Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

AVERY

I stared at Callum Hayes’s name until the letters blurred together.

There had to be a mistake.

Maybe Professor Callahan had written the wrong name. Maybe there was another Callum Hayes at Hawthorns, which was ridiculous because I knew perfectly well there wasn't. Maybe I had somehow skipped an entire section of the assignment sheet and there was a perfectly reasonable explanation waiting underneath the next paragraph.

I flipped the page over.

Nothing.

I flipped it back.

Still there, and very hard to miss: CALLUM HAYES.

My stomach twisted.

The classroom had started emptying around me, chairs scraping against the floor while everyone complained about their assignments and compared subjects. I barely heard any of it. My eyes remained fixed on the paper in my hands as the memory of yesterday morning came rushing back with absolutely no concern for my sanity.

Callum leaning against the headboard with a stupid, smug expression. The black leather wallet, his name on the student ID and then the fact that I had spent the night with him.

I closed my eyes briefly.

This was not happening.

I had spent years successfully avoiding hockey. I had perfected the art of looking uninterested whenever Mason started talking about games, teammates, practices, injuries, standings, coaches, or anything else that involved people voluntarily chasing a puck around on ice.

I didn't hate hockey, I simply had no interest in it.

There was a difference.

Unfortunately, Professor Callahan had apparently decided that difference did not matter.

“Avery?”

I looked up.

Professor Callahan was standing at the front of the room, gathering his notes. “You planning on taking that assignment sheet home, or are you hoping it'll disappear if you stare at it long enough?”

A couple of students nearby laughed and I forced a smile. “I was just reading through it.”

“I'd recommend doing that before complaining about it.”

“I wasn't complaining.”

He raised an eyebrow, I tucked the paper into my notebook. “Yet.”

That earned a small smile from him, but I didn't return it. I shoved my things into my bag, trying to convince myself I was overreacting.

I could handle one assignment.

I could attend practices. I could interview players. I could learn enough hockey terminology to avoid embarrassing myself, and I could absolutely avoid Callum.

Except his name was on the list.

And if I knew anything about Professor Callahan, it was that he wasn't the type of professor to randomly assign names without a reason.

Which meant I couldn't just hope Callum wouldn't matter.

I needed to fix this. Now.

I waited until most of the students had left before approaching his desk. My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as I walked toward him.

“Professor?”

He looked up from his papers. “Yes?”

“Do you have a minute?”

He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “If this is about the assignment, I'm afraid I'm already regretting giving it to you.”

I sat down. “That makes two of us.”

He smiled. “I knew it.”

I took a breath, deciding to approach this rationally, professionally, and like an adult.

“I wanted to talk to you about the feature project.”

“I gathered.”

“I understand what you're trying to do.”

“Do you?”

“I think so.” I folded my hands over my notebook. “You want us to step outside our comfort zones.”

“Exactly.”

“And I appreciate that.” His eyebrows lifted slightly, as if he hadn't expected that. I continued before he could respond. “But I really don't think I'm the right person for the hockey assignment.”

His expression didn't change and that should have been my first warning. “Why?”

I had prepared for this. “I don't know enough about hockey.”

“That's what you told me in class.”

“And it's still true.”

“Then you'll learn.” I blinked. He said it so casually that for a second I forgot what I was trying to argue.

“I mean, I don't follow it. I don't understand the sport very well. I don't know the players beyond what everyone on campus knows, and I have absolutely no experience covering athletics.”

“Good.” I stared at him as he leaned back in his chair. “Avery, you know what your problem is?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I'm almost afraid to ask.”

“You're very good at what you do.” That was not where I expected him to go.

He continued, “You're comfortable when you understand the subject. You research thoroughly, you prepare more than anyone else in this class, and you walk into discussions knowing exactly what you want to say. That's impressive. But eventually, you have to write about something before you've mastered it.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Because you're sitting in my office trying to convince me that the fact you don't know hockey is a reason you shouldn't cover hockey.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. He had a point and I hated that. “I just think I'd produce better work if I were covering something I actually understand.”

“You'd produce safer work.”

My eyebrows pulled together.

He tapped the assignment sheet on his desk. “I don't need you to write another safe piece, Avery. I want to see what happens when you're forced to ask questions you don't already know the answers to.”

My pulse started climbing.

Questions. Interviews. Players. Callum.

I swallowed. “What if I told you I'm really not comfortable with it?”

“I'd tell you discomfort isn't the same thing as inability.”

That irritated me more than it should have. “I don't think you're listening to me.”

“I am listening.”

“No, you're not.” The words came out sharper than I intended and his expression hardened slightly. I should have stopped there, instead, everything I'd been holding in since I saw Callum's name finally started spilling out.

“You already decided what this assignment is supposed to teach me before you even asked whether I wanted to do it. You know I stay away from hockey. You know I've never shown any interest in the team. So why deliberately put me in the middle of something I have spent years avoiding?”

The room suddenly felt very quiet.

Professor Callahan stared at me and I realized the gravity of that outburst so, I looked away.

He spoke calmly. “I've noticed that you avoid hockey.”

My heart skipped.

“But,” he continued, “I assumed that was because you weren't interested in it.”

“It is.”

“Then why are you treating this like I've assigned you to cover a subject you have some personal objection to?”

I froze.

Because I couldn't exactly say, ‘Because I slept with one of your hockey players, Professor.’

So instead, I reached for the first excuse I could find. “Because I know what happens when people get too involved with that world.”

He studied me for a moment and I wasn't sure whether he'd bought it. “I see.”

He picked up his pen and turned the assignment sheet over. “Your interview schedule is already arranged.”

My stomach dropped. “Professor—”

“No.”

I stared at him but he didn't even look up. “We're not changing the assignment.”

“I wasn't asking you to—”

“You were.”

I sighed.

He finally looked at me. “Avery, I gave you this assignment because I think you're capable of doing something difficult. Not because I want you to fail.”

“I know.”

“Then trust that.”

I should have, but instead, panic won. “You don't understand.”

His expression changed. “Then explain it.”

I couldn't, and that was the problem.

I looked down at my hands, suddenly aware that I was playing with the bracelet around my wrist. “I just…” I stopped and took a breath. “I really don't want to do this.”

“I know.” His voice was gentler now, but somehow that made me feel worse. “I've given you plenty of opportunities to explain why. You haven't.”

Because there was no explanation I could give him, not one that wouldn't blow up my entire life. So I stood abruptly, pushing my chair back harder than I meant to. “Fine.”

His eyes followed me.

“Fine?” he repeated.

“I'll do the stupid assignment.”

“That would be the mature response.”

I almost clicked my tongue as I turned toward the door.

“And Avery?” I stopped. “You don't get to speak to me like that simply because you don't like an assignment.”

Heat crawled up my neck, he was right. Of course he was right. I turned around slowly. “I'm sorry.”

He waited.

“I mean it. I shouldn't have raised my voice or spoken to you that way. You were trying to explain the assignment, and I was being disrespectful.”

He studied me for another second before nodding. “Apology accepted.”

Relief loosened something in my chest, then he pointed toward the door. “Now get out of my office.”

My mouth fell open. “What?”

“We're done.” I stared at him, trying to decide whether he was joking but he wasn't.

I grabbed my bag. “Right.”

“And Avery?” I paused again. “Your first interview is tomorrow afternoon.”

My entire body went still. “With who?”

He glanced down at the schedule.

“Callum Hayes.”

Of fucking course.

I forced myself to nod. “Okay.” Then, I walked out before my face could betray me.

Sienna was waiting in the hallway.

She pushed away from the wall the second she saw me. “There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

She looked at my face. “That is definitely not a nothing face.”

I kept walking and she followed. “Did he change the assignment?”

“No.”

“Did he let you pick something else?”

“No.”

“So what did you do?”

I stopped so abruptly that she nearly walked into me. “I tried to talk to him, Sienna.”

“Okay…”

“He wouldn't listen.”

“He's a professor, Avery. That's kind of his job.”

I shot her a look and she immediately lifted both hands. “Sorry.” I started walking again, but she kept pace beside me. “You could've just told me what happened.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“You've been weird all morning.”

“I've been trying to deal with something.”

“And I'm trying to help.”

“I know.”

“Then let me.” I stopped again because something inside me snapped.

“Can you just stop?”

Sienna went quiet andI immediately regretted it, but I was too wound up to take it back.

“I don't need you following me around asking questions every five seconds,” I said, my voice lower now but no less sharp. “I just need you to leave me alone for a minute.”

Her face changed, not dramatically and that almost made it worse. She simply nodded. “Okay.”

I swallowed. “Sienna—”

But she was already stepping back.

“It's fine, Avery.”

It wasn't, I knew it wasn't.

She turned and walked in the opposite direction, while I stood there watching her go, guilt settling heavily in my stomach.

I should have gone after her, I should have apologized, instead, my phone buzzed and I pulled it from my bag to see an email notification.

Professor Callahan — Feature Project Interview Schedule

I opened it and my eyes immediately dropped to the first appointment.

Interview: Callum Hayes

Tomorrow — 3:00 p.m.

Hawthorns Hockey Facility

I stared at the screen, then slowly locked my phone.

Apparently, trying to escape Callum Hayes was going to be a lot harder than I thought and somehow, I had the feeling my semester had just become a complete disaster.