“I see,” I bite out.
“I’ve updated your schedule accordingly—the class will take your elective spot. If you have any questions, please take it up with my office or the registrar.”
She stands. She’s dismissing me without a discussion.
I swallow down my embarrassment, although my ears feel hot.
Welcome to McKee University.
I take a deep breath and remind myself why I’m here. Degree, then the NFL.
I just have to find a way to get through this class first.
When I arrive at the house, Seb is sitting cross-legged on the floor, untangling a ball of wires. I give him a wave as I set my keys down on the foyer table, then look around the den. Aside from Seb and his mess, there’s not much going on yet, just an L-shaped leather couch, a coffee table, and a TV mounted on the wall. When we decided to rent this place for the year, seeing as all three of us would be at the same university, the listing said it wasn’t furnished. I have a sneaking suspicion about who made this happen.
“Sandra sent it all,” Seb says, gesturing around the room with the ball of wires. “The delivery guys set it up like this, but we could move it if we need to.”
Mom works scary-fast. I’m sure that the moment she heard her boys, the two she carried and the one she adopted, were sharing a house together, she went to Pottery Barn. Lucky for us she has nice taste.
There’s a crash overhead, and we both glance up with a wince.
“He’s doing some redecorating.” Seb says. “How was the meeting?”
I wander into the kitchen. I doubt the fridge is stocked yet, but a guy can hope there’s at least beer. I don’t drink much during the season, but technically we still have a couple days before everything gets in full swing. Lo and behold, there’s a six-pack sitting on one of the shelves next to a container of pineapple and a carton of eggs, and for some reason, a little jar of horseradish.
Seb appears in the doorway as I bring the heel of my hand down on the bottle cap to loosen it. It comes off with a pop. I take a long pull, and I must look as pissed as I feel, because Seb’s brow knits together.
“What happened?”
“The Dean decided to fuck me, that’s what happened. She’s making me retake that writing class.”
“That sounds dumb.”
“It is dumb,” I grumble. “But they looked at my transcripts and saw I failed it at LSU. Back when…”
“Yeah,” Seb says. “I know.”
A twang of hurt runs through me. Last year was a disaster for many reasons, but I miss Sara anyway. I take another sip of my beer, looking around the room. There’s a big dining room table, which reminds me of our home in Port Washington, and the kitchen isn’t half bad. Plenty of space to cook some meals like the athletic trainers suggest. There’s a door to the backyard, which has a fire pit and a couple of Adirondack chairs set up around it. And once Seb has the den set up, we should be able to play some sweet games.
“This is nice,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “So, what did you say?”
“I mean, I couldn’t argue it. I did fail the class.”
“But it’s your senior year. You came here to play football.”
“And graduate.”
Seb sighs. “Yeah. There’s that.”
My parents are amazingly supportive of my football ambitions, in part because Dad played. He knows the grind better than anyone. It was his dream at first, that one of his boys would follow in his footsteps, but it became mine too long ago. Without a shot at playing in the league, my life would feel incomplete. End of story. But we’ve been taught that education is important too, so as much as I’m focused on football, I know I need to get my degree. As talented as Cooper is at hockey, Dad didn’t even let him enter the NHL draft because he was afraid that he’d leave college for the league and never graduate. Following Seb’s dad’s wishes, Seb was drafted for baseball back in high school, but he’s committed to playing all four years here at McKee before figuring out his MLB career path. “You can’t ask your new coach to intervene? He practically stole you from LSU, he wants you here.”
“And be the entitled athlete the Dean thinks I am?”
Seb shrugs, running his fingers through the mop of blond hair on his head. “Maybe you won’t fail this time. Maybe it’ll be easier. Or you’ll just know more since you’ve been taking college classes for a while now.” He grimaces as we hear another crash from upstairs. “And there’s always Cooper.”
“The last time I asked him for help with school, I almost stabbed him. He’s impossible.”
“With a pen.”
“I stand by my actions. It was an attempted stabbing and I’m not sorry.”
Seb sighs. “Well, maybe someone else can tutor you. You can’t fail this.”
“No.” I finish the beer in a few gulps and set it in the sink. The panicky feeling I’ve been fighting since the Dean’s is threatening to make a reappearance. I’m not good at writing. Never have been. Throwing a wrench this big into the year that’s supposed to catapult me into a starting quarterback position is almost as bad as an injury. But an injury I could play through. Grit it out through the season. This? This is out of my depth.
Coop saunters into the kitchen, sweaty and wiping his face with his t-shirt. “Finally got the desk put together. Only took four fucking hours.”
“Aw, look at you,” Seb says sweetly. “Waylaid by a crappy desk.”
He flips Seb the bird without wasting a beat. “So, I have a proposition.”
He stops as he takes in our expressions. Whatever he’s thinking, it probably involves a party, and I don’t know if I have the energy for that right now.
Instead of launching into his speech, his eyes narrow. “Okay, who are we fighting?”
2
BEX
One of the benefits of being a senior in college is first dibs on the dorms, which is how Laura and I got this awesome two-bedroom suite. Kitchenette, living area, private bathroom, bedrooms that aren’t closets… it’s almost enough to make a girl forget that when this year is over, she’ll be back to living over the family diner and spending her days wading through small business hell.
It’s me. I’m the girl.
But currently I’m on the couch, arm dangling almost to the floor, sandals precariously close to falling off. My shift at The Purple Kettle, the on-campus coffee shop, ended a little while ago, and after being on my feet for the stampede of students back for the semester and ready to arm themselves with lattes and cold brew, I’m beat. I’d prefer to be in bed, but Laura insisted on a fashion show. Apparently, the lighting is better in the living room.
“Oh, and I got this cute mini dress,” she calls from her bedroom. “I was thinking about it for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” I say. I already sort-of know the answer, because it has to be a party, but the question is where. A frat? Sorority? Frat-slash-sorority? An off-campus house that’s full of frat bros anyway?
“A party!” Laura crows as she comes out of her room. She’s in high heels that show off her tanned legs to perfection, and her little black dress clings to her curves like tape. For some reason, she has on devil ears and is carrying a little pitchfork. “And before you say you’re not coming, you’re coming.”