Page 7

Chapter

Six

The Den was already packed by the time we got there—shoulder to shoulder with undergrads, grad students, and a few profs pretending they weren’t too old to be there.

The scent of greasy onion rings and spilled Kokanee flooded my senses.

String lights dangled low over sticky tables, and the guy on the mic was trying to be funny between questions, but the sound system cut out every third word.

I might’ve been the only one who thought it was a fun exercise to try to decipher his code.

Crystal grabbed an answer sheet and a pencil then shoved past a table full of econ guys to reach our seats in the back, her pink hair bouncing with every step.

“If we don’t win tonight, I’m blaming the reverb.

” She dropped onto the bench across from me and immediately dug into the chili fries that the waiter had dropped off moments before.

Sharla tossed her short, dark bob out of her eyes and unzipped her fitted hoodie with flair. “I swear they changed their chili recipe. It used to have more kick.”

I laughed. “Maybe you’ve acquired a tolerance.” Sharla shrugged, then hopped up and switched sides of the booth, creating a two-on-one situation, and my face scrunched. “I don’t even get a warm-up period?”

Sharla shook her head. “Nope. Spill.”

The mic screeched, and the host barked, “Round one! Canadian history!”

Crystal smoothed the answer sheet and brandished the pencil. “We can do both.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay, so, you know I was going to offer to tutor Axel and Rory?” Their heads bobbed like baby birds. “Well, I went to Chase and?—”

“Which Canadian Prime Minister served the shortest term?” the host barked. It sounded more like “Which Can— ime— inister— served th— ortest ter?—?”

I answered without hesitation. “Charles Tupper. Sixty-nine days.”

Crystal stared at me, then scratched the answer on the sheet as I continued.

“I offered to help, Chase made it weird?—”

“Weird, how?” Sharla pushed her hair behind her ears.

“I don’t know? He asked what my last name was, and at first I thought he was just being an ass, but then when he was fixing my car?—”

“He fixed your car?” Crystal’s eyes were wide.

I blew out a breath and started in chronological order.

I told them about the brief meeting with Chase in his office, the invitation from my math professor, the first committee meeting that evening, and the excitement with my Rabbit and Chase in the parking lot—all while throwing out answers about our great nation’s history.

“That all happened this week?” Sharla flattened her back against the bench.

“Mostly today.” I sighed. “Here’s the thing. There’s this—I don’t know, this?—”

“Sexual tension?” Crystal raised an eyebrow.

I shook my head. “No, it’s not that.” She gave me another look, and I scoffed, “I get that Chase is hot, okay? Yes, I find him attractive. What girl wouldn’t? But it’s not that. He’s like—I don’t know, even when he was living with us, there was something—” I stopped mid-sentence.

Our waiter came to the table to collect our answer sheet and handed us a new one as the host announced the next subject. Movie quotes.

I barely noticed. “He’s a puzzle,” I murmured.

“Hm?” Sharla leaned in.

I looked between the two of them. “That’s what it is.

Chase has never made sense. He’s a puzzle I can’t figure out, and that doesn’t happen to me.

” That’s exactly what it was. He always acted so cool, so collected.

He always got what he wanted, and yet he didn’t seem .

. . happy. There was something brewing beneath the surface, something stormy behind his eyes. It didn’t make any sense.

The host barked out, “You're not perfect, sport. And let me save you the suspense: this girl you met? She’s not perfect either.”

I answered robotically, “ Good Will Hunting. ”

_____

The next day on my lunch break, I sat with Chase in the atrium of the hockey arena. Outside his office. In plain sight on the well-worn industrial couches next to the windows across from the ticket booth.

It turned out he was able to find my email address. "What exactly is a compliance coach?" I asked to break the awkward silence.

Chase tapped his pen against the desk. "I'm a coach. With the responsibility of making sure the players stay compliant."

I gave him a look, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Hilarious."

Chase's eyes narrowed with a hint of amusement. "What exactly are you getting at, Maddie?"

"Madelyn."

His lips pinched, and he watched me a moment. Just as my cheeks started to heat, he said, "Did I do something to piss you off?"

Was he really asking that question? Either he was self-absorbed enough to be completely oblivious, or he was dumber than I thought.

"No. I think it was completely reasonable for my math professor to invite me to be on a compliance committee after a week of not hearing a word from you about my offer to tutor the players.”

Chase’s eyes widened a fraction.

I continued, “I guess that's why I'm asking this question. Because I thought a compliance coach would have jumped all over that. It's your job to help your players be successful. I offered help, and you did nothing about it."

"So you're mad I didn't ask you to be on the committee?" He looked at me like I was throwing a temper tantrum.

"No, Coach Wilson. I'm not mad. Just confused."

"So you want an explanation?"

"Only if you want to give it." So far, this conversation felt like trying to peel gum off the bottom of my shoe.

"I didn't invite you to be on the committee because, A, I wasn't aware we were inviting students, and, B.” He held his breath, then exhaled in a rush. “I think the committee is bullshit."

I raised an eyebrow. "Again, you're the compliance coach?—"

"My job is to get these kids playing." Chase leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers together.

"Right. By helping get their grades up?—"

"No. By badgering administration until they lower their expectations."

My brows pinched. "What?" Was he messing with me again?

"I get that to an idealist like you?—"

"I'm not an idealist."

"Maddie—sorry, Madelyn—you offered to tutor students for free, out of the goodness of your heart."

I wet my lips. "Yes."

"And?"

"And what? Did you really not listen to a word I said when I came into your office?"

"I was a little distracted. It was unexpected?—"

"Okay, whatever. I was trying to explain to you that I was looking for an opportunity to serve and lead here at Douglas because I'm applying for a scholarship."

He gave a slow nod, relaxing back in his seat. "Right. Okay. So you're not altruistic?"

"I'm not not altruistic. I still want to help them. Axel and Rory are my friends. And don't change the focus here. Are you saying that your job is to try and skirt the rules instead of supporting the players?"

He glanced around like I’d yelled it. "You won't find it in my job description. But that's what compliance coaches do."

"And you're okay with this?"

"It's my job."

"What, you had no other options?"

Something flickered behind Chase's eyes, and my stomach dropped. Maybe he didn't have any other options. I knew nothing about Chase's life. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean?—"

"I had plenty of options, and I chose to take this one, where I get to be an asshole and fight with school administration.

Is that what you want to hear?" He flipped open the cover on his notebook.

"What can I write down that will make the committee feel as if we're supporting our student athletes?

You should know since you're so good at brownnosing. "

I ignored the immature dig. "Why don't you care about them getting their grades up?"

"It's not that I don't care."

"Then what? It seems like this committee could be a great thing."

"A great thing for who?"

I scoffed. "For your players. Their whole life isn't just going to be hockey. This education could be life-changing for them."

"Assuming they want it to be."

"Who doesn't want to have a good education?"

"See? Idealist." Chase rose from his chair and walked to the window, leaning back against the sill with his hands in his pockets. "When you were in high school, what was your plan?"

I folded my arms across my chest. "To get good grades and go to a good university."

Chase held out his hands. "And look, you've accomplished it.” He paused a moment, and I started to fidget with the strap on my backpack. “Do you want to know what my plan was, Maddie?”

“Madelyn."

He ignored the correction. "My plan was to make it to the NHL." He gave a dramatic look to the right and then to the left. "Does it seem like that worked out for me?"

I pursed my lips. Nope. It did not. I didn’t say it out loud.

Chase’s expression sobered. "Some of us aren’t built for school, and we've known that since kindergarten. Some of us pushed through because it was what we had to do in order to do the thing we really wanted, which was to play hockey.

“All of those guys out there—your friends—they don't play for a university team because that was their plan. All of them wanted to play Juniors. All of them wanted to make it to the AHL. All of them wanted to be drafted by a professional team by now.

"This is their backup plan. Madelyn. So if any of them are desperate to get a B or even an A in calculus, I'd be more than happy to support them in that. But I can tell you right now that none of them probably give a shit."

I drew a deep breath, working to slow my pulse. "Well, maybe they should give a shit." I couldn't believe I was swearing in front of a faculty member, but he did it first.

Chase breathed a laugh. "Yeah. Well, my goal is to get them on the ice. Let them do the thing they love. After this, they're not going to have nearly as many opportunities."

My mind spun as a piece of the puzzle that was Chase Wilson clicked into place. He hadn’t gotten everything he wanted. In high school, he’d sailed through. He’d been the hockey star, he’d gotten the girl, he’d moved out and become a legend—the guy who was going to make it big.

I cleared my throat. "But these guys are going to need to provide for themselves."

"You don’t think they can provide for themselves with a C in calculus?” Chase asked dryly. “You know them better than I do. Do you see any of them going on to win a Nobel prize?”

My jaw tensed.

Chase pushed off the windowsill. “These restrictions are meant for administrators to feel good about themselves.

They're not meant for the players." He dropped back onto the couch and picked up his notebook.

“So. What would you like to recommend to appease Lamont and get Rory and Axel back on the ice?”