Page 20 of Fault Line

I give him a blank stare.

“That’s ridiculous,” he continues. “I’m not going to make myself look bad just because you’re feeling insecure.”

I know he’s at least half-right, but the worry still gnaws at me. If she allows both of us to work with her, that means she’ll have to divide her already limited time between the two of us.

“Well, if we’re both her advisees, it could take longer for us to finish our projects. And what if there’s a conflict of interest with our collaboration partners? What if she has to choose between us when it comes to resources?”

“Then we’ll figure that shit out when the time comes.”

“But that sounds awful,” I practically whine.

“Oh, poor Kaia.” He gives me a faux pout. “Sharing.That must be really hard for you to fathom. I swear this is youngest-child syndrome at its finest.”

“Could you be any more condescending?” I grit my teeth. “I’m not a child, Beck.”

“You’re not a child, no, but you sure are acting like a spoiled little brat at the moment.”

My jaw drops. “Well, I’d rather be abratthan an entitled, trust fund baby.”

“That’s just great.” Holden’s eyes narrow. “You know, your professionalism is really going to impress Dr. Khatri. Maybe if you tell her how much of a baby you think I am, then she’ll decide not to work with me after all.”

I let out a frustrated huff. “Oh, just leave me alone, will you?”

“Gladly,” he retorts, his smug grin morphing into a scowl.

Thankfully, the sound of his phone buzzing interrupts our dead argument, and he answers it with a distracted hello. Once he starts to talk again, I slip past him, no longer wanting to eavesdrop on his conversation.

As I enter the lecture hall, I notice our professor, Dr. Francis, already preparing for class. He greets me with a warm smile, and some of my lingering anger begins to fade. Regardless of Holden’s potential involvement, I still have the chance to work with one of the most brilliant minds in our department.

I settle into a seat in the front row and take out my notebook and pen. As Dr. Francis continues with his lecture, I attempt to concentrate on the material at hand. But the disappointment and irritation continue to nag at me.

Holden was right about one thing: I don’t like to share. And the prospect of dividing my time with him makes the situation infinitely less appealing.

All of this, of course, hinges on whether Dr. Khatri is even available to work with us in the first place.

8

HOLDEN

The crowd roarsas the puck drops, signaling the start of our first game of the season. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, the sound of our blades slicing through the ice ringing in my ears.

I’m in my element here.

It feels good. But it would feel a whole lot better if I didn’t hear my father’s voice echoing throughout the arena, booming out a mix of approval and criticism—much heavier on the latter.

We’re in the second period when one of the opposing players checks me hard into the boards. The impact reverberates throughout my entire body, but I quickly shake it off.

Don’t get me wrong, my frustration is reaching its boiling point. This guy has been gunning for me all night, and I’ve been trying my best to ignore it, despite how much I’d like to do the opposite. But my fucking dad is here, after all.

In general, it’s difficult for me to keep my cool when we’re playing against Dayton U, one of our biggest rivals in the division. These guys fucking hate us, mostly because we’re better than them in every way. And we always have been.

Over the past few seasons, we’ve consistently outperformed these guys. Our team has better coordination, more skilled players, and a winning track record that’s tough to beat. It’s no wonder they can’t handle the pressure of competing against us.

In no time, that same shitty, obnoxious player comes at me again. This time, I’m ready for him. I dodge his attack and retaliate with a shoulder check of my own. He briefly stumbles but comes back for more.

I skate hard, sweat dripping down my forehead as I pull up next to Will. He shoots a grin in my direction. “You okay there, pretty boy?” he asks, skating on beside me.

I roll my eyes. “I’m good.”

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