“I can’t sign up for classes,” I mutter, avoiding eye contact, dropping another disappointing Monroe bomb. “I failed my last semester.”
My dad stares at me, then walks over to the kitchen where a folder of papers is sitting, neatly stacked. “I know,” he replies, walking back.He does?“I talked to the dean of admissions last week.”Well, shit.“They’re willing to extend a special circumstances readmission to you based on your—” He pauses, looking for the right word. “Situation,” he settles on.
Mysituation.What a joke.
“You’ll be able to re-enroll on Monday. I set up a meeting for you with the admission officer at nine a.m. They’ll go over your options, what classes you’ll be eligible for.” I hang my head, fingers massaging my temple from the hangover headache that was only growing with every second this conversation continued.
I’d only been one semester from graduating when the injury happened. I had been so close.
“This is the last time I can help you. If you skip the meeting, there won’t be another chance.”
He turned away from me to look out of the side windows in the living room. The sun was streaming in now, light filtering through the glass, making rainbows on the carpet. Such a pretty view for such an ugly discussion.
“I love you, Monroe,” he says softly, before leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I call myself an Uber so I can get back to my apartment. It’s five minutes away.
Ding. My phone pings with an email from Dad.
I click it open and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Admissions meeting less than forty-eight hours away. New work schedule, five a.m., Tuesday.
I groan, sinking deeper into the couch.Five a.m.Fuck me.
Panic threatens to choke me out, but I force it down.
Deep breaths. It had never worked before, but my life was already a disaster—maybe, for once, the bullshit breathing techniques my old therapist swore by would actually do something.
In and out.
In and out.
Spoiler—it did not help.
The honk from the Uber brings me out of my trance, and I gather the few things I had with me—phone, wallet, jacket.
The cool January wind kisses my cheeks as I walk out to the expansive front yard. The driver rolls down his window and squints into the sun. “Uber for Monroe?”
“Yup,” I say on an exhale. “That’s me.” Unfortunately.
“Hey,” he says once I get into the back seat. He turns around to look at me, doing a generous once-over. “Aren’t you that figure skater?”
“I requested no conversation in the app,” I say bluntly, without looking up. We drive the twenty minutes back to my apartment in silence.
As the buildings and trees blur past the car in my peripheral vision, I mull over the conversation with my dad, trying to figure out a way out of it. It was end up homeless, call my mother and beg her for money, or take the job my dad had offered. There truly was only one viable option.
And now I had mere hours to sweat the rest of this alcohol out of my system and rejoin the land of the living.
Here we go, Monroe.
Chapter Two
Rhodes
The hit comes fast. I barely register it before my back slams into the boards, rattling my teeth. The metallic taste of blood slides down the back of my throat, and I spit red out onto the ice. My vision goes momentarily black, adrenaline spiking hot in my chest. The ref’s whistle shrieks through the rink. Once. Twice. A third time—but I don’t wait for them to pull the other guy off me. I rip my helmet off, hear it clatter to the ice, and lunge forward.
My fist connects first, smashing into his jaw again and again.