Chapter 3

Ryder’s POV

My phone vibrated so hard it nearly rattled off the nightstand. I cracked one eye open, groaning as a blade of morning light cut through the curtains. Beside me, Rebecca sighed and pulled the comforter higher, shifting away from the noise like it was my problem to solve, which — fair — it was.

One word lit up the screen: COACH.

Shit.

I answered anyway.

“Get your ass to the rink! Now, King!” His voice blew straight through the speaker.

I yanked the phone away from my ear and glanced at the clock. Double shit.

“I’m on my way,” I said, already throwing the blanket aside.

Rebecca stretched into the space I’d just vacated, smirking at me over her shoulder. “Leaving already, Captain?”

“You know Coach. He’ll skate me into next semester if I’m any later.” I found yesterday’s jeans on the floor and yanked them on.

“Last night was incredible,” she said.

“I’m pretty incredible.” I threw her the grin she expected.

She tossed a pillow at my back, laughing anyway. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Never said otherwise.”

She got up, walked over, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “We doing this again?”

“You know where to find me if you need a stress reliever, baby.”

She shook her head, smile still hanging on. “That attitude’s going to get you in real trouble one day.”

“Usually gets me out of it, actually.” I grabbed my keys and my gear and left before she could argue the point.

Five minutes later my tires screeched into the athletic complex lot. I hit the ice-cold air of the rink at a jog, already bracing for it.

Coach was at the boards, deep in conversation with Tristan. I approached like a man walking toward his own execution.

“Coach, I am so sorry — I didn’t mean to be late. I was, uh. Stuck reading the Bible.”

He turned slowly, arms crossed, face doing absolutely nothing. “The Bible, Ryder. That’s today’s excuse.”

“Yes, sir.” I kept my face as innocent as I could manage.

Tristan coughed into his fist, failing badly at hiding a laugh.

“I’ll get ready right now,” I said, already angling toward the locker room.

“Office. Now.”

Tristan stepped into my path, grinning. “You’re in massive trouble, Captain.”

“Weren’t you passed out cold after that party? How are you even functional right now?”

He just smiled and offered nothing.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, and headed for the office.

I pushed the door open with both hands raised. “Before you start lecturing me about being a responsible captain—”

“Sit down, Ryder.”

I dropped into the chair. “What’s this about?”

“Your grades.” He slammed a folder onto the desk. “You’re falling behind fast. Keep this up and you lose eligibility. I can’t lose another captain this season.”

“I took that art class because—”

“That art class is doing nothing for you.” He cut me off, flat. “Drop it or fix it. Either way, get your GPA up. Now.”

I leaned forward, jaw tight. “I’ll talk to the professor today. I’ll fix it.”

“Do whatever it takes.” He pointed at me like it was a threat and a promise both. “Just pass.”

I left fired up, cutting straight across campus to the fine arts building — a different planet from the rink, quiet and bright in a way that made me feel like I was trespassing. I found the office, knocked, and let myself in.

“Mrs. Zoey? Got a minute?”

She looked up over her glasses. “Ryder King. What a surprise to see you in this office.”

I stood in front of her desk with the tight, practiced smile I used on professors and referees alike. “It’s about my grade. There must be some kind of mix-up, right? I’m a pretty decent artist.”

“Decent?” She hummed, pulling out my portfolio like she’d been waiting all week for this exact moment. “Here’s your latest submission.”

I leaned in, bracing for a C. “And?”

“D.”

“D?” The word came out closer to a groan. “Why?”

She tapped the sketch. “There’s no life in it. It’s flat. Soulless. To pass my class, I need to feel something when I look at your work. Depth. Emotion.”

I dragged a hand down my face, stomach twisting. “What do I need to do? Failing isn’t an option.”

“You can submit a new piece.” She tapped her chin, considering. “But I strongly recommend a tutor for the fundamentals.”

Pride flared. “I don’t need a tutor for an intro class.”

“You do.” Firm, final. “And you’re in luck — she’s right on time.”

I turned.

There she was — the girl from the party. Tessy. Standing in the doorway with a notebook clutched to her chest like a shield, looking as blindsided as I felt.

“Ma’am?” she asked.

Mrs. Zoey smiled, entirely too pleased with herself. “Tessy, perfect timing. You’ll be tutoring Ryder King.”

Tessy’s mouth opened, already halfway to a protest, but Mrs. Zoey cut her off with a raised hand. “It’ll look excellent on your resume, and Ryder will compensate you well for your time.”

I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable under the full weight of Tessy’s glare. “Any chance I could get a different tutor?”

“She’s the best student in the department.” Mrs. Zoey said it like the matter was closed. “You’re in excellent hands.”

Tessy crossed her arms, jaw set, looking at me like a problem she deeply did not want to solve.

Something twisted in my stomach that had nothing to do with the D on my portfolio.