Ice Cold Obsession

04

Isaac

Coach Barrett has been talking for eight minutes. I know because I've been counting the seconds on the clock behind his head instead of listening to a single word coming out of his mouth.

"—and that's the third time this semester Coleman. The third time."

"I heard you the first time."

"Then act like it." He drops a stack of papers on the desk between us. My transcript was marked with red ink everywhere like someone bled on it. "You're failing two classes.

"Midterms are in three weeks," I say. "I'll pull the grades up."

"You said that last semester."

"And I did."

"You got a C-minus."

"A C-minus is passing."

Coach Barrett stares at me. He's got that look he gets before he benches someone. I've known him since I was fourteen. He recruited me off a field in the Bronx when nobody else would look twice at me. That used to mean something but lately it just means he thinks he owns me.

"A C-minus is not passing for the captain of this team," he says slowly, like I'm a child. " If these scores don’t improve, you’re going to lose your captaincy.”

I stare at coach, wondering if he’s finally lost his mind. “Are you serious right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Coleman?”

I drag a hand through my hair, already regretting coming to his office.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

I'm on my feet before I decide to be the chair scraping back hard against the floor. "You'd really do that? After everything I've done for this team? I've carried us for two seasons. Two seasons, Coach. Nobody else on that field shows up the way I do."

"That's exactly my point." He stands too. We're the same height which has always annoyed both of us. "You think because you're good, the rules don't apply. That's not leadership Coleman that’s a f*****g a liability."

"Don't call me a liability."

"Then stop acting like one."

I don’t say anything but stare at him like he’s lost his mind for even thinking that way.

He lets out a frustrated breath, taking off his glasses. “Listen Coleman, I don't care how talented you are on the ice. You’re the captain of this team, and that position comes with responsibilities.”

“You think I don’t know what being captain means.” I snap my jaw tightening.

I’ve spent years working for that position. Every early morning practice, every bruised rib, every game where I’ve pushed myself beyond exhaustion has been for a reason. Being captain isn’t just a title I get to put beside my name. It's something I’ve earned and I won’t let anyone take it away from me.

But apparently, Coach thinks my grades are more important than everything I’ve done on the ice.

“Coleman—“

“I can’t believe you’re seriously threatening to take away my captaincy because of a few grades?” I ask.

“I’m telling you that if you don’t get your academics together I’ll have no choice.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Watch your language.”

I hissed in frustration. “Maybe you should focus on coaching the team instead of worrying about what I do outside the rink.”

His expression hardens. “And maybe you should remember that you wouldn’t have a team to captain if the school decided you weren’t meeting their academic requirements.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “I’m done with this conversation.”

I walk out ignoring the rest of the things he had to say with the door slamming harder than I mean it to.

The hallway outside the gym is empty except for my footsteps. I shove my hands into my pockets and head toward the main building, the anger still hot in my chest, burning a hole through everything I look at.

I'm halfway across the courtyard when someone small collides with me.

Not bumps.

Her small figure collided straight into my chest like I'm a wall they didn't see coming making me stagger half a step.

A hoodie—black, too big, pulled up over their head as she stumbles back and a bag slips off her shoulder, spilling notebooks across the pavement.

"What the hell—" I start. "Watch where you're going."

"I'm sorry." Her quit voice says as she crouch to gather her books with her hood still up and her face mostly hidden. "I'm really sorry, I wasn't looking—"

"No kidding." I hissed, not sure why I'm being this way but I do know the anger has to go somewhere and there's a small figure in a hoodie right in front of me. "You just walk around blind all day? That how you do things here?"

"I said I was sorry."

She's still crouching still gathering her stuffs . My voice rises. "And I heard you the first time but know how many people walk through here every day? Maybe pay attention to where you're—"

"I said I was sorry." She snaps standing up making her hood fall back.

I froze.

Because her eyes, f**k! They're brown dark brown, almost black and something about the shape of them, the way they hold mine without flinching, makes the back of my brain sit up and pay attention like there’s a name on the tip of my tongue I used to know and can't place anymore.

I know those eyes I don't know how or where but I was certain they looked familiar. I can tell she’s trying to get around me.

Normally, I’d let it go.

Today isn’t one of those days.

"Where do you think you’re going?" I say the words come back to me but they sound stupid now.

“Look I don’t want any trouble, I said I’m sorry” she mumbles, refusing to meet my gaze.

“Do you always walk around with your head buried in the clouds, or is today a special occasion?” I say making her shoulders stiffen.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She looks at me for a moment before glancing down at the books in her arms. I expect another apology, maybe an awkward excuse but instead she lets out a quiet breath.

“Right. Well I already apologised, so unless you want me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness I think we’re done here.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s your problem?”

She looks up again. “Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

I let out a humourless scoff. “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? Does it hurt your feelings?”

I stare at her.

For someone who looks like she could disappear inside that oversized hoodie, she certainly has a lot to say.

“You’re the one who walked into me.” I remind incase she’d forgotten.

“And I’ve apologised. I’m not sure what else you expect me to do or you’d prefer I write you a formal letter?”

I clench my jaw. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

Her eyes move over my face, then briefly towards the hockey bag hanging from my shoulder. “No, actually. Should I?”

I almost laugh.

Almost.

Most people at Westbridge know who I am. Being captain of the hockey team comes with a certain amount of attention and I’m used to people recognising me before I even introduce myself.

Apparently this girl missed that memo.

“Look puck head or I have somewhere to be. Some of us actually have classes to attend instead of standing in corridors picking fights.”

I stare at her momentarily speechless. “I’m not picking a fight.”

“Really? Because you’ve been shouting at me since I apologised. I’d hate to see what you consider picking a fight.”

I take a step forward more out of irritation than anything else. “You’ve got quite an attitude for someone who can’t even watch where she’s going.”

“And you’ve got quite an ego for someone who thinks the entire school should stop breathing whenever he walks past.”

That shuts me up.

She doesn’t wait for a response. Instead she moves around me with her shoulder brushing mine as she passes. “Have a lovely day, Puck head.”

I turn my head watching her walk away.

Who the hell is she?