Page 1 of Breaking the Ice

Chapter

One

EVAN

“Failing?” A fine sheen of sweat breaks out over my body, and I squirm in the hard plastic chair in Coach’s office. “For real?”

“Evan, would I joke about this?” Coach Russell consults a piece of paper on the tidy desk in front of him. When he called me into his office before our first home game, I fantasized about what he’d say.

Hey, Evan, you just won the lottery. Hey, Evan, we gave you so much scholarship money there’s some leftover. Hey, Evan, the college wants to honor you and name the hockey arena after you. Hey, Evan, Scarlett Johansson wants to do a photo shoot with you for Sports Illustrated.

I sigh and run a hand through my wavy hair. All of those things were pretty unlikely, considering I don’t play the lottery, am not on scholarship, and they renamed the hockey arena after someone else last season. And why would ScarJo do Sports Illustrated? Vanity Fair is more her thing.

But failing? My grades aren’t great, but this is worse than expected. Way worse. I run my fingertips along a deep scratch in the wood of Coach’s desk. I wish there was anything else in this room to look at, but it’s the definition of spartan. There are no pictures of any kind on the drab white cinder block walls, just a Harrison Hockey pennant hung crooked—my guess is not by Coach.

He’s not one for frivolity or pranks, so not a joke. Dammit.

“What class?” I ask, not meeting his eyes.

“Classes. Elementary Math—” he snorts, then continues, “and American History.”

Yeah, everybody thinks with a name like Elementary Math, it’d be easy. They’d be wrong. And the history class has a crappy professor.

“Shit.” I scratch my head. I mean, I knew those classes weren’t going well. But I just need a C in each of them for my physical education major. I’m not gonna ace them, but I thought I was scraping by.

Coach’s gaze sharpens. “Succinctly put. Because that means⁠—”

“I can’t play this weekend.” Resting my elbows on my knees, I slouch forward and put my head in my hands. My stomach plummets to the floor as shame and disappointment rise within me.

I’m letting the team down. Not living up to any of my potential but also proving everyone right who said I’m an irresponsible slacker. Not to mention all the people who laugh at me for choosing phys ed as a major—if I can’t pass Elementary Math, what does that say about me?

But this doesn’t just mess up hockey. It messes up everything. Because I have to pass to student teach next semester. If I have to make up these classes, that could add another year to my college career.

Get it together, Evan.

“Is there anything else going on, Evan?” Yanked out of my thoughts, I glance up to meet Coach’s steely look. “Anything distracting you? Something you wanna get off your chest before your drug test comes back?”

“No! I don’t do drugs, Coach.” Like, not during the season. I mean, I’ve dabbled in the occasional hit or something. But they drug test us all the time. So not since pre-season training started. And yeah, I like to party. I wince, thinking back to my hangover this morning. Maybe a little too hard lately. But it’s college—everybody drinks. I swallow. “And I’ll cut back on the booze, I promise.”

He stays silent for a beat, assessing me, with his hands steepled together on his desk. “Okay. And do you want to keep playing this season?”

“You know I do.” I let my desperation and my passion bleed into my voice. For all my faults—and there are many—I love hockey and I’m damn good at it. I’m determined to take our team back to the National Championship this year, and to bring home a trophy this time and not a consolation prize. It’s my last chance.

“So are you willing to do the work?”

I nod, serious for once. I need him to see I’m telling the truth. “I am.”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, surveying the paper in front of him again. “Are these classes all education majors have to take?”

“Uh, I think so.”

Coach squints. “If I knew someone who could help, would you be willing to meet with a tutor?”

“Anything.” I’m not missing my senior year of hockey. Or staying here an extra year. My parents would flip. There’s no way they’d pay for that. They fund a lot of things, sure, but I can already picture the frown on my mom’s face if she knew I was screwing up everything, as usual.

Why can’t you be more like your sister? She might not say it out loud, but we both know she’d be thinking it.

“Okay.” Coach stands and pulls out his phone, then starts making a call. Does he have a tutor on standby? Does he expect me to start right now? Knowing Coach, the answer’s probably yes to both of those questions. He pauses while whomever it is answers.