"An audit?" Knox’s voice was sharp as he stood up from the bed and stared at my laptop screen. "Tomorrow at nine?"
"Yes," I replied, my voice rising in panic as I pointed to the glowing screen. "And it specifically says you have to bring your physical economics homework workbook, completed up to Chapter Eight. Knox, your workbook is completely blank."
Knox ran a hand through his damp, dark hair. "So what? We’ve been doing the work. I have the scratch sheets right here."
"Compliance doesn’t care about scratch sheets," I snapped, standing up and pacing the length of his bedroom. "They want the workbook. If we show up with an empty book, they’ll write it off as a sham tutoring contract. They’ll suspend your eligibility, and they’ll flag my scholarship for review. I cannot lose my waiver, Knox. I won’t."
Knox watched me pace, his expression hardening. He walked over to his dresser, grabbed the thick, blue-covered Macroeconomics workbook, and tossed it onto the desk.
"Fine," he said flatly. "We fill it out. Tonight."
"All eight Chapters?" I looked at him in disbelief. "That’s dozens of graphs and practice problems. And it has to be in your handwriting, or they’ll know you didn’t do it."
"Then you’d better start dictating, Bookworm," Knox muttered, pulling out the desk chair for me. "Because we have eleven hours."
It didn’t take long for the desk to turn into a war zone.
By eleven o’clock, it was a mess of half-empty mugs, crumpled sheets of paper, and open textbooks. I laid out the curriculum map while Knox sat huddled over the workbook, his pencil scratching against the paper.
Suddenly, Knox’s phone buzzed loudly on the wooden desk. The caller ID read Father.
Knox stared at it for a second, his face instantly losing any trace of warmth. He swiped to answer and set the phone on speaker, laying it face-up on the desk so his hands remained free to write.
"Yes, sir," Knox said in a clipped voice.
"I assume you received the compliance notice for tomorrow morning," Garrison Sheridan’s cold voice rang out through the speaker.
"We did," Knox replied, not looking up from his workbook.
"Good. I requested the audit myself," Garrison said smoothly, his tone devoid of paternal affection. "I want to ensure the university’s resources are being utilized properly, Knox. If you fail to present a fully completed workbook tomorrow, I will pull my signature from the athletic development deal and suspend my endowment. And your tutor’s little tuition waiver will be gone before lunch. Perform accordingly."
The line went dead.
The silence that followed was suffocating. I stared at the phone, my heart pounding in my chest. Garrison hadn’t just set a trap; he had outright confirmed that he was the one pulling the strings.
Knox didn’t say a word; he didn’t even look at me, but his jaw was clenched so hard a muscle leaped in his cheek. He gripped his pencil tighter and kept writing.
I took a deep breath when my phone buzzed in my lap. I glanced down and saw a text from Priya.
Priya: Hey, you still at the SinBin? You okay?
I quickly typed back.
Nora: Got hit with a surprise compliance audit at 9 AM tomorrow. We have to fill out Knox’s entire homework workbook tonight. Pulling an all-nighter. Don’t wait up.
Priya’s reply was instant.
Priya: Holy shit. Good luck. Call me if you need me to bring energy drinks. Don’t let him distract you!
I slipped the phone back into my pocket. "Alright," I said steadily. "Let’s start Chapter Three. Consumer surplus."
The clock on Knox’s wall mocked us as the hours ticked past.
By the time the hands crawled to two in the morning, my eyes were burning and the words on the page were starting to blur. Knox wasn’t doing much better either. His handwriting, which was neat from the start, was beginning to look rough as his frustration began to show.
"I’m going downstairs to brew coffee," Knox suddenly said, pushing his chair back. He looked down at me with tired eyes. "You want some?"
"Black," I said. "No sugar."
"Of course you drink it like a serial killer," Knox muttered, a faint trace of his usual smirk returning.
A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming mugs, handing me one before sitting down on the floor, leaning his back against the side of his bed.
I took a sip of the bitter, hot liquid, feeling it instantly jumpstart my brain. I slid down from the desk chair to sit on the floor beside him, resting my head against the wooden desk panels.
For a long minute, neither of us spoke.
"Why do you do it?" I asked quietly, breaking the silence while staring into my mug. "If your father is this controlling, why do you keep playing? Why not just walk away?"
Knox looked ahead, his eyes reflecting the desk lamp’s soft light as he took a slow sip of his coffee.
"On the ice, he can’t control the puck, Bennett," Knox said in a low and unusually raw voice. "He can buy the rink, he can buy the gear, and he can buy the compliance board. But once I cross that blue line, it’s just me, the steel, and the game. He can’t touch it. It’s the only place where I’m completely free."
I looked at him, seeing past the arrogant captain persona to the guy who was just fighting for a scrap of his own life.
"My mom used to knead dough at the bakery counter at four in the morning," I murmured, sharing the memory before I could stop myself. "I used to sit on a tall stool with my textbooks open under a single lightbulb, studying while the shop smelled of cinnamon and warm yeast. She worked eighteen-hour days so I could have a chance at a degree. That’s why I can’t let them touch my scholarship. It’s not just a waiver to me. It’s her hard work."
Knox turned his head to look at me. "I won’t let him touch it, Nora. I promise."
It was the first time he had used my actual name during a study session. My breath caught, and the air between us suddenly felt thick. I cleared my throat, looking away.
"We still have three Chapters left, Sheridan," I said, trying to re-establish the distance. "Get back to the desk."
Knox let out a low chuckle, standing up and offering me a hand. I took his hand, his grip warm and firm as he pulled me up.
My vision was tunneling by the time the sky outside the window began to fade into a deep, pre-dawn gray.
It was five in the morning, and my head was nodding, my chin dropping toward my chest every few seconds.
"You’re done, Bookworm," Knox’s voice was a low murmur as he gently took the pen from my fingers. "Sleep. I’ll finish the final Chapter’s graphs."
"No... I need to help..." I protested with half-closed eyes even as the room tilted slightly.
"I know the zone plays now," Knox said, his hand resting gently on my shoulder; his touch was surprisingly warm through my sweater. "Go to sleep. I’ll handle the rest."
I wanted to argue, but the exhaustion won. I leaned my head onto my arms on the desk, allowing my consciousness to slip away into blackness.
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the window.
I blinked, confused by the softness beneath my cheek. I wasn’t resting on the hard wood of the desk. Instead, I was lying in a massive, warm bed, wrapped in a thick gray duvet that smelled faintly of cedar and fresh laundry.
I sat up quickly, my heart racing as I looked around.
Across the room, Knox was asleep in the leather desk chair. His long legs were stretched out, his head resting on his folded arms on the desk. Right next to his elbow was the blue Macroeconomics workbook, closed.
He had carried me to his bed, given up his own mattress, and spent the remaining hours of the night finishing the graphs in the chair.
I glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. 7:30 AM.
I slid out of the bed, my feet cold against the hardwood floor as I walked over to the desk. I tapped Knox gently on the shoulder.
"Sheridan," I whispered. "Wake up. We have an audit in ninety minutes."