Fake Dating My Ex's Hockey Star Brother (Maya Scott) novel Chapter 62

BRAYDON’S POV

“Now that midterms are over, I can finally feel like a student again,” Luke says.

The locker room erupts with laughter. Martin nearly drops his towel and punches him in the arm.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Justin asks, still grinning. His suspension’s finally over, and it feels good having him back.

Luke shrugs. “What? Was I the only one dying? I was buried in books, man. My GPA’s hanging by a 2.6 thread so I’ve been studying like I’m on academic life support.”

“So you didn’t feel like a student while you were studying?” Justin presses. “Make it make sense, bro.”

“I actually felt like a criminal,” Luke says with a deadpan face. “Like I was trying to dodge a jail sentence or something. Every time I opened my textbook, I could hear a judge saying, read or rot.”

Everyone laughs again and I scoff under my breath, taking a sip from my bottle. Luke’s not wrong though. The past few days have been brutal with pressure from every side, sleepless nights, but now that it’s over, I can finally breathe.

But I’m also glad, because for the first time ever, I walked out of test halls actually confident in my answers. Honestly, I finally get why people study so hard or wear the nerd title proudly. There’s this crazy kind of thrill that comes with recognizing every question on the paper and just writing with no confusion.

And it’s all thanks to Katy.

I haven’t even gotten a chance to see her yet, but I did text her that I’d drop by her room later. I was planning to take her out for maybe lunch, or dinner, depending on how tired she was. But then Coach had to call this last-minute team meeting, and now I’m stuck here, waiting for him to show up while the time keeps running.

“Cap.”

I look up to see Jude grinning at me from across the bench. “All that time with she who must not be named must’ve paid off, huh? Midterms must’ve been a breeze for you.”

I give him a flat look. “Are you insinuating we do nothing but read?”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Are you insinuating you do more than read?”

The guys instantly turn to look at Justin, who’s now staring straight at me, his jaw clenched. A few of them start giggling, already twisting the moment into something else. Goddamn it.

I just wanted a comeback, something to shut them up for once. They always talk about Katy like she’s this one-dimensional bookworm who doesn’t know a thing beyond books. They have no clue how funny she is, how cool and badass she is. She’s the kind of girl who surprises you without even trying.

But I can’t exactly say all that. Not with her brother sitting right there, glaring at me like a bull ready to charge if I even breathe her name wrong.

So I push to my feet, deciding to pick my battles. I grab my bottle and start toward the door, ignoring them calling my name and laughing behind me.

That’s when the locker room door slams open and Coach storms in, a clipboard tucked under his arm.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says, scanning the room. “Had a bit of a problem with my daughter.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, dropping back onto the bench. “We all know how women are.”

“No, you don’t,” he says flatly. “My daughter’s not like the girls you all hang out with.”

The room bursts into laughter, and I can’t help snickering under my breath. He’s not wrong, though and he’s definitely speaking from experience. Coaches probably see more student hookups than anyone on campus. Half the time they’re just walking into locker rooms or hallways at the wrong (or right) moment.

“So,” he says finally, folding his arms and looking around at us. “How was midterms for everyone?”

We all answer at once: a messy chorus of groans, chuckles, and a few sarcastic cheers. Coach just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. Then he dives straight into one of his trademark speeches about performance and discipline, how we can still improve if we didn’t do well, and how there’s plenty of time before finals.

Then he pulls out a sheet and starts reading our upcoming schedule, and I swear it’s way longer than I remember. Practices, drills, travel games…it’s all brutal. But it’s almost December, so I guess they’re trying to cram in everything before break.

“Braydon, see me outside,” Coach says once he’s done. “The rest of you, get the hell out of here. And remember, no drinking or drugs of any kind. Not even the weak stuff. There’s a compulsory drug test on Monday.”

A few groans echo around the room, and I can’t help the small smile that creeps up on my face. He just crushed half the weekend plans in one sentence. Jocks like us don’t really mess with drugs, but when it comes to alcohol? Yeah, post-midterm celebrations are kind of tradition.

Guess that tradition’s canceled.

I follow Coach out of the room and down the hall to his office. The place smells faintly of coffee and old gym mats, and the door creaks as he pushes it open. He gestures toward the chair across from his desk, and I sit, already guessing whatever’s coming next isn’t just casual talk.

“How were midterms?” he leans back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Did you do as well as you promised?”

I grin. “Yeah, maybe even better than I thought I would.”

He raises an eyebrow and leans forward, his interest sparking. “Really now?”

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