Fake Dates & Ice Skates: (The North University Series Book 1)

“Sorry, what? Could you say that again?” I ask the dean, shaking my head to get my eyes to refocus from the brown walls in the office to her disappointed face.

Maybe taking shots before I came was not the best idea. I was convinced that I was about to get kicked out anyway so I thought one or ten wouldn’t hurt. That’s the same thing I’ve been telling myself for the last three months anyway and nothing bad has happened. Yet. I would rather be kicked out than hear whatever Dean Hackerly is saying right now.

“What is wrong with you kids today? Are there some intoxicating fumes radiating off the ice that’s effecting your hearing? You are the fourth person today to ask me to repeat myself,” the dean snaps.

Jesus. What’s her problem? I heard once that if you don’t know how to answer something, asking the person to repeat themselves is a good way to buy yourself some time. Judging on my first try of this so-called genius tip, I make a mental note not to do it again.

“Maybe you should talk louder,” I whisper, not fully registering why. I know I shouldn’t have said it when Coach Tucker glares from his seat next to me.

For reasons I can’t explain, all I can do is stare at the photos dotted around the office. The muddy brown colour of the walls is sickly but the family pictures she has in her frames are doing weird things to my chest. Not in a Mommy Issues kind of way — well, sort of — but more in a curious way. There’s one girl in nearly all her photos, around my age, blonde and fucking gorgeous. Everywhere I look I feel like her green eyes are following me. Drinking only makes me forgetful and terribly horny. I can only blame myself for that.

“Mr Tucker and I were saying that we think it’s best for you to stay off the ice for a while.” The deans voice brings me back to reality. This is probably the third time she has said it, but it still doesn’t feel real. “We’ve noticed a slip in your grades and in your performance since…” She hesitates but the three people in this room know what she is about to say so she doesn’t.

I don’t know what I would do if I heard someone else say his name again, soaked with remorse. Yet, I can’t tell which is worse — actually saying it or being too afraid to. I think I prefer the latter. I shift in my seat uncomfortably, my jersey suddenly feeling like it’s suffocating me. I force myself to breathe but it only makes the gnawing feeling worse.

“I know. I said I would get back into it when we last spoke. I really am trying,” I say, trying my best to explain myself which is only half a lie.

I did say I would work better on myself but the part of actually doing it hasn’t been working out so well. I quit my job at Nero’s so I could focus on school and hockey, but I’ve not done either of those things. It’s easy to say you’ll stop drinking after having one more. Just one. It’s also just as easy to delay and delay assignments that were due months before everything happened. I know it’s sick to use the grief card but at times I feel like I can’t get anything done without thinking of him. Even then, when the memories come back, everything else is discarded and I allow myself to cry and rage.

“Listen, Miles, we know you miss him. We all do, but you’ve had a few weeks off the ice and out of class. We hoped that you’d back into playing but it’s been three weeks since the semester started and I’ve not seen you down at the rink once,” Coach says, flashing me the same sympathetic grin everyone has been since it happened.

I don’t protest because it’s true. The last time I was on that rink, I had just finished playing one of my best games with my favourite people. Since then, I’ve not been fully there on the ice, constantly spacing out until I get put on the bench then I stopped going all together. The thought of going out there again, without him, felt like going to sleep knowing you will have a nightmare. Like knowingly bringing a knife to a gun fight.

I’m not going to put myself in that position, freak about and embarrass myself, because I could never show my face again. Instead, I’ve spent the better half of three months holed up in my bedroom with a mini fridge stocked with beer. I know it’s pathetic and as Evan says, ‘It’s not cute anymore.’ He’s right but what else can I do? I’m sure that if I get back on the ice, my legs will become languid, and I’ll have to crawl off.

“It’s just hard, Coach. I am trying,” I say again, a lot quieter and less ballsy than I started out.

“I know you are, Davis, but I need committed and healthy players on my team. When you’re ready to come back, there will be a spot waiting for you.”

“I understand.” I try to keep my head up as high as I can.

I can do this right? An extended vacation is what this is. The guys would kill to have some more time off instead of battling it out in the rink. I’ll spend a little more time drinking and then I’ll get back to training and studying. As soon as I can get him out of my head. People do this all the time. They lose someone, grieve, and they get over it. Somehow.

My chair whines against the floor as I get up out of my seat, taking a last glance at the girl in the photo. Hackerly winces when the uncomfortable sound reaches her.

“Oh, and Miles, in the meantime please take up some extra studying and make sure you’re attending all your classes. You can attend hockey practice if you would like but it is not mandatory. You will notice that you have plenty of time to spend on the other half of your course.”

I smile through gritted teeth and nod, knowing it’s better to hold my tongue. There go my plans.

*

I get home to a chaotic house, but I was expecting nothing less.

My housemates, Xavier and Evan could not be more opposite. I am too but I’m more accustomed to Xavier’s lifestyle more than Evan’s. In the way that Xavier enjoys hockey and is one of our best players on our team and that Evan despises hockey and would rather sit naked on a hot grill than hear us talk about it. Which is what he probably feels like every day in this house.

Unfortunately for him, Evan transferred from Drayton a few weeks into the first semester last year and Carter, Xavier and I’s bubble was burst after thinking we had the whole house to ourselves. Evan is only majoring in one subject which is Business and Fashion. According to his first rant of many when he got here, it is the most competitive course to get into at NU.

What he failed to mention is that he probably used his daddy’s money to get him in on such late notice. He had to stay with us because his parents are apparently teaching him a lesson about responsibility. Xavier and I were lucky enough to get in on a scholarship to play hockey but unlike Xavier, if I fail my classes and my scholarship is removed, I can’t pay my way into staying on. It’s hockey and four classes a week or nothing.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out that the loud noises are coming from them, most likely caught in another stupid argument.

“You can’t put this disgusting cheese next to my shakes. It’s vile,” I hear Xavier yell as I cross the living room into the kitchen.

“Well, where am I supposed to put them with your boiled eggs in every square inch of the fridge!” Evan shouts back.

I suppress my laugh and make my presence known as I come into their view. As expected, Xavier is stood in nothing but his sweatpants with his dreadlocks falling crazily on his shoulders. Evan is casually wearing a suit and tie on a Friday night because he either has nothing to do or is on his way to one of his family’s galas.

“Honeys, I’m home!” I announce and when Xavier’s eyes meet mine his shoulders relax.

“Oh, thank God. I was about to strangle him,” he grits out, making his way over to dap me up.

“Don’t let me stop you,” I mock. I gesture towards Evan, bowing down to him. “How are you your highness?”

He flips me off before brushing his hand through his blonde hair. If he thought the royalty jokes were over by now, he has another thing coming. He doesn’t seem to fit into this house at all. He’s always upstaging us with his glamours outfits for ridiculous occasions. I don’t mind it, though. He’s probably the reason why this house is still on all its legs.

“I’d be fucking perfect if you could tell him to stop putting eggs in the fridge,” Evan groans, looking as if this argument has been going on for hours. Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but I think better than to question it.

“This might not be my house anymore, so I shouldn’t be barking out orders,” I reply, trying to make light of my situation as I pluck a beer from behind him. I slide off the cap and take a swig, letting the cooling sensation run through me.

“What do you mean? Is that why you were with Hacks?” Xavier asks. I hate that he was the one to shorten the deans name to that. He always shortens any word that comes out of his mouth. It’s almost as if he can’t bear to say words that are more than three syllables long.

“Yeah, apparently her and coach decided that I can’t play until I’m doing better in my class and doing better overall,” I sigh, leaning against the countertop.

“Shit. That sucks,” Evan says, dipping crackers into his weird cheese. Xavier and I look at it at the same time and our eyes connect. I put my tongue in my cheek to force myself not to burst out laughing.

“Yeah, we can’t lose our best player,” Xavier adds. “I was gonna to ask if you wanted to go Ryan’s party tonight but if you’re bummed out, we can chill here. Which is kinda what we’ve been doing all summer.”

I think about it for a minute. I could go and enjoy myself and stop thinking for once or sit at home and wallow in my own pity and think about him. I know which one will be more fun. And I need to have some sort of interaction with humans that aren’t either eating strange cheese or topless before I start to lose my sanity.