Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Too big of a challenge?”
I scoff. “Nothing is too big of a challenge for me. I could definitely melt her icy heart if I wanted to–”
“Wilder!” Coach’s gray-haired head pops out the window of his office. His eyebrows are downturned, telling me everything I need to know. “I need to see you in my office before you head out.”
Oh, great.
“Sure thing.” I nod, turning to Murphy, who is smiling like a smug fucker, I say, “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Yeah, you’re not off the hook yet. Go see what the Coach wants. I’ll see you tonight.”
Swinging my duffel bag over my shoulder, I walk into Coach’s office with a bad feeling in my gut. I’m not sure what he wants to talk to me about, but something tells me it’s not going to be good. Getting called into his office is never a good thing, everyone on the team knows it.
“Wilder, close the door and sit your ass down,” he growls, pushing his glasses up onto his face. Yup, definitely not good.
“What’s up, Coach?” I sink down into the seat in front of his desk.
He grabs a piece of paper off his desk and tosses it at me. I don’t move to grab it, knowing he’s going to explain whatever is on it.
“Your grades are shit, that’s what’s up. You know I can’t let you play if you are failing classes. Academics always come before sports, Cage. You need to get your shit together before I’m forced to bench your ass, and we both know you’re better on the field than on the bench.”
I suck a sharp breath into my lungs and nod my head shamefully. It’s even worse than I thought. Not only do I suck at school, now football is at stake. I knew I was struggling, but I didn’t think I was doing so badly that I was putting my football career at risk. Fuck me. My father will kill me. Literally, kill me if he finds out.
“I’ll do better.”
“And how are you gonna do that?” he questions, his head tilted to the side, disbelief reflecting in his dark gaze. “You have a plan, do ya?”
I smirk. “No, but something tells me you do–”
“Damn right, I do. See, you’re not dumb, Wilder, you just need a little push in the right direction. I set you up with a tutor. Best on campus. Got a 4.0 average. I’m not saying that’s where you need to be at, but please, just make a passing grade. I need you on the team, boy.”
“Got it, Coach.”
“Here.” He hands me a sticky note. Library, room 202, Five o’clock. “Be there, Wilder,” he warns. “I mean business, don’t push me, boy. I’ll push back, and we both know you won’t like that. You can do this, you just need a little help, and there isn’t anything wrong with admitting that.”
“I’ll be there, and I’ll get my grades up. I promise,” I tell him, ’cause what the fuck else am I going to do? Tugging my phone out of my shorts, I check the time as I leave the coach’s office. I’ve got thirty minutes before I have to be at the library. There isn’t any point in driving home, so I drop my bag off at my car and grab my math books instead. That’s where I have the most issues anyway. I hate numbers. Nothing ever makes sense in my head.
Walking aimlessly with my books in my hand, I think about what my dad would say if he were to find out I’m failing a class. I can already see his fist coming toward my face. Not that he would really care about that per se. He would only care about me being benched, unable to play his beloved football.
My football career means everything to him. Much more than it does to me. Yes, it’s nice to be good at it, and believe me, I’m fucking good at it, but I’m just not as passionate about it as my father is. In fact, as the years have passed, my love for the sport has diminished every day. I’m living someone else’s dream, and I’m getting tired of it. I want to do what I want, live for what I want, and football just isn’t it.
I’m so inside my own head that I completely lose track of time. When I check my phone, I realize it’s already five.
Shit. I’m late.
I half sprint to the library. When I get there, I’m ten minutes late. My lungs burn and my muscles ache. I’m tired as fuck and would much rather be at home, but still, here I am. I made a promise to Coach, and I won’t let him down. Taking two steps at a time, I walk up the grand staircase to the second floor and easily find room 202. I’ve been up here before, but studying wasn’t what I was doing.