The Deal (Off Campus #1)(49)

We agreed to meet outside the arena after the game, and sure enough,  she's waiting there for me when I walk outside. She's with Allie, along  with a dark-haired chick I don't recognize and an enormous black guy who  I'm amazed isn't on the football team. Because he should be. Maxwell  would come in his pants if he had a monster like that on his O-line.

The moment Hannah spots me, she wanders away from her friends and walks  over to me. "Hey." She looks surprisingly shy, and she hesitates, as if  she's not sure if she should hug or kiss me.

I solve her dilemma by doing both, and as I brush my lips over hers, I  hear a victorious "I knew it!" echo from her friends' direction. The  exclamation comes from the girl who isn't Allie.

I pull back to grin at Hannah. "Keeping us a secret from your friends, huh?"

"Us?" She raises her eyebrows. "I didn't realize we were an us."

Now is definitely not the time to discuss the status of our  relationship-if it even is one-so I just shrug and say, "How'd you like  the game?"

"It was intense." She smirks at me. "I notice you didn't score a goal, though. Slacking much?"





  

My grin widens. "I sincerely apologize for that, Wellsy. I promise to do better next time."

"You'd better."

"I'll score a hat trick just for you, how about that?"

My teammates shuffle past us and head for the bus waiting twenty feet  away, but I'm not ready to leave Hannah yet. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too." She sounds like she really means it.

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" The team has another game tomorrow, but  it's an afternooner, and I'm dying to get Hannah alone again so we  can … yeah. "I thought we could hang out after I get back from-" I stop  talking when a shadow appears in my periphery vision, and my shoulders  set in a tight line when I spot my father descending the front steps of  the building.

This is the point of the evening I dread. Time for the big nod, followed by the silent walk-away.

As if on cue, I get the nod.

But not the walk-away.

My father startles the shit out of me by saying, "Garrett. A word."

His deep voice sends a chill up my spine. I fucking hate the sound of his voice. I hate the sight of his face.

I hate every goddamn thing about him.

Hannah's expression creases with concern when she sees my face. "Is that … ?"

Instead of answering, I take a reluctant step away. "I'll be back in a minute," I mumble.

My father is already halfway down the parking lot. He doesn't even turn  around to check if I'm following him. Because he's Phil fucking Graham,  and he can't imagine someone not wanting to be around him.

Somehow my stiff legs carry me in his direction. I notice several of my  teammates lingering at the door of the bus, watching us curiously. A few  of them are visibly envious. Jesus. If they only knew what they were  jealous of.

When I reach him, I don't bother with pleasantries. I just scowl and speak in a terse voice. "What do you want?"

Like me, he gets right to the point. "I expect you to come home for Thanksgiving this year."

My shock manifests itself in the form of a sharp laugh. "No, thanks. I'll pass."

"No, what you will do is come home." A dark look hardens his features. "Or I will drag you home."

I genuinely don't know what's happening right now. Since when does he  give a shit whether I come home or not? I haven't been back once since I  left for Briar. I'm in Hastings during the school year, and I spend my  summers working sixty-hour weeks for a construction company in Boston  and saving every last penny, which I then use to pay for rent and  groceries because I don't want to take any more of my father's money  than I absolutely have to.

"Why the hell do you care what I do for the holidays?" I mutter.

"You're needed at home this year." He's speaking through clenched teeth,  as if he's enjoying this even less than I am. "My girlfriend is cooking  dinner, and she requested your presence."

His girlfriend? I didn't even realize he had a girlfriend. And how  fucking sad is it that I know nothing about my own father's life?

The way he phrased it doesn't escape me, either. She requested my presence. Not him.

I meet his eyes, the same shade of gray as my own. "Tell her I'm sick. Or hell, tell her I died."

"Don't test me, boy."

Oh, he's busting out the boy, huh? That's what he always called me right  before his fists pummeled my gut, or smashed my face, or broke my nose  for the hundredth fucking time.

"I'm not coming," I say coldly. "Deal with it."

He moves in closer, his eyes gleaming beneath the low brim of his Bruins  cap as his voice lowers to a hiss. "Listen up, you ungrateful little  shit. I don't ask much of you. In fact, I don't ask anything of you. I  let you do whatever the fuck you want, I pay for your tuition, your  books, your equipment."

The reminder makes my stomach seethe with anger. I keep a spreadsheet on  my computer that documents everything he's ever paid for so that when I  gain access to my trust, I'll know the precise amount to write on the  check I plan on handing him before I tell him good riddance.

But tuition for next term needs to be paid in December, the month before  my trust comes in. And I don't have enough in my savings account to  cover the full amount.

Which means I'm stuck being indebted to him for a little while longer.

"All I expect in return," he finishes, "is that you play like the  champion you are. The champion I made you." An ugly sneer twists his  mouth. "Well, it's time to pay up, son. You will come home for  Thanksgiving. Understood?"





  

Our eyes lock.

I could kill this man. If I knew I could get away with it? I would actually kill him.

"Understood?" he repeats.

I give a curt nod, and then I stalk away without looking back.

Hannah waits for me near the bus, worry clouding her green eyes. "Is everything okay?" she asks quietly.

I draw in a ragged breath. "Yeah. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"It's fine, babe. I promise."

"Graham, get your ass on the bus!" Coach shouts from behind me. "You're holding everyone up."

Somehow I manage to force a smile. "I've gotta go. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow after my game?"

"Call me when you're done. I'll see where I'm at."

"Sounds good." I drop a kiss on her cheek, then head for the bus, where Coach is impatiently tapping his foot.

He watches Hannah as she makes her way back to her friends, then shoots me a wry smile. "She's cute. Girlfriend?"

"No idea," I confess.

"Yeah, that's how it usually is with women. They hold all the cards and  we're just clueless." Coach slaps me on the arm. "Come on, kid. Time to  hustle."

I take my usual seat next to Logan near the front of the bus, and he  gives me a funny look as I unzip my jacket and lean my head back.

"What?" I mumble.

"Nothing," he says lightly.

I've known the guy long enough to figure out that a "nothing" from Logan  means something entirely different, but he pops in his iPod earbuds and  proceeds to ignore me for most of the ride. It isn't until we're ten  minutes from Briar that he abruptly yanks out his earphones and turns to  look at me.

"Fuck it," he announces. "I'm just gonna come out and say it."

Wariness circles my insides like a turkey vulture. I sincerely hope he's  not about to confess that he has a thing for Hannah, because shit will  get awkward real fast if he does. I glance around, but most of my  teammates are either sleeping or listening to music. The seniors in the  back are laughing at something Birdie has just said. Nobody is paying  any attention to us.

I lower my voice. "What's up?"

He lets out a weary breath. "I debated saying anything at all, but fuck,  G, I don't like seeing anyone get played for a fool, especially my best  friend. I figured I should wait until after the game, though." He  shrugs. "I didn't want you to be distracted on the ice."

"What the hell are you talking about, man?"

"Dean and I ended up at Maxwell's house last night for his Halloween thing," Logan confesses. "Kohl was there, and … "

I narrow my eyes. "And what?"

Logan looks so uncomfortable that my guard soars another twenty feet.  He's never one to beat around the bush, which means shit must be  serious.

"He said he's going out with Wellsy this weekend."

My heart stops. "Bullshit."

"That's what I thought, but … " Another shrug. "He insisted it was true. I  figured I should tell you about it, you know, just in case he's not  talking out of his ass."

I swallow, my mind running a million miles a second. Bullshit continues  to be my thought of choice, but a part of me isn't so sure. The whole  reason Hannah is even in my life is because of fucking Kohl. Because she  was interested in Kohl.

But that was before. Before she and I kissed-

She still went to the party to see him after the kiss.

Right. I gulp again. Well, it was after the kiss but before everything  else. The sex. The secrets we shared with each other. All the cuddling.