Page 6

Chapter

Five

Chase blinked once, then leaned back in his chair like nothing about my arrival rattled him, but it was too late. I’d already seen the evidence.

A man near the whiteboard turned around. “Ah, Madelyn Taylor, correct?”

I nodded, clutching the strap of my bag.

“Glad you could join us,” he said warmly. “We were just getting started. I’m Dr. Howard Lamont. Vice Dean of Student Affairs. Thank you for coming in.”

He gestured to a chair next to Chase as the others filtered into the room. Fantastic.

“Hey, Maddie?—”

“Madelyn,” I snapped before Chase could get the rest of that statement out. If he didn’t want to remember anything? Fine. I could play that game, too.

I kept my body turned away from him as Dr. Lamont facilitated introductions.

There were seven of us in total. Dr. Lamont, who looked a little like a youth pastor; Professor Kowalski; and Marcia Toews, a student support specialist with a high ponytail, very pink nails, and a soft smile.

Then there was Coach Bryan from the women’s volleyball team, who sat flipping his pen between his fingers; April Martin, the Dean of Business, whom I’d met in the hall; and Chase, who, even in my peripheral vision, looked irritatingly attractive in an Outlaws quarter-zip.

Dr. Lamont cleared his throat. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s start with the basics.

This committee was formed in response to a growing concern from the registrar’s office.

Specifically, student-athletes falling short academically and the lack of sustainable structures to help them recover before it’s too late. ”

Marcia nodded. “We’ve seen an increase in mid-season academic suspensions, especially among first- and second-year players.”

“And,” Kowalski added dryly, “an increase in excuses, extensions, and emails written by coaches instead of students.”

Coach Bryan exhaled. “Listen, we’re expecting these students to perform two jobs at once. We can’t expect them to make both things their number one priority.”

“It shouldn’t even be a question,” Kowalski rebutted. “None of these students are going to play professionally?—”

“That’s not true.” Chase leaned over the table. “One of our players, as you know, had the opportunity to go to Juniors and is now out in Fredericton. I’m all for high academic expectations, but we’re doing these students a disservice if we don’t foster athletic potential.”

“I agree.” Coach Bryan nodded. “I think they need more support, and not because we’re babying them.” He held up a hand to stem what was sure to be an argument by Kowalski.

“If we want this to succeed, we have to be honest about the optics.” April crossed one leg over the other, smoothing her pencil skirt.

“This isn’t just about helping students pass their classes—it’s about creating a framework that feels credible to faculty, scalable for administration, and legitimate to the athletes themselves.

”Support is only effective if it’s paired with standards.

The second it feels like special treatment, you lose the academic side of the room.

And the second it feels like punishment, the players disengage.

You’ve got to sell the idea that academic performance is part of their brand as student-athletes—part of the deal they signed up for. ”

Damn. As I worked to pick apart all the facets of that comment, Lamont turned to me. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

No, I wasn’t wondering. I‘d assumed since my GPA had to be one of the highest on campus, and because I’d already offered to help with student athletes, I was there to offer a student perspective on success.

The piece that didn’t make sense was that I didn’t play a sport here at Douglas.

“Actually, I was wondering why you chose me instead of a high-performing student athlete.” There had to be plenty of them.

Wouldn’t they have a better perspective on this topic?

“That’s a great question.” Lamont’s eyes flicked to Kowalski. “We discussed different possibilities and decided it would be best not to add more to our athletes’ plates. And some of us preferred inviting a student who prioritized academics over other pursuits.”

Ah. So Kowalski put up a fuss about having an athlete here. Got it. I was still dying to know how he’d heard about my tutoring offer.

“This committee’s goal is to create a pilot program for compliance and student athlete support,” Lamont continued.

“And as Coach Wilson already touched on, we have a situation with the men’s hockey team that seems ripe for attention.

So, we’d like to brainstorm together and start with one team–Outlaws hockey.

If the program works, we scale to other sports. ”

Coach Bryan exhaled in relief.

I perked up. That was perfect. But, I reminded myself, this wasn’t only about getting Rory and Axel back out on the ice.

My interest was piqued. Could there be a way to help student athletes excel in both their sport and academics?

Could we optimize their experience to maximize potential on either side?

What were the factors that impacted their ability to perform?

Time, obviously. Physical stamina. We didn’t have control over their diet, genetics, or?—

“Is that acceptable to you, Miss Taylor?”

I looked up. Everyone at the table had their eyes trained on me. I pursed my lips as my cheeks flushed with heat. “Sorry, I was thinking. I missed the question.”

Mr. Lamont smiled. “I was suggesting that, as our student liaison and with your offer to provide tutoring hours, you meet directly with Coach Wilson to create a plan for the at-risk players on the Outlaws team. We’ll continue to meet as a group as well.

You two can report on what’s working and what’s not, and we’ll collaborate. Does that work?”

It took everything in me not to reply with something like, “I think Coach Wilson already has some plans in the works,” or, “That depends on whether Coach Wilson knows how to use his email.” I gripped the edge of my seat and said, “I’d be happy to.”

The meeting dragged on for another fifteen minutes, outlining progress metrics, shared calendars, then devolved when the subject of playing privileges was breached.

Chase and I were assigned to present an initial schedule and proposed expectations by Monday in order to reach a consensus and implement the strategy before the next home game. So much for my sleepy weekend.

I succeeded in keeping the knowledge that I’d be meeting with Chase at surface level.

It would be fine. Professional. Since he didn’t think we had any kind of relationship anyway, it would be easy to keep our conversations focused.

He was a different person now, and so was I.

I could compartmentalize old Chase. Seal him up in a little box I could pull out every once in a while to admire when we weren’t working on a project together.

If I could do it with my past boyfriends, I could do it with an old high school crush.

It was past five when Lamont finally stood to dismiss us. I needed to bolt to get over to Crystal’s place and then Shar’s on time for trivia at six. I grabbed my bag and stood too fast, my thighs catching the bottom of the table as my chair legs caught on the carpet.

I winced, then smiled and thanked Lamont and Kowalski for the invitation, then slid past the others who were still seated and swept out of the room.

My heel clicks felt even more abrasive now that the building was completely empty.

The receptionist no longer sat at the desk, but thankfully, I had no trouble exiting through the locked doors.

I wrapped my arms around myself against the wind and hurried to the car. I yanked open the driver’s door of the Rabbit and tossed my bag into the passenger seat with enough force to knock over an old coffee cup. Empty, thankfully.

I slid into the seat, shoved the key into the ignition, and turned.

Click.

I paused, then tried again.

Click.

I groaned, dropping my forehead to the steering wheel. Why? The building was closed, so I had no way to phone Crystal or Shar. Not unless I wanted to walk back up there and press myself to the glass in the hope that someone from the committee walked past and took pity on me.

“Come on,” I muttered, turning the key again. And again.

Then a knock on the window nearly sent my soul into orbit. I shot up with a gasp to find Chase standing next to the car, hands in his coat pockets, the collar of his shirt popped up against the wind like he was starring in some CBC cop drama. His brows lifted. A silent question.

I cracked the door open. “It’s fine. Just needs a minute.”

He leaned down slightly. “I heard it clicking.”

“Yeah. It does that sometimes.” That was a lie. This had never happened before. Well, not since grade twelve when my mom had to drive me to school for a week. Our next-door neighbour had somehow fixed it over the weekend, and it had been fine ever since.

Chase stepped back, scanning the car. “Is this the same car you had in high school?”

“Hilarious.” I pushed the door open further and stood. Chase frowned. “You can remember what car I drove, but not my last name?”

His nostrils flared. “It’s not that I didn’t remember your last name?—”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t sure if—maybe it had changed.”

I gave him a look. “Changed? How?”

He shook his head and stalked to the back of the car. “Maybe your mom got remarried. Or . . . maybe you did.”

I laughed out loud. “First of all, I wouldn’t take any random guy’s name if my mom remarried, and second, you thought I was married? ”

Chase kicked one of the back tires and nodded to my hand. “You wear that ring.”

My mouth opened, then snapped closed as I glanced down and saw the thin gold band around my ring finger. On my left hand. “Oh, no. That’s—it was my dad’s.” I swallowed the guilt welling in my chest. Okay, so he had a good reason for asking about my last name.

I’d worn that band for so long, I didn’t notice it anymore. Did other guys look at that and think I was married? Engaged? Was that why I never got hit on as much as Crystal and Shar? My entire university career suddenly flashed through my mind’s eye.

Chase strode past me and opened the driver’s side door, popping the hood. “How are you even driving this thing?”

“It works fine.”

“It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

I rolled my eyes and walked closer to where he bent over the engine. There was barely enough light from the street lamp to see anything. “I don’t take it far, just from my apartment to campus.”

“How far is that?” He tinkered with something, then moved to wipe his fingers on his khakis and thought better of it.

“Twenty minutes. Ish.”

He gave me a look, then shifted so he wasn’t creating a shadow over the car’s innards. “So your dad left and you still wear his ring?”

The question was a gut punch. All the air left my lungs, and I put out a hand to brace myself against the car.

Chase looked up. “What?”

“Is that what you thought?” I asked. He frowned. So classic. “My mom dated a black guy, got knocked up, and we never saw him again?”

“No, I?—”

“My dad died. Heart attack. When I was six years old. So yes, I still wear his ring.” I twisted the cool metal around my finger.

I didn’t know where he got it. My mom didn’t either.

I found it when we were going through his things after the funeral, and I had to wait until I was twelve before it fit me.

First, I’d worn it on my thumb. Then my middle finger.

Finally, my ring finger on my left hand when I hit sixteen. It didn’t fit as well on my right hand.

Silence.

Finally Chase said, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well.” I dropped my eyes. “You didn’t ask.”

Another long pause.

“It’s probably the solenoid.” Chase cleared his throat. “Happens in these older VWs. Ignition signal’s weak, doesn’t trigger the starter properly.”

I lifted my head. Chase pulled his keys from his pocket, chose one, then fiddled for twenty seconds. “Try it.”

I hesitated, then rounded the car door and sat. “Are you going to move your arm?”

He shook his head. “Just turn the key.”

I did as he asked. The engine choked, then roared to life.

I stared at the dash. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chase lowered the hood and let it fall with a satisfying thunk. “German engineering. Terrible with cold starts. Worse with age.”

I got out slowly, the wind yanking at my curls. “You know cars?”

Chase ignored the question. “You’ve got cracked vacuum hoses and your windshield wipers are on backwards.”

“They still work.” I pursed my lips, not wanting to mention the blinker.

He stepped closer. “Yeah, for now. But if one of those lines goes and your engine floods, you’ll be stranded on Crowchild Trail with semis blasting past you.”

“I don’t drive on Crowchild.”

“So you live west of campus?”

My insides flipped positions. When had he moved so close?

I gripped the top of the door, my pulse jolting at my throat.

“I have to go.” Chase nodded and stepped back.

“Thank you.” I dropped into the driver’s seat and closed the door, then reversed as Chase walked to the curb.

He crouched and wiped his hand in the grass.

I took a shaky breath and drove to the exit.