satisfied.
“Good talk,” I say, flashing a smile as I place my helmet on, tapping my head. “I’m ready to practice, Coach. Lemme just?—”
“No.”
The single word stops me cold.
“You’re suspended.”
My stomach plummets into my ass. No. No. No. This can’t be fucking happening.
“Suspended?” I shake my head. “But?—”
“I got the email from your professor. You failed, and that brought your grade average way down. You know the rules. You don’t play if you don’t pass your tests.”
“What? Come on . Anatomy is fucking bullshit. I don’t need to learn that to play.”
“I’d disagree,” he says with a shrug, his hard-ass face still perfectly in place. “And so would your professor. You’re on the bench until you get your shit together.”
“But—” I throw my hand toward the ice. “I’m the best center you’ve got. Who the hell is gonna replace me?”
“Jenkins,” Coach barks, keeping his eyes on me. “On the ice.”
The rookie freshman stands up, wide-eyed. “Me?” he asks, pointing to his chest like he’s shocked someone knows his name.
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, you. Get on the ice. Now.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout, throwing my arms up. “You’re putting a rookie on instead of me? C’mon, Coach. You know I want this. I’ve been busting my ass for this team!”
He sighs, shakes his head, and for a split second, I swear there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. But then it’s gone. “Apparently not enough. Sorry, but you know the rules.” He shoves a water bottle into my hands. “You want back on the ice? Chill out, hit the books, and you’ll be back in no time.”
With that, he turns and heads toward the rink, blowing that fuckass whistle I hear in my nightmares.
I exhale a heavy breath, rip off my helmet and skates, and toss them onto the ground.
Sinking into a seat, I bury my face in my hands.
God, I’m such a screw-up. I feel like a walking failure.
A goddamn idiot. Dumb. Lazy. Selfish. Should’ve never skipped that lecture on muscles and bones or whatever shit Professor bushy brows was teaching.
“Dude, are you crying?”
I peek through my fingers to see Cole standing with his helmet under his arm.
“Get fucked.”
He scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “We told you this would happen, genius.”
I tilt my head, resisting the urge to throw something at him. “Yeah, I got it. Anything else you wanna rub in while you’re at it?”
He pops his gum. “Better start getting comfy on the bleachers.”
I narrow my eyes, grab my water bottle, and chuck it at him. Of course, the bastard dodges it, and it sails past him, slamming into the back of the bleachers.
“Ah!”
My eyes widen at the sound of a girl’s voice crying out in pain.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, quickly jumping to my feet and shoving Cole out of the way. I rush over to the girl who’s holding her head, looking like she’s about to pass out.
“Shit. I’m so fucking sorry,” I say, kneeling next to her. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
She groans, which… good sign, I guess. Means she’s alive, and I didn’t just take someone out with a damn water bottle. Silver linings.
“You okay?” I ask. Stupid question, Austin . Of course she’s not okay. You nailed her in the head like an absolute dumbass.
Cole crosses his arms behind me. “Going on a violent streak, Rhodes?”
I groan. “Just—get Coach or something. She’s not answering me, and I don’t know if I gave her a concussion or blinded her or deafened her or… whatever the fuck else.”
He sighs and heads off, and I hesitate before reaching out to touch her. Probably a bad idea. She might not appreciate the guy who knocked her out with a bottle trying to pat her on the head like a dog.
“Hey… can you hear me?” I try again. “Are you blind? Deaf? Did I break something? Jesus, I swear I didn’t mean to?—”
“God, just… stop talking,” she mutters, rubbing her head. “I’m fine.”
My shoulders drop. “Alright. Can you move your hands, though? Just so I can see for myself?”
She lets out another groan but finally pulls them away, and I scan her head for bumps, bruises, or anything out of place. Her dark brown hair is still in a sleek bun, not a single strand loose, which is kinda impressive considering I hit her in the head. No blood. No giant lump. So far, so good.
And then she looks up. Blinks at me.
And holy shit.
I’ve seen blue eyes before. Plenty of them. But hers ? They’re something else. Not just blue. They’re light, clear, the kind of blue that makes you forget what the hell you were just saying. The overhead lights catch them, turning them almost electric, like the damn sky cracked open just for me.
My brain completely short-circuits.
I definitely concussed myself in this whole process. No other explanation.
She winces, pressing her fingers to her forehead again, but my brain is still buffering, stuck on her eyes. Can’t look away from them.
I snap myself out of it because, oh yeah, I hit her in the head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask. “I can take you to the campus doctor. Or, like, pay for one myself. I don’t mind. I just?—”
“Can you—” She lifts a hand, stopping me mid-ramble. Then she looks at me again, and my chest fucking tightens . “Just… shhhh, ” she mutters, closing her eyes. “I just need a minute.”
I shut up instantly, watching as she takes a deep breath.
Her lips part on a breath, and my gaze drags down, catching the way her pink jacket hugs every curve, her leggings stretched over thick thighs. One foot is still strapped into a scuffed white skate, the other bare, resting on the ground.
She must have been taking her skates off when I nailed her in the head.
The girl lifts her head with a sigh, and our eyes meet again.
And fuck me. It should be illegal to have eyes that distracting.
I don’t know if it’s the contrast against her dark brown hair or just some kind of witchcraft, but they’re unreal.
Siren-level hypnotic. The kind that could probably convince me to do something really fucking stupid.
Not that I need much help in that department.
“You can go now,” she says, completely unimpressed.
My brows shoot up, but before I can respond, Coach’s voice cuts through my soul like a goddamn executioner. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Jesus Christ. First, I fail my class, get benched, and now I’ve apparently decided to start assaulting innocent women with water bottles. Today is not my fucking day.
Coach stomps over, staring me down. “What the hell did you do to the girl, Rhodes?”
I lift my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to. I was pissed at Cole, threw a water bottle, and?—”
“Are you five years old?” He rubs his temples. “Christ. Did you at least apologize?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding aggressively. “Multiple times. She told me to shut up.”
Coach scoffs. “She did what all of us want to do.” He faces her, his expression softening a fraction. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call a doctor?”
She shakes her head, glancing up at him. “I’m okay.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you sure? Do you remember your name? That’s a sign of a concussion, you know. You might want to?—”
“I know my name,” she interrupts, those blue eyes cutting through me. “It’s Maisie.”
My shoulders relax. “Oh. Okay. Good.”
Then the name actually registers, and I blink, a lightbulb practically flashing above my head. “Wait. Maisie ?” I ask. “As in Maisie Wilson?”
She nods warily. “Yeah… how do you know that?”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “The universe is fucking with me today, I swear.” I glance down at her—the girl who can literally save my ass. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Her brows furrow. “You have?” she asks, skeptical as hell.
“Yeah. Professor Carlisle said I needed a tutor. Suggested you. But I had no idea who you were, so I’ve been?—”
“Typical,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes.
I blink. “Anyway… will you tutor me?”
Maisie tilts her head, giving me a once-over before flicking her eyes away. She grabs her other skate and stands, and that’s when I notice just how short she is—gotta be a whole foot under my 6’3. Still manages to level me with that unimpressed stare, though.
“My schedule is full,” she says before she steps past me, heading down the hallway.
“Hey, wait up,” I call out, jogging after her. “He said you had an opening.”
“Not anymore,” she says flatly, limping slightly as she walks, one skate still strapped to her foot, the other in her hand.
“C’mon,” I groan. “Don’t be like that. I apologized—a fuck ton—and you said you were fine.”
“I am fine. Doesn’t mean I want to tutor you.”
“Why not?” I frown, genuinely confused.
She chuckles. It sounds bitter, but still a cute sound as she turns those way-too-blue eyes on me. Jesus . I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them. “I know who you are.”
A grin spreads across my face. “Thank you.”
“Wasn’t a compliment,” she replies dryly.
She turns, heading farther down the hall, and my grin falters.
“Wait. You’re really not gonna tutor me?”
“Nope.”
“Just because I hit you in the head by accident?”
“That has nothing to do with it. I just don’t want to. That’s the good thing about free will.” She tosses me one last glance. “Are you going to follow me into the locker room, or can I get changed?”
I slow to a stop, watching as she pushes the door open and disappears inside.
Fuck. She was my one shot at getting back on the ice, and I fucking blew it—again.
With my tail tucked between my legs, I trudge back toward the rink, where Coach is watching me.
“She okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. She just went to get changed.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, then blows his whistle, making the guys switch directions. I sigh, dragging myself to the bleachers, my gaze flicking toward where Maisie had been sitting.
That’s when I spot something on the ground.
I frown, pushing up from my seat and walking over. Bending down, I pick up a small, familiar rectangle. An iPod.
Who the hell still uses an iPod?
Flipping it over, I see the back is covered in tiny stickers, mostly music-related, a few figure skating related ones and one that just says fuck off in pretty cursive. Huh. Seems fitting.
I clutch it in my hand, my lips tipping up into a smirk.
Guess I have a reason to talk to her again.
And convince her to tutor me.