Page 1 of Safety Net (Mendell Hawks #3)

LINCOLN

Iwas twenty-five minutes late for my ‘you-honestly-might-be-going-on-academic-probation’ meeting. If I did deserve a but (which I’m well aware I didn’t), it would look like this: But it was Thursday. And Thursdays were time sinkholes for me.

One moment, I was bidding in an online auction, going toe to toe with strangers for first edition copies of obscure mystery paperbacks. Next, I was at an estate sale, talking to a couple who (almost) convinced me to buy a couch the size of Texas.

Now, I sat down in my academic advisor’s office, overanalyzing a textured painting of the midnight sky.

“Who’s the artist?” I picked at the flaky varnish finish on my chair’s armrest. Now that the conversation I should have had weeks ago was here, I scrambled to think of more excuses for delay.

Jonah, my frowning advisor, shrugged. It took him a second to settle in his squeaky desk chair. He buttoned his cleanly pressed suit jacket. Summer heat and a crappy AC system didn’t dare threaten his commitment to professionalism. “It came with the office.”

“Name of the piece?” Whenever I didn’t grasp at straws, I felt like I was wasting resources.

Jonah studied me over the silver metal rims of his glasses, mouth in a thin line as he repeated, “It came with the office.”

“Ah.” My shoulders sagged at his refusal to humor me even a little. “Nothing a little research can’t fix.”

The oil-painted stars reminded me of my roommate’s best friend, Celeste Able. There were stars in the corners of her eyes when I first met her. Small, hand-drawn stars. Barely noticeable, barely there. But once I saw them, I couldn’t stop marveling.

Those stars were delicate work, worthy of close examination but almost hidden. Who did something that special but attempted to hide it?

It was safe to say Celeste was an artist. I’ve always gravitated towards artists.

Their attention to detail was enviable. I’ve tried to hone that kind of dedication to craft with no luck.

It was difficult for me to commit to things.

Not in a destructive way, but in an ‘I’m ready to get this done and move on to the next thing’ way.

The mindset served me well as a hockey goalie. Up until recently, I didn’t think I needed to change. Now? I suspected my life would improve drastically if I took cues from an artist.

“Lincoln.” Jonah’s firm voice was a hook, hindering me from swimming deeper into my thoughts of Celeste. “How about we pretend you’re at the rink? This office is your goal.”

I straightened. “Sure. I love a good visualization.”

“I figured. And since that’s the case, I’d appreciate if you’d give this conversation as much patience as you’d give a game.”

There went the knots in my stomach. “Right. What I’d give a game…”

Hockey was my safe harbor, the only place that accepted my impatience. Rewarded it. After last season’s forfeit, I wondered whether I should address said impatience.

Since last season’s premature ending, I’ve done some deep, reflective thinking. I had a lot of time on my hands while not playing hockey and all. After finding out the Hawks were out of the playoffs, I realized I might not walk across the stage at graduation.

“Victory Lap” was what Jonah called it.

“Sounds fun,” I had joked because, well, it did. Heaven knew I wasn’t in store for victory on the ice anytime soon. I might as well take one somewhere else.

“Not in this case,” Jonah had promised with a frown. My adviser wasn’t much of a smiler. His unbothered brow made me antsy.

Jonah looked like he could be my brother if my folks liked kids enough to have more than one.

Our brown skin was nearly the same medium shade.

Our hair, equally curly, buzzed at the sides and left to grow longer on top.

He was at least a decade older than me and possessed the soulless stare of a man unfulfilled.

As much as I liked him, I feared him. His advisor gig didn’t appear that soul-crushing. But he knew something I didn’t. Sitting across from him felt like looking into a bleak future.

“You plan on going pro?” Jonah asked.

“In hockey?”

He released a sigh. “Yes, Lincoln. In hockey. Do you plan on playing in the NHL?”

I chuckled and adjusted in my seat. The cold wood was far too hard and slippery to be a place where one made life-changing decisions.

“Only a few of us are drafted out of the NCAA. Lucky few. Since I didn’t get a deal my senior year of high school, my odds are slim.

So, I don’t plan on anything because it’s been out of my hands since I got to Mendell.

I could try being a free agent, though.”

“Okay.” He nodded and typed something. “And if that doesn’t work?”

I shrugged, my gaze straying to the photos on his desk. Jonah was a cat dad. “I’ll figure something out. Hey, you know, I heard cat people are especially empathetic because of their constant exposure to rejection. What’s your take?”

His jaw ticked. “Irrelevant. Let’s visualize life after college. After hockey.”

Jonah tipped the cat photo over with a slight nudge of his pen when he realized I was still staring. “What does that look like?”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second, trying to put in some real effort. But as soon as my imaginary world came into focus, I was face-to-face with a blank canvas. The world around me hollowed out as everyone moved on, while I stood in place.

Breathing became a feat. I could barely hear my thoughts over my pounding heart. My eyes shot open. Jonah’s frown deepened at my jerk back into the present.

I cleared my throat and readjusted my collar. “Maybe I’ll move back home for a bit.”

I needed to pace. Jonah didn’t like when I did that, so I remained glued to my seat. “Maybe work for my grandma.”

“She owns a chocolate store, right?” Jonah scrolled through his notes as he recalled the tidbit. “That sounds interesting.”

I nodded, trying to swallow and not look as lightheaded as I felt. “I wish it were more Wonka and less Hershey, though. There’s no whimsy. She sells your typical bars. I’m trying to convince her to branch out. Rebrand.”

“Okay, that’s the makings of a plan. Are you interested in the business side of things? Perhaps we could incorporate a business course? Intro to finance, too. Maybe graphic design for rebranding ideas?”

“Business is not a long-term interest. I have a more casual investment in the rebrand,” I said. “I want to make something that’ll impress my grandma, then move on.”

“We need to add courses that spark long-term interest. You’re seriously behind on your credits. And your GPA isn’t where it needs to be.”

“I’m working on that. All that. It’ll be fine.” Grades had never been my strong suit. Sitting still for hours and listening to a lecture was mind-numbing. There was little room for tangents or rabbit holes. My learning style was based solely on tangents and rabbit holes.

Jonah steepled his fingers and pressed them to his chin.

“You’ve been saying that for three semesters.

Lincoln, you do know you’re one failed course away from being on academic probation in the fall, right?

And with the added attention on the hockey team, the school can’t continue to overlook ‘fine’ grades.

They want you to represent what Mendell could be.

Or they’ll use you as an example of what they won’t tolerate. ”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” I said under my breath.

“All lenience and goodwill have been burned through. You understand how serious this is? How you decide to show up could set the tone for the rest of your life. The foundation you lay here will be the one you have to stand on for years to come.”

I swore my shirt collar had shrunk since I sat down and developed some self-heating capabilities. I tugged on the fabric, trying to experience some of that crappy AC. “Yes, I understand.”

I took this seriously. I just didn’t like to think about it often. There wasn’t much I could do about past grades. Grades in the future, well, that’d be a different story. I was ready and… my phone buzzed. Someone outbid me for the rare paperbacks. It was now up to two hundred dollars. Damn it.

“Lincoln,” Jonah said firmly.

“Committed,” I finished out loud, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “I’m committed.”

“I sure hope so.” Jonah leaned back in his chair. He scrubbed his hands on his face as he tried to figure out how to save me. My favorite thing about Jonah was his genuine care for his students. He hated his job, but the thought of failing students probably kept him up at night.

“I got this.” I leaned forward to pick up his cat photo and turned it to him in hopes it would remind him there was something happier and more peaceful out there than dealing with my ass. “I won’t bring your counseling into question. Trust me.”

He blew out a calmer breath, the wrinkles in his forehead fading. “Weirdly enough, I do trust you’re going to come back from this. I’ve seen students recover from worse. And you have a good support system.”

“The best.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’m recommitted to not doing a victory lap…because that’s a bad thing, correct?”

“It is,” he affirmed with a hint of an amused smile on the horizon.

“So strange,” I mused under my breath.

“Like we agreed, you’re going to use this summer semester as time to catch up.” He reached for his mouse, refocused on his task. “We’ll give you a nine-credit course load. Think you can handle that?”

“It’ll be cake,” I promised.

My issue had never been the work. It’d been the motivation to do the work, finding the drive to finish a degree I wasn’t going to use. I didn’t have a natural inclination to focus on the future. Why would I when the present was far more entertaining?

But the visualization of the empty canvas lingered on the edges of my mind.

The taste of anxiety was so new; my system didn’t understand how to digest it.

If I didn’t want to be left behind by my friends and didn’t want to contend with these nerves constantly, I’d have to figure out how to hunker down.

“I know you’re not stressed about post-grad,” Jonah said.

“And in some cases, that could be a good thing. But you should make concrete plans. There’s a whole life after college.

If hockey is what you want, you need to bring your GPA up to be eligible to continue playing in your senior year.

You could potentially transition into an assistant coaching position.

If you want to do something in Criminal Justice—”

“I enjoyed the courses,” I said. “But I’m not interested in the career. Unless it was fictional.”

I had chosen my major because it was the most exciting option. It combined my love for questions and my itch to find answers.

“I don’t know what that means,” Jonah said.

“Like, fiction. Novels, games, movies.”

“You want to write about crime?”

“No, not professionally. I just like mysteries. So, if I could be inside a, oh, I don’t know, Agatha Christie novel professionally, I would.”

Jonah stared at me, silent for a second, and then laughed. I’d never seen him so light and unbothered. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Neither do I.” I smiled, but something twisted in my stomach. I flexed my fingers, attributing the discomfort to skipping lunch for this meeting.

“Well, since we’re in the same boat, we’ll work little by little together.” Jonah turned his screen so I could see the classes available for enrollment. “Let’s start by picking some electives. Whatever interests you.”

The class titles blurred together like some nonsensical child’s drawing.

I blinked, trying to refocus. The gap between wanting to be better and the patience to do so widened with every breath I took.

I bit down on my inner cheek, willing myself to see through the fog.

To work a little harder on this future planning and foundation-building.

“So?” Jonah’s brows pulled downward, confused by my sluggish response.

My jaw tightened. The titles never came into focus. I couldn’t stare at them forever and waste Jonah’s afternoon any more than I already had.

I pointed out some random lines that included a few 3000-level courses. None of them would disrupt my early mornings or my afternoon workouts.

Jonah rubbed the back of his neck. “You sure?”

“Of course.” I nodded without hesitation. The longer this dragged on, the more I felt utterly useless. “They’ll meet my elective requirements, right?”

“They will,” he confirmed as he turned the screen back to him.

“Then, let’s do it.” I drummed my hands on the armrest, ready to get back to my bidding war. I hoped another fifty bucks would declare me the winner. Now that was satisfaction. That was a victory. “Sign me up.”

“You barely looked at the descriptions.”

“That’s the fun of it. Isn’t the point of an elective to broaden horizons? Can’t do that if I’m researching what the class will be like.”

“It’s not research; it’s basic information—you know what. Never mind. Maybe you’re right.”

“Going in blind is my preferred method for most things.”

Jonah sighed but nodded. “Alright, Lincoln. We’ll try this your way. But at the slightest sign of struggle, ask for help. Deciding things at the drop of a hat will only get you so far.”

“I hear you.” I gave the screen a final look. “I need to choose one more, right?”

He shook his head. “The hockey program strongly encourages all players to enroll in our Community Development course. Honestly, it’s an unspoken requirement.”

I frowned. I rarely (if ever) appreciated being forced into doing something. “They think we’ll feel less likely to take part in a gambling ring if we volunteer on the weekends?”

Jonah shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. I recommended therapy, but the committee wanted something group-focused.”

“And public enough to take photos of,” I filled in the gap. I especially hated doing something to further someone else’s agenda.

“Group-focused,” he repeated, though the knowing look he offered confirmed my suspicions.

“The course should be easy. Just do your best to find a project that gives back to the community, meet with your professor regularly for updates, and the credits are yours. After that, you’ll only have two semesters to go. Then, you’re free.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, in a voice confident enough to mask my doubts.

“You’ve got this. Keep focusing and you’ll walk across the stage with the rest of your friends next year.”

A simple smile and nod were enough to convince him that I believed in myself, too.