Page 3 of Play Maker

But I let my anger simmer, biding my time. Revenge would come.

It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.

CHAPTER 2

AXEL

A YEAR AGO (AGE 19)

My freshman year at Langston could only be described as claustrophobic. My parents always popped up, attending one college event after another. Not to see me and not to watch my games, nope. They showed up when there was a public event with press around. I was brought in to smile and prop up their image. It was all about public relations.

Like today, when I got called in to the Dean of Students’ office. The college was opening a new international business school, and the campus was crawling with anticipation. And media. I knew exactly what that meant and why I was called away from class.

Inevitably, my parents would be here. Fuck.

As I passed the hallway that led to the dean’s office, I noticed several pictures of my father and grandfather. Their photographs were all over the damn school. Given that they’d attended Langston and more importantly, were one of the college’s biggest donors, it wasn’t surprising. There was the Lund Scholarship Fund, the Lund Football Field, and the LundLibrary, to name a few. They’d probably rename the whole college in a few years. Everywhere I looked, they were there. It creeped me out because it was like being watched twenty-four seven. Not only that, but my teammates and fellow students acted weird around me. I was always invited to parties and stuff, but no one wanted to have any real conversations with me, like they were wary of saying a bad word. They were probably worried that if I didn’t like them, I’d have them thrown out of the school, or something. Not that I would ever do anything like that.

My parents, on the other hand…

Fuck, I needed to get out of here. Like, yesterday.

Instead, I swallowed down my frustration and gave my name to the dean’s receptionist, who quickly guided me to his office, a room with dark wood walls, shelves of books, and the heavy scent of leather and old money.

Dean Jacobs sat at his desk with my parents opposite him.

Like I did when I was ready to hit the ice, I pushed aside my fear and faced my opponent head-on.

I got my size from the Lund side of the family, and thankfully, I was now taller than my father. Finally I had one advantage. His formerly auburn hair was now gray, and his brown eyes showed no expression. He stared at me like he was looking at a stranger, rather than his own son. My mother matched him perfectly, her icy blond bob accentuating the bluest, but coldest, eyes I’d ever seen.

My parents stood up to greet me with a nod and an awkward hello. No hugs in this family.

“Axel, good to see you,” Dean Jacobs announced with a polite, but entirely fake, smile. “We need you for photographs at the opening this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that,” I replied. “I’ve got hockey practice.”

Dean Jacobs waved his hand. “I’ve already spoken to Coach Williams about your absence.”

“But—”

“You heard the dean,” my father snapped. “This is far more important. Every major donor to this college will be there. It’s time for you to forget about this stupid fixation with hockey and focus on your future. Your real future. Making connections. That’s why you’re here.”

“Hockey’s my future,” I bit out. “And I don’t care about making connections. I don’t want or need that kind of education.”

“It’s what’s expected,” my father insisted with a clipped voice. “You’re a representative of this family and this school, and you will do well to remember that.”

There was no point in arguing in front of the dean, it would only make life harder for me.

Instead, I nodded and crossed my arms.

“Good.” Dean Jacobs smiled at me, but it was like looking at a shark, all blank eyes and razor-sharp teeth.

Jacobs creeped me out. Then I noticed the way he glanced at my mother, the once-over, and the way she looked back at him. I barely held back an eye roll.

Get me the fuck out of here.

“You’ll be joining us for lunch with the donors,” my mother commanded. “Go change into a suit and meet us at the new pavilion in half an hour.”

“Do you have a script for me too?” I snarked.

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