The Hockey Captain That Hates Me novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Sentence

Henrik names Hanna his assistant as her punishment, and the athletic director announces only one program will survive the year.

Gavin Prescott's office had a window that looked down on the arena roof, and he stood in front of it.

He was the athletic director, fifty-two, silver-haired, in a quarter-zip that cost more than my skates.

"Miss Hedlund," he said. "Do you know what I can do to you?"

"Expel me," I said.

"Expel you. Revoke your scholarship. Refer you to the police."

My hands were shaking in my lap, so I sat on them.

Britt had been told to wait in the hallway.

Trent Maddox leaned against the wall by the door with his arms folded, in a team jacket.

"She planned it," Trent said. "She had a bottle. She waited behind the glass."

"I know what I did," I said.

"Do you?" said Prescott.

The door opened.

Henrik Broten came in on crutches, with his left leg in a plastic splint to the knee.

The sock above it was stretched tight over the swelling.

He had come straight from the hospital. His practice jersey was still on, and his face was gray with pain.

He did not look at me.

He crossed the carpet in four hard swings, dropped into the chair beside mine, and laid both crutches across his lap like a rifle.

"Captain," said Prescott. "You should be home. Your surgery is Wednesday."

"Wednesday. Plate and six screws." Henrik stared at the desk. "Let's finish this."

"I was about to explain to Miss Hedlund that the university takes pranks that cause injury very seriously."

"She did it to me," Henrik said. "So I decide."

Prescott blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You want it off the record. Everyone does."

He looked at Trent for the first time.

"Nobody wants the word sabotage near a team in a funding year. So I name the punishment, she does it, and nobody writes anything down."

Trent stopped smiling.

"Henrik, she could have killed you."

"She could have killed you," Henrik said. "You were supposed to come out first."

He shrugged one shoulder.

"I heard the whole plan from Britt, who cried in the hallway for ten minutes."

I stared at him.

He still didn't look at me.

"What's the punishment?" said Prescott, slowly.

"Eight weeks," said Henrik. "She's my assistant."

My mouth fell open.

"Excuse me?"

"She drives me to class. She drives me to physical therapy."

He ticked it off on his fingers.

"She carries my bag and holds doors."

He tipped his head.

"She makes my breakfast, because I can't do stairs. She sits on the bench at practice and takes notes."

"Six a.m. at the house, every day, starting tomorrow."

"You can't," I said.

"You can say no," Henrik said. "Then Mr. Prescott does his job."

I looked at Prescott.

Prescott looked at his hands.

I could see him doing math, and the math was that a captain in a splint was a better story than a skater in handcuffs.

"Fine," said Prescott. "It's irregular, but fine. Miss Hedlund, you're on probation. You'll do everything Mr. Broten asks."

"Everything within reason," I said.

"Everything," Henrik said, and finally he looked at me.

His eyes were dark gray and clear and furious.

Under the fury was something else, sharp and unreadable.

"Rule one," he said. "You never, ever lie to me."

"I just confessed to a whole arena."

"I know. I was there." His mouth moved. "It was the only decent thing you did all day."

I opened my mouth to say something I would have regretted for years.

Prescott stood up and clapped his hands once.

"Before you go," he said. "Listen carefully, all three of you, Mr. Maddox included."

He glanced at Trent. "You're the assistant captain."

"I was going to announce this on Friday. I'll tell you now."

He walked around the desk.

"The arena can't fund both programs next year. The roof alone is a quarter million dollars."

Nobody moved.

"Hockey or figure skating," Prescott said. "One of you will be gone by June."

Trent's grin came back, small and sure.

"Of course," Prescott said, "there's the Winter Showcase."

He tapped his desk.

"December twelfth. Ticket sales, plus a vote of the donors in the box seats. The program with the stronger night keeps its ice."

I felt Henrik go still beside me.

"Your two captains will run it together," said Prescott. "A joint production. Hockey and skating."

"Together," said Henrik.

"Together," said Prescott, and smiled at me for the first time.

"Congratulations, Miss Hedlund," he said. "You're his assistant, and now you're his partner in the only thing that can save your team."

I looked at Henrik.

Henrik was looking at the carpet, and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Then he smiled, and it was the worst smile I had ever seen on a man who couldn't walk.

"Six a.m.," he said. "Don't be late."

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