Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
A flurry of nerves wings its way to life at the bottom of my belly. Getting summoned to the head coach’s office is never good. If he wants to give you kudos, he does it in front of the team.
“You wanted to see me, Coach?”
With the remote in hand, he clicks off the game film he’s watching and waves me in before pointing to the chair parked in front of the metal desk. There are papers scattered everywhere. He pulls off his Western Wildcats ball cap and plows his fingers through his blond hair.
“Take a seat, Maverick.”
Well, hell.
That means I’m going to be here for a while.
I force myself farther inside the small space before dropping down onto the chair.
I just want to get this over with and move on with my life.
Coach steeples his fingers in front of him. “I spoke with Dr. Linstrom this afternoon.”
Yep, hit the nail on the head.
English.
“Apparently, you didn’t do so well on the last paper, and it’s dropped your overall grade to a C minus in the class.”
I shift as shame and embarrassment crash over me. English has always been a challenging subject. Anything with a lot of text to digest makes me feel like I’m drowning. It’s the worst feeling in the world.
If I thought it would get better after high school, I was wrong.
There’s even more reading in college.
More comprehending and synthesizing of information, all the while trying to make sense of it.
It’s fucking exhausting.
If Coach is aware of my dyslexia diagnosis, he’s never mentioned it. And that’s exactly the way I want to keep it.
It’s no one’s business but my own.
When he stares at me expectantly, as if waiting for an explanation, I mumble, “I’m working on getting it up.”
“You’re right on the cusp. Anything lower and you’ll be academically ineligible to play. I’d hate to see that happen with playoffs coming up.”
Tension fills my muscles as his gaze stays pinned to mine. I get the feeling this conversation isn’t going to end with a simple “work harder” speech the way I’d anticipated.
“Dr. Linstrom was kind enough to reach out to the tutoring center on campus and secure a student for you to meet with to help get this grade up. Your first session is scheduled for six sharp tomorrow after practice at the library.”
That’s definitely not what I wanted to hear.
He rips off a sheet of paper from a notebook before handing it over. I have no choice but to reach out and accept it. Everything sinks inside me like a heavy stone as the name and number blur before my eyes.
I really hate working with tutors.
And student ones are the fucking worst.
Like I need randoms all up in my business spreading gossip about me?
Fuck no.
Even if I don’t disclose my learning disability, it doesn’t take long before they figure out that there’s something wrong. Their demeanor will change and they’ll treat me like I’m in elementary school.
“Is that really necessary?” Heat stains my cheeks as I mumble the question. “I can do it on my own.”
“Yeah, I think it is,” he says with a heavy sigh. “As soon as you have a solid B in the course, you can drop the tutoring.”
My mouth tumbles open and my eyes widen. “Seriously?”
Does he realize how impossible that is?
“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.