The Deal(103)

*

Garrett

As the guys and I shuffle out of the guest locker room after the game, we’re still riding the high of crushing the home team. Even though it’s one of our sophomores who landed that last beauty of a goal that secured our win, I’ve decided that Hannah is my good luck charm and must now attend all of our games, because the last three times we played Harvard, we got our asses handed to us.

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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.”