Page 9 of Shattered Hate

Knocking, I steel myself, and a voice from inside calls out, “Come in.”

I push the door open and step inside. The dean, a stern-looking man with glasses perched on the end of his nose, looks up from his desk. “Ah, Daxton. Please, have a seat.”

I sit down, my hands clenched into fists in my lap. “Dean Miller, I need to talk to you about the project.”

Dean Miller subtly sighs and raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I… I don’t want to do it,” I blurt out. “I know it’s important, but I just can’t. It’s too much for me right now.”

The dean leans back in his chair, studying me. “How’s that?” He says it almost sarcastically, like he’s been waiting for this visit all day. Like he knew it was coming.

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. Trying to find the right bullshit for me to get out of this. “It’s not just the workload. It’s everything. I’m struggling with my other classes, and I have personal stuff going on. I just can’t handle this on top of everything else.”

The dean nods slowly but remains firm. “I understand that you’re under a lot of pressure, Daxton. However, this project is a crucial part of your education. You have no choice but to complete it. It’s designed to challenge you and help you grow.”

“I know,” I say, my voice trembling for dramatic effect. “But I’m already at my breaking point. I’m afraid if I take on this project, I’ll fail everything else.”

The dean’s gaze hardens. “I’m sorry, Daxton, but the project is nonnegotiable. You must find a way to manage your time and responsibilities. We can offer support, but ultimately, you have to do the work.”

I feel a wave of defeat wash over me. Followed up quickly by anger. “Thank you, Dean,” I say. “For nothing,” I mutter.

The dean’s eyes harden into squints. “Take care of yourself, Daxton. And remember, we’re here to help you succeed.” Then he holds his hand up. “Actually, I think it’s best if you meet with Coach Denny now. He can help you manage your time and responsibilities more effectively.”

“Now?” I stare in disbelief. This can’t be happening right now. Why did I come here? This has got to be the worst day in fucking history.

My stomach churns at the thought of meeting Coach Denny. I’ve heard stories about his intense behavior and strict expectations. As we walk toward Coach Denny’s office, my mind races with dread. I feel like I’m heading for my execution, every step heavier than the last.

Chapter five

Trayton

“Over my dead body will that piece of shit be joining our team.” As if fucking Coach and Dean Miller have agreed to this. My blood simmers as I look over at a scowling Daxton, who doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Bet you’re loving this, aren’t you?” I glare in his direction.

“Trust me, this is the last place I want to be,” Daxton spits out in pure hatred, letting his eyes move up and down me like I’m trash on the sidewalk.

This prick.

“Trust me, Daxton, the feeling is fucking mutual. If your presence could be any more intolerable, I might just consider crawling through broken glass to escape it. But then again”—I smirk—“watching you squirm in this ‘last place you want to be’ is almost worth it.” My smirk widens into a full-blown grin when I see his jaw clench tightly and his nostrils flare.

I love getting under people’s skin.

“Both of you, shut the fuck up!” Coach bellows. His voice booms across the room, silencing everyone. Daxton’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he snaps his head toward Coach in shock.

“Excuse me,” he says, oblivious to Coach’s solid authority. The intensity of Coach’s voice isn’t just for show. In the world of hockey, where tempers flare and the stakes are high, a few harsh words are part of the game. We all swear like sailors here. It’s therapeutic. It’s a method to command respect and control in a team full of adrenaline-charged players.

“You’re not excused,” Coach responds, unflinching, not a single eyelid batting.

“Everyone, be quiet,” Dean Miller commands, rubbing his fingertips into his eyes and placing a hand on his hip. “The Devil Hawks are doing brilliantly for Hawksview. We were all over the media last season, and we need to keep that momentum. Hawksview needs this. People need to see what a great university this is for every field, not just sports. That’s why I brought in Daxton. He’s exceptionally talented and can bring real passion to this sport.”

“Hold up—” I cut Dean Miller off. “We’re the fucking heart of this sport.”

“Language, Trayton.” Coach clips me round the back of the head. The irony is laughable.

The dean’s jaw clenches, struggling to hold his composure.

“You have a heart? That’s laughable.” Daxton sneers.

“Jesus Christ,” Coach mutters under his breath.

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