It was ten minutes before Harper walked through that door and ruined his entire understanding of how people reacted to him.
Miles had been sitting in the same chair, listening to Coach Reyes, lay out exactly how bad things had gotten and why he needed Harper’s help.
“Two-point-one,” Reyes had said, sliding a printout across the desk like it was something that might bite.
“Your GPA.
Two-point-one, Miller.
The eligibility cutoff is two-five.
You understand what that means?” He’d understood it the moment the email from the Dean’s office had landed in his inbox three days ago‚ subject line URGENT‚ like someone had hit the big black alarm button behind his ribs․ He understood it like you understand checking a guy half a second too late and watching the puck slide past your own net that sick‚ immediate knowledge that something important had just slipped through your hands and there was no getting it back․ “I understand‚” he said․ “Do you?” Reyes had leaned back, arms crossed, looking at him with the particular exhaustion of a man who had said this same speech to this same kid more times than either of them wanted to count.
“Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve been coasting on talent since September.
You think the scouts care about your shot if the school pulls your eligibility?
You think the draft cares about a kid who can’t stay on the roster?” No.
Miles knew exactly what the scouts cared about.
He’d spent his entire life learning precisely what people cared about when it came to him the shot, the speed, the way he read the ice like he’d been born already knowing it.
Nobody had ever once asked him to be good at anything else.
His father certainly hadn’t.
His father had built an entire childhood around one single, narrow definition of enough, and Miles had spent twenty-one years trying to outrun the fact that hockey was the only place he ever belonged to.
“I have it handled, coach.” He said that because that was the only thing he would say in situations like this.
“No you don’t Miles, if your grades don’t change to being better, you will lose the spot to the NHL.” Reyes said flatly.
“Which is why you won’t turn down the Dean’s offer.” Miles had laughed at that actually laughed, the kind of easy, unbothered sound that came naturally to him in almost every situation, because somewhere underneath the panic he genuinely believed that whoever they sent his way would be exactly like every other person assigned to handle him.
Charmed within five minutes.
Annoyed within ten, but the good kind of annoyed, the kind that came with a smile she was trying not to let him see.
He had no idea, sitting there, just how wrong he was about to be.
When the door opened‚ however‚ everything was different‚ and the way Reyes straightened himself‚ the way his voice went crisp and official‚ drew Mile’s eye more out of curiosity than anything else․ But it was watching him that the interest turned into something entirely different․ She stood in the doorway like she’d walked into the wrong meeting and was deciding whether it was worth the effort to leave․ Her hair was straight as a die‚ businesslike‚ slicked back tight‚ not a strand out of place‚ like even her hair had been instructed to behave․ But she had zipped her jacket all the way up to her chin‚ despite the radiator clanking in the corner of the office․ Miles had been looking at a lot of ways in his life.
Hungry ways.
Hopeful ways.
The specific, glittering way certain girls looked at him at parties like he was a prize they’d already half-won.
He knew every variation by heart.
He’d never been looked at like this before․ Like she’d already decided exactly what kind of person he was before he’d opened his mouth‚ and none of it was good․ Something inside his chest sat up and took notice․ “Harper,” Reyes said.
“Good.
You’re early.
We were just talking about you.” She looked at Miles then‚ quick and sharp and entirely unimpressed․ Most people’s eyes landed somewhere around his jaw or his shoulders or the team logo stitched over his heart‚ but Harper was different‚ and with it came that laser-like intensity․ Hers didn’t snag on anything․ She looked at him like he was a math problem she was annoyed to discover wasn’t going to solve itself․ But he grinned anyway․ It was the only language he was fluent in․ “Well‚” he said‚ low‚ pleased‚ sitting up a little straighter in the chair like the day had just gotten considerably more interesting․ “Look who it is․” “You must be the tutor‚” he added‚ when she didn’t say anything‚ when she just stood there in the doorway with her arms crossing slowly over her chest like she was building a wall in real time․ “Coach didn’t mention you’d be cute․” Her jaw tightened.
“I must be in the wrong office.” “No‚” Reyes said‚ with the weary patience of a man who’d clearly had a version of this exact conversation more times than he cared to admit․ “You’re exactly where you need to be․ Harper‚ this is Miles Miller․ Miles‚ Harper Jones․ Top of her class․ Reading review last semester․ She’s going to be keeping you alive academically for the rest of the semester․” “Keeping me alive‚” Miles said‚ and tilted the words off his tongue‚ as if they were the funniest thing he’d heard all week․ “I like that․ Dramatic․ I respect it․” “I haven’t agreed to anything․” “She’s a firecracker‚” he said to Reyes while keeping his eyes on her‚ and she raised her chin half an inch‚ as if she could feel exactly how much that comment was meant to needle her․ “Miller.” Reyes’s voice sharpened, the warning tone of a man holding a leash he was tired of holding.
“One more bad grade and the Dean pulls your eligibility.
No eligibility, no scholarship.
No scholarship, no draft.
I don’t think I have to spell out what comes after that.” For half a second, something cold moved through Miles’s chest the real shape of it, underneath all the noise, the actual size of what he stood to lose.
He let it show for exactly as long as it took to blink‚ then buried it the way he buried everything under the easy grin that had never once failed him․ “Relax‚ Coach‚” he said․ “I’ve got a tutor now.” He looked back at her, let the look land somewhere warmer than he probably should have.
“Don’t I?” She didn’t answer right away.
He watched her weigh it watched the math happen behind her eyes, some calculation he wasn’t part of and was suddenly, intensely curious about.
Fine‚” she said finally‚ clipped‚ like the word cost her something․ “Library․ Tuesday seven o’clock․ Don’t be late‚ and don’t make me regret this․” Something new unfolded in his chest‚ not quite triumph‚ not quite anything he had a name for yet․ He stood‚ unfolded from the chair‚ and crossed the distance between them without quite having decided to‚ close enough that she had to tip her chin up to keep looking him in the eye instead of anywhere more convenient․ “I didn’t get your name‚” he said‚ quieter now‚ just for her․He had already heard what her name was but he needed to hear it from her instead.
“You don’t need it․” She stepped back, putting air between them, and something about the way she said it flat, final, like she’d built that wall years before she ever walked into this office made him want to take it down brick by brick just to see what was underneath.
“I’m not one of your fans‚” she said‚ and before he could reply she was already down the hall with that quick‚ furious stride‚ like she couldn’t get out of the building fast enough․ But Miles just stood in the doorway‚ protein bar now presumably somewhere on Reyes’s desk as a slow smile spread across his unguarded face‚ not even trying to hide it․ She hadn’t told him her name yet․ She didn’t have to.
He’d find out everything he needed to know about Harper Jones soon enough and standing there, watching her disappear around the corner like she couldn’t wait to be rid of him, Miles already knew, with absolute certainty, that he was going to enjoy every single second of finding out.