Chapter 25 Dylan
Dylan
I’m failing.
Fucking failing.
And with hockey, that’s a problem.
If I’m not in academic standing, I get benched—no ice time. No games. No exceptions. I thought I turned this shit around. I took the week–– ignored Cecily, ignored everything that wasn’t homework–– trying to play catch-up on the shit I missed while I let her train me. But it didn’t matter.
The academic advisor I just spoke with made that very clear. I’m still failing. I’ll need a fucking tutor at this point. Probably more than one.
And the icing on top? I have days––not weeks––to fix it, or I’m benched.
Fuck.
When I pull into my driveway, I search for available tutors. As I search, my frustration builds. I can’t believe it’s gotten this bad. This is why I don’t do relationships. The moment I care, everything else falls apart.
Tutor listings blur together as I scroll. Everyone’s booked. Everyone’s expensive. Everyone sounds like they’re about to judge the hell out of me.
Advanced calculus. Essay structure. Academic recovery.
Academic recovery.
Jesus.
I shut the truck off and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I don’t fail. I don’t get left behind like this. Hockey is the one thing I know how to do without overthinking it.
Everything else?
Apparently, I’m shit at.
I scroll again and finally pick one at random, because sitting here spiraling isn’t fixing anything. I sent an email.
Hey, I need help ASAP. College athlete. Academic probation risk.
That last part twists my stomach. I don’t even know if it’s officially probation yet, but it feels close enough to be real.
I get out of the truck and head inside. The house is quiet.
My phone buzzes, and for a second, I think it might be Cecily.
I exhale when it’s not her.
The advisor is texting me everything she said in the phone call.
I read through it and toss my keys onto the counter. I pace the kitchen, running a hand through my hair. My chest feels tight, like there’s too much inside me and nowhere for it to go. I open my laptop, stare at an unfinished paper, and feel a familiar wave of panic roll over me.
This isn’t new. I’ve been through this bullshit before.
My high school hockey coach was disappointed in me for failing my classes, reminding me that college hockey is on the line if I don’t get my shit together.
I was failing miserably because I had hockey and the girl.
I forgot about maintenance, that the dream doesn’t just continue without hard work.
I slacked off, turned in half-ass assignments, and hockey bled for that.
I almost didn’t make it into college hockey.
My coach sat me down one day and told me that my distraction was very clear.
Clear as day, he’d said. She was sitting in the hallway, waiting for me to finish my meeting with the coach.
He warned me that energy flows where focus goes, and from that moment on, I committed to hockey.
I committed to myself, my dreams, and my success.
I almost didn’t make the team.
I had to work my ass off to bring my grades up. I had to break up with my girlfriend. I committed to hockey.
I remember the feeling so clearly that it makes my jaw ache.
I exhale slowly and rub my hands over my face.
Cecily didn’t do anything wrong.
That’s the fucked-up part.
She didn’t ask me to fall behind. She didn’t ask me to want her all the time. She didn’t ask me to lie awake thinking about her smile or the way she fits against me like she belongs there.
But wanting her?
That’s the problem.
That’s why we’re only friends, nothing more. That’s why I kept her at arm’s distance. I knew that this could happen, and luckily, a tutor will fix it. I’m only a month behind.
I stare at my phone. Cecily’s name sits at the top of my messages. My thumb hovers over it.
I start typing.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that.
I delete it.
I type again.
I can’t think straight right now.
Delete.
I lock my phone and shove it face down on the table.
This is why I don’t do relationships.
The moment I care, everything else starts to crack. My focus. My grades. My future.
I can’t afford that.
Not again.
And then Dane’s face enters my mind. The way he was standing in her apartment. How she called me her friend.
I exhale, running a hand down my face. I don’t have the time to think about what she’s doing with him right now. I need to figure my shit out.
I open my laptop, pull up my coursework, and force myself to stare at the screen, even as my chest aches with everything I’m refusing to deal with.
Tunnel vision.
That’s the only way I know how to fix this.
Turns out the tutor I need is booked until next week, so I’m racing to the ice rink right now to let off some steam before I lose my cool.
Ace is on the ice, chasing his puck across the rink.
I get dressed and join him. He takes one look at me and slams me into the boards.
I fall on my ass, but it’s just what I need.
I steal the puck from him and slam him into the boards. We take turns smashing each other over and over. Practicing taking hits and getting back up is part of the game. At least that’s what I tell myself when my wrists and knees ache.
Coach whistles from the entrance, catching our attention.
“Why’s he here?” Ace asks.
I shrug.
“Just who I was looking for.”
I grip my hockey stick tighter.
“Me?” Ace calls out.
Coach shakes his head. “Etta, get over here.”
Ace scoffs. “What’d you do to piss him off?”
I ignore him, skating over.
“Coach,” I mutter, knowing exactly why he’s wearing that disappointed expression.
“Dylan. I thought you had your assignments under control.”
I nod. “I thought I did, Coach. I worked on it and––”
“I’m gonna have to bench you,” he spits.
“What? No. Coach, you can’t be serious. I––”
“I’m dead serious. I’m here on a weekend to figure this shit out, and I was watching you with Ace. Are you guys trying to injure each other?”
I shake my head. “No.” I blink. “We’re just messing around.”
Coach’s Adam’s apple bobs, and then he sniffles. “Etta. The team can’t afford to bench you. Talk to your professor’s…again.”
I nod. “Yes, Coach.”
He bites his tongue. “Whatever the hell’s going on with you, fix it.”
I nod as Cecily pops into my mind. Her smile. Her long legs. The workouts I’d watch her perform. I clear my throat. “I won’t disappoint you or the team.”
He nods, looking over my shoulder at Ace. “What’s going on with him?”
I shrug. “I didn’t ask.”
“Get yourself a tutor. Report to me tomorrow.”
I nod as he walks off.
Ace skates behind me and whistles low. “You’re benched?”
“You heard that, huh?”
He shrugs. “Why?”
“Academics,” I mutter. “Know any good tutors?”
“My sister, Kennedy.”
“Knox’s girl?”
Ace scoffs. “That’s my fucking sister.”
I nod. “Do me a solid, please.”
He shakes his head. “Doing the team a solid.”
We clean up the rink and head into the locker room. Once we’re back into our regular clothes, Ace pulls out his phone and lets it ring on speaker.
“Yes, Ace,” a woman’s voice comes over the speaker.
Ace says, “I need a favor. A big one.”
“What is it?” she asks too nicely, like she’s prim and proper, not annoyed.
“A teammate is failing and needs a tutor. If he doesn’t bring his grade up, we’re screwed for the game this weekend.”
Knox’s voice fills the line. “Who?”
“Dylan.”
Knox laughs. “Etta? He’s failing?”
Ace nods, looking at me. “That’s what I said. So, Ken, are you up for it? He’ll pay.”
I laugh. “I can pay.”
“Okay,” Kennedy says.
I lean in. “Is right now a bad time?”
Knox says, “Yes, it is.”
Kennedy says, “No, it’s not.”
Knox says, “Let’s go to Dylan’s. Scott and Westley live with him. I’ll hang with the guys while you help him with homework.”
“Sounds like a deal, man. See you guys there.”
I feel a surge of relief run through my body. I grip Ace’s shoulder as he says his goodbye. “You’re a fucking lifesaver, man.”
Ace nods. “You’re welcome.”
An hour later, Knox and Kennedy show up at my front doorstep. Scott’s hollering across the entire house when Knox enters. I’ve barely seen Kennedy before, but I won’t ever forget how pissed off Ace was when Knox went after his little sister… apparently in a sneaky way.
I’m set up at the kitchen table, ready for her. She sits next to me, and we dive straight in while the guys make too much noise in the background, playing Call of Duty.