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Reid

My major is political science.

After three years of nailing my core modules, I got arrogant. The admissions tutor called public policy challenging.

I thought I could show everyone that Reid Graves wasn’t a dumb hockey player on a full-ride scholarship because he could hit a puck better than the average person. So I chose public policy when I should have done the smart thing and head-butted the nearest wall instead.

I’ve had too many nightmares about Professor Amstutz to count.

They all begin the same way—me in my graduation cap and gown, walking up on stage, grinning as I reach for my scroll. He shakes his head as he presses a big silver button, and the ground opens up beneath me.

Nearly four years of working my ass off all wasted because of public-fucking-policy.

One final assignment. A research paper that counts for sixty percent of my final grade.

A twenty-page paper that relies on so many resources, it’s going to take me a week of solid reading to go through all the material before I can draft an outline.

A paper I haven’t even started.

A paper that’s due in two weeks.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I’d mumbled some excuse to Javier and Tobie at the mall about something I had to do and hot-footed it back to campus to meet my professor for a meeting he requested.

I’ve been sprinting from class the second it ends, and I’ve caught him eyeing me like he suspects I have something to hide. And he’s right. I do.

He’s offered everyone an opportunity to meet with him during office hours to talk through the paper. I haven’t taken him up on it because I should have started this fucking thing months ago.

The longer I left it, the more panicked I got, and the more I wanted to close my eyes to the fact it has to be done and that ignoring it won’t make it go away.

It doesn’t help that Caleb, majoring in communications, finished his final papers weeks ago. Me? Nope. Jay? Ahead on all his work. The only thing he has left to do for his biology major is finish up some labs.

I knock on my professor’s office door in the faculty building and wait, knowing he’s only called this meeting for today because I told him I was so busy with practice and was only free on the weekend.

As I wait for him to finish up with a phone call, I mentally chew myself out for my own stupidity.

I had big ideas when the professor told us about the paper. I’d salivated over writing an incredible paper that would blow everyone away. My chosen area was going to be the role of media in policymaking. As a future athlete, I thought it would be easy.

Professor Amstutz had been clear. Right from the start, he’d said, “I urge you to e-mail me or see me during office hours to discuss your topic. I can help you define it and locate data sources.”

And like a fucking idiot, I’d let everything but public policy become my priority.

I didn’t even think of going to him for help until well after the point I should have already started the paper.

Why the fuck did I choose public policy again?

Everything ate away at my time.

Practice. Trying to get Caleb to chill out as the stress of the looming championships started to consume his life. Anxiety about what’s going to happen with my brother. Daniela texting and calling Javier, stressing him out.

And fear.

Above all else, fear of failure.

A click announces the end of Professor Amstutz’s call, and I stiffen my spine as he calls out, “Come on in, Reid.”

I push open his office door and find the smiling, dark-haired, and gray-eyed professor with a short brown beard sitting behind his desk in one corner of a room he shares with three other professors.

It’s just him today, which makes me feel shittier because he should be enjoying his weekend, not using his free time to meet with me.

“You wanted to see me,” I say, playing ignorant.

“About the paper.” He gestures to the chair opposite him, and I sit. “You’re the only student I haven’t touched base with, and I wanted to check in with you and find out if everything is going well.”

Now would be the perfect time to tell him I’m behind, stressed out, could do with more time, or most likely a miracle to get this thing done.

“I’m good,” an idiot with my voice says. “I’ll have it done in the next couple of weeks.”

He crosses his arms and reclines in his seat.

I’m giving him the lazy, confident smile, but he doesn’t look like he’s buying all this shit I’m shoveling.

The corners of his eyes pinch. “That paper is worth sixty percent of your final grade, Reid. The offer for you to discuss your project with me was important.”

“I know that.” I dig my nails into the fleshy part of my palm as I cling to my smile. “And I meant to take you up on the offer before, but practice has gotten intense. I’m on it, though. No need to worry about me.”

“I understand the game is important, but if you need more time to work on your paper, I’m sure your coach will give it to you.”

No, he won’t.

The free time I requested from him weeks ago went toward helping Caleb before he could self-combust with stress. Between Caleb’s stress and Javier trying to hide his anxiety about his parents not letting his sister come to watch him play, it was easier to set aside my problems and focus on theirs.

“Reid…”

I blow out a sigh. “I’m a little behind, but I can catch up.”

“You have two weeks.”

“I can do it,” I say insistently.

And I hope this isn’t blind hope leading me off the edge of a cliff.

He tilts his head as he scrutinizes me. “If you fail, this could jeopardize your scholarship and potentially even your place on the team.”

I know all that.

I fail this paper, I fail the module. It doesn’t matter that I’ve already passed all my other modules with flying colors. I need this one to graduate.

Yeah, I could say fuck it, I’m going into the NHL, and blow off school. I wouldn’t be the first or the last to do it, but I don’t want to shrug it off.

Education is important. Ryder always made time to sit with me and help me with my homework after our parents died.

I want him to be proud of me and not see me as a fuck-up who tripped over the last hurdle to graduation and face-planted inches from the finishing line.

I can’t do that to him after he sacrificed so much for me.

“I’ll get it done, Professor,” I reassure him.

He gives me another probing look and passes me a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” I ask as I take it.

“My office hours. If you need to see me outside of those times, let me know, and I’ll try to move things around.”

Not everyone lucks out with a good teacher, but Professor Amstutz is solid. He can never do enough for his students.

“Sure,” I tell him as I stuff the paper in my pocket and get to my feet.

As I leave his office, my phone vibrates against my left butt cheek, and I fish it out, grinning when I see who’s calling. “Hey!”

“I had just about the best news I could have today, little brother.”

Ryder works a mix of day and night shifts at a factory that manufactures car parts in Wexler, Iowa.

It’s a job my brother hates, but no other company hires as many locals.

He said he’d ask the foreman about taking the weekend off to come see the big game.

From his good mood, I can guess the foreman’s answer.

Everyone always says we look alike, and we do. We have the same big shoulders, and his eyes are a slightly darker shade of gray. Except he has a beard he’s growing out. He’s almost always wearing a Wolverines’ jersey with my name on the back. He’s that proud of me.

“You got time off.” I let the faculty building door slam shut behind me and walk to my dorm to get some reading done before I have to get ready for this party tonight.

We typically have Sundays free, but Saturdays are up in the air if we don’t have a game. Friday or Saturday night is almost always a game day. Otherwise, we’re resting or hitting the gym for conditioning with the trainer.

“The entire weekend and the Monday,” Ryder continues. “Means I won’t be puking over my seat mate from the epic hangover when we’re through celebrating.”

I laugh. “Dude. Scale it back. Maybe wait for us to win the thing first before you start planning out the cocktails and the scale of hangover you expect, huh?”

“The championship is yours,” he says, no hint of doubt in his voice. “No one has come close to touching you this year. First drink is on you, and it better be a double.”

“A triple. After everything you did for me, it’s gonna be a triple shot of whatever you want.

Fuck it, the entire night is on me.” I head for the dining room to grab some food so I won’t have to cook, waving at familiar faces on my way.

“You realize you can quit working at that factory any time you want. What you should be working on is your coaching qualifications.”

“No one is going to want to hire a dropout with no coaching experience. With or without quals, Reid.”

“You coached me,” I remind him.

“Anyone could have with your talent,” he says.

I stop. “You can do better than the factory, Ryder.”

“I don’t need to do better. I’m fine as I am. How’s school?”

I consider pushing, but there’s no pushing Ryder Graves into doing what he doesn’t want. “No one cares about school with the big game looming.”

He’s the only one who’s asked how my classes are going. All everyone else wants to know is if I’m ready for the big game.

“I care, and so should you. You won’t always have hockey, Reid. A backup career is never a bad idea.”

“You used to be the biggest dreamer in the world,” I remind him.

He had his eyes set on hockey. Nothing could sway him from it, and I thought nothing ever would. Then a car skidded on black ice one night, two people died, and he turned his back on hockey to look after me.

“Real life has a habit of knocking sense into you. How’s the final paper for public policy?” Leather creaks, and I envision him standing from the brown leather couch in our dark green living room.