Page 4 of Dirty Hit
“He’s a law student as well,” Coach continues. “Preacher’s kid. Straight-laced. Doesn’t fuck around. You show up late, he’ll call you out. You skip work, he’ll tell me.”
A humorless smile pulls at my mouth. “Sounds fun. When do we start?”
“I’ll have him email you tonight,” he replies. “First session this week. And Volkov?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make me regret fighting for you.”
I hold his gaze for a long second, then give him a tight nod. “You won’t.”
I turn and leave before he can say anything else, the door clicking shut behind me. The hallway feels narrower on the way out. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
A fucking TA. I’m not some idiot who can’t read.
By the time I step back into the locker room, most of the guys are already showered and dressed. The air is thick with steam and body spray.
Colton Brady is sitting on the bench by my locker, towel slung over his shoulders, scrolling through his phone. He’s the only one I can truly call a friend, but even he doesn’t know the truth about me.
He looks up when he sees me. “You look like you want to murder someone.”
“I might,” I mutter, tossing my helmet into my locker harder than necessary.
“That good, huh?” He leans back against the metal, studying me. “What’d he say?”
“That I’m flunking,” I reply, ripping my jersey over my head. “Says if I drop any lower, I’m ineligible.”
He whistles low. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” I grab a clean shirt and drag it over my head. Fuck showering; I’ll do it at home. “Apparently, draft projections don’t mean jack if I can’t pass Ethics.”
He snorts. “Ethics is bullshit anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“So what’s the plan?” he asks.
“Plan is I get a fucking babysitter,” I say, yanking my bag off the hook. “He’s assigning me some TA to hold my hand three times a week.”
“Which one?” he asks immediately, interest coloring his tone.
“Some church boy named Brendon Lane. You know him?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. I know him.”
“Good or bad?”
“Good,” he says. “Annoyingly good. He helped Marcus last year when he was about to get benched over grades. Brought him up almost a full point in two months.”
I pause, looking at him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Guy’s fucking intense. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t party, and basically lives in the library.” He smirks slightly. “Looks like he’s about to apologize for existing half the time.”
I huff out a breath. “Perfect.”
“Hey, you wanted reliable,” he says with a shrug.
“I didn’t want any of this,” I snap, shoving my feet into my sneakers. “I’ve got scouts watching my game film, and I’m stuck worrying about fucking citations.”
