Coach Kingston's Price

Chapter 3

AMARA POV

I hadn't planned on saying anything to Jada until I was sure my voice wouldn't shake first. Ever since that email, everything felt balanced on the edge of a blade one wrong word, one wrong step, and the whole thing could tip into something I couldn't undo. I kept hearing Coach Kingston's voice reciting my GPA out loud like a verdict, and it made my stomach twist all over again.

Jada dropped onto the bench beside me, her eyes already narrowed with the kind of concern that meant she wasn't going to let me pretend I was fine. I opened my mouth to explain everything at once — the coach, the deadline, the number I couldn't outrun but only one sentence actually made it out.

"Talk about the butterfly effect," I said.

“What?"

The sound of Jada's voice made me realize I had zoned out for a bit.

I simply shook my head. "I'm just thinking," I told her.

"About the recent email?" She sat next to me.

"There's no way Coach would want to help me," I scratched my knee, thinking about all the bills I needed to pay. "I can't promise I'll focus on my studies again. I have jobs. All of this is overwhelming." I took a deep breath.

Jada stayed silent. She had probably exhausted every word of encouragement. If she could help, I knew she would. But Jada wasn't having it easy either. Thank God she had parents who had saved some college money for her. But it was never enough. Tuition fees in the US cost an arm and a leg, even Jada had a side hustle.

"If I lose the scholarship, I can work full-time at the diner," I said, staring blankly at the ceiling of Jada's small off-campus apartment. "Maybe pick up a fourth job- cleaning offices at night."

"And how are you going to pay off your tuition balance?" Jada asked, setting two plates of mac and cheese on the table. "Plus your mom's chemotherapy? Babes, be for real. Just graduating isn't the goal. You have to finish, and you have to finish well."

I covered my face with both hands, letting out a long sigh. "I need to find something on Maddox Kingston," I said softly. "Leverage. Something that would get me on his good side."

Jada picked up her plate. "The man should have hobbies, right?" I picked up Jada's laptop, which was right on the bed, and searched his name on Google.

"Hmm. He's a big shot!" Jada exclaimed, dropping her plate and tucking her curly hair behind her ear.

We read through Maddox Kingston's Wikipedia biography, and I couldn't help but feel impressed. "Aged 31, born in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Olympic Gold Medalist with Team Canada"

" The man comes from money!" Jada said out aloud. "Talk about a man who has it all.”

I pulled a disgusted face when she said those words. "Please don't tell me you're one of his many admirers?"

"What's there not to like? The man is fine as hell. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't say no if he asked me out."

I said nothing to that. I had already fallen for his good looks one drunken night, and I didn't think I ever wanted to talk about it.

"Look at this," I pointed at an article on the screen. "The cold ice legend with a passion for fine art."

Jada turned to me. "Are you sure it's the same Kingston?"

"Apparently, Sub-Zero paints, and he's a collector too."

According to the article, Maddox didn't just collect art. He spent his free time drawing and painting. I stared at his dark image on the screen and my heart skipped a little.

"Now that I think about it, he has an original oil painting in his office," Jada informed me. "I saw it when I walked past yesterday."

"Did you see the name?"

She shook her head. "Sorry," she muttered.

I'd have preferred going there armed with some art knowledge.

"You just have to go to his office after hours. Apologize for talking back on the ice, compliment his painting, and show him you're respectful. Build a little rapport before you ask him to give you a fair evaluation."

"What if he's not there?" I asked her.

"I heard he stays there late. Just go," Jada encouraged. "Your future is on the line right now. Try to forget he's been an ass."

I could only nod. It sounded like a desperate plan, but right now, I didn't have much of a choice. At seven o'clock that evening, I returned to campus. The athletic building was completely dead and the long hallways were quiet.

As I made my way toward the coaches' corridor, I rehearsed everything I was going to say. I could only pray it would go well. The light was on beneath Maddox's office door. I stopped outside, taking a deep breath and wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans. Just thinking about the conversation I was about to have made my stomach turn, but I knocked anyway.

"Enter," his voice came from inside.

I pushed the door open and found Maddox behind his desk, staring intently into the MacBook screen in front of him. I noticed how his eyes lit up when he lifted his gaze, and he gently closed the computer as he leaned back in his chair.

"Miss Voss. You are the last person I imagined walking through those doors," he said flatly, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "What can I do for you?"

His sleeves were rolled up, and I couldn't stop myself from staring at his exposed, thick forearms. The veins running down them made my imagination run wild, but that wasn't why I came.

"I came to apologize, Coach," I started, forcing my voice to sound calm and respectful. "For my attitude on the ice yesterday morning. I was tired and out of line. It won't happen again."

Maddox leaned back again, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked me over, but still didn't say a word. The silence in the office was suffocating. And who would have thought anyone's gaze could make me feel so self-conscious? I was suddenly conscious of what I was wearing. Maybe I should've worn something that wasn't a knitted sweater. And I should've double-checked if my ponytail was actually in the middle of my head.

Desperate to fill the quiet, my eyes shifted to the large canvas hanging on the wall. It was a moody, dark portrait of a dancer bathed in soft shadow. "That's a beautiful piece," I added quickly, trying to sound natural. "Is it an original? The light contrast on the figure is incredible."

Maddox looked at the painting, then back at me. I noticed that smirk again on his lips, but his eyes gave nothing away. "This doesn't exactly suit you," he commented, and I felt deflated.

"I know why you're here, Miss Voss," he said, now drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Your life is falling apart and you want me to fix it."

I nearly scoffed at those words. He was probably right, but the way he put it made me consider walking out. But I stayed put, forcing a small smile. "Please help me, Sir. I can't lose this scholarship. I'll do anything," I quickly added. "Please."

He was quiet for a moment, then he got up, dipping his hands into his pockets as he came around to the other side of the desk, sitting on the edge of it. "I can't grade you strictly by your performance, Miss Voss, and I doubt you'd be able to boost your grades by the end of next week."

My heart sank when I heard those words, but I wasn't about to take no for an answer.

"What do we do?" I asked, and that smirk returned, his gaze shifting to the painting on the wall.

"That's not my work," he informed me. "I'm more of a figure painter. What do you know about that?"

"Uhh ... An artist who specializes in painting people?" I answered, not sure why we were discussing his hobby at this point.

"People, the human figure, same difference," he said and then leaned forward. "I'll make you a proposal."

My ears perked up when I heard that. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like this.

"I'm working on a new series of figure studies, but I haven't found a model with the right physique," his gaze dropped down my body. "Remembering the night we shared together, I think you have the figure I need."

My lips parted as my brain tried to register everything he'd just said.

Wait, he recognized me?

"You didn't think I didn't recognize you, did you?" He read my mind. "You have a face that's quite hard to forget, Miss Voss. And I think your body is a work of art that I'd like to recreate on a canvas."

I shifted my weight on one foot, blinking hard as I thought of the best way to respond. "What exactly are you asking of me?"

"I want you to be my nude model for a month," he answered casually. "In return, I'll pay you ten thousand dollar. You can quit working and focus on your studies. And I will sign a glowing evaluation for the athletic board."

By the time he was done talking, my shoulders were shaking from laughter. I looked up at him, and his dark gaze forced me to straighten. Now, I was embarrassed. I couldn't believe how he was taking advantage of my situation. "Look," I started seriously, "just because we had s*x once doesn't give you the right to ask me to stand naked in front of you.”

"Nude modeling," he corrected.

"f**k that! I'd rather leave this school than become your personal stripper. What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled in his face.

"The offer stands until this time tomorrow," he completely ignored my outburst. "You have twenty-four hours to decide if your pride is worth more than your future. Good night, Miss Voss."

Without letting me respond, he walked back to his seat, returning his attention to that computer screen. I stood there for half a minute, wishing I could smack him across the face, but he didn't even spare me a glance. Furious, I walked out of there, slamming the door on my way out.

I took the bus home that evening, ignoring Jada's texts about how the meeting went with Maddox. My phone began to ring, and when I stared at the screen, I saw that it was Preston.

"Why haven't I blocked him yet?" I muttered under my breath, ending the call and blocking his number. The phone rang again the next minute, and I was so sure that it was Preston using a different number to call me.

However, when I glanced at the screen, I was surprised to see that it was actually my brother calling. He almost never called, unless there was an emergency. My heart skipped at the thought, but I picked up anyway.

"Eli?" I called into the phone.

"Amara? Where are you?" He sounded panicked.

"Calm down, Elias. What's wrong?"

"It's Mom," he cried. "She's coding! The doctors said her organs are failing and they need us to make some payments before they can do anything for her."

His voice suddenly sounded like white noise, and I could hear my own heart beating, the sound thumping in my head. "Amara? Are you there!" Eli's voice came again.

"But I don't have any money," I finally replied, but the words came out as a whisper.

I ended the call and looked out the window. The bus hadn't gone far, so I asked the driver to stop. Rushing out of the bus, I began running, sprinting back to campus. I had no choice. It was either my pride or my mother's life, and I wasn't ready to lose the woman who gave up her dreams just to be a mother. Tears poured down my eyes as I ran. People stared, getting out of the way so I wouldn't bump into them. As if the heavens could hear my sobs, the sky rumbled, and just as I arrived at the parking lot outside the big sports complex, it began to rain.