The Deal by Elle Kennedy
“Why do you always have so much more energy after sex?” he grumbles.
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I smack kisses all over him, until he’s laughing in delight. I know he likes the attention, and it’s a good thing he does because I can’t stop giving it to him. For some reason, I turn into an affection monster when I’m around him.
Life is good again. A week has passed since Thanksgiving, and Garrett and I are still going strong. We’ve been busy, though. All our final papers are due soon, including the one for Tolbert’s class, which I’ve been helping Garrett with. His practice schedule is just as jam-packed as ever, and so is mine as I prepare for the showcase. But hey, at least I’m finally excited about it again.
Jae and I came up with an arrangement that I love, and I’m confident I’m going to put on a hell of a performance. But I still haven’t forgiven Cass and Mary Jane for what they did. MJ has texted several times asking if we can meet up and talk, but I’ve been ignoring her, and since Fiona got me my own rehearsal space in one of the senior choir rooms, I haven’t run into MJ or Cass since they dumped me.
And the icing on the I-love-my-fucking-life cake? My dad called last week with some good news—my parents are meeting me at Aunt Nicole’s for Christmas. I’ve already booked my ticket, and I can’t wait to see them, but I’m disappointed that Garrett can’t come with me. I invited him, but the dates didn’t work out because the team’s got a game scheduled the day after I leave, and another one two days before I get back. So Garrett will be spending the holidays with Logan, who is apparently from a town twenty minutes from Hastings.
Loud pounding on Garrett’s door jolts me out of my happy thoughts. The door is locked so I’m not worried about anyone barging in, but I still reach for the blanket out of habit.
“Sorry to interrupt, boys and girls,” Logan calls out, “but it’s time to put your p’s and v’s away. Gotta go, G.”
I shoot Garrett a blank look. “P’s and v’s?” Half the time I can barely make sense of Logan’s made-up acronyms and abbreviations.
Garrett grins at me. “Oh come on, really? Even I got one. It’s grade school shit.”
I think it over, then blush. “How exactly does one put away their vagina?”
He snickers. “Ask Logan. Actually, please don’t.” He slides out of bed and wanders around searching for his clothes. “Are you coming to the game after rehearsal?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll make it before the second period. Argh. By the time I get to the arena, it’ll probably be standing room only.”
“I’ll get someone to save a seat for you.”
“Thanks.”
I pop into the bathroom, freshen up, and come out to find Garrett on the edge of the bed, leaning over to put on a pair of socks. My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Messy hair, biceps flexing, red splotches on his neck from where I nibbled on it. He’s frickin’ gorgeous.
Five minutes later, we leave his house and go our separate ways. I have Tracy’s car, so I drive back to campus for rehearsal. Now that Cass is out of the picture, I can finally enjoy singing again.
And I do. My own personal cellist and I hammer out the ending of the song, and a couple hours later, I’m driving toward Briar’s hockey center. I texted Allie to see if she wanted to come to the game with me, but she’s busy with Sean, and my other friends are buried under mountains of schoolwork, which makes me grateful that I got a head start on mine. Most of my courses are performance or music theory, so I’ve really only had to focus on the British Lit and Ethics papers, both of which are almost done.
I get to the arena later than I hoped. The third period has just started, and I’m dismayed to see 1-1 flashing on the scoreboard, because Briar is playing a Division II team from Buffalo tonight. Garrett had been confident the game wouldn’t be at all competitive, but apparently he was wrong.
There’s an empty seat waiting for me behind the home team’s bench courtesy of a senior named Natalie. Garrett has mentioned her before, but I haven’t met her until now. Apparently she’s been dating Birdie since freshman year, which is impressive. A lot of college relationships don’t seem to last that long.
Natalie is funny and sweet, and we have a good time watching the game together. When Dean takes a particularly hard hit that sends him sprawling across the ice, we both gasp in alarm.
“Oh my God,” Natalie bursts out. “Is he okay?”
Fortunately, Dean is fine. He shakes it off and jumps up, skating toward the Briar box for a line change. The moment Garrett hits the ice, my pulse speeds up. He’s a force to be reckoned with. Fast footwork, skilled stickhandling, hard hitter. His first pass connects with Birdie’s stick and they fly across the blue line into the zone. Birdie dumps the puck and Garrett chases it. So does the other team’s center, and elbows are thrown behind the crease as the Buffalo forward tries to gain the upper hand.
Garrett comes out victorious and zips around the net, snapping off a quick shot. The goalie stops it easily, but the rebound bounces directly in Birdie’s path. He slaps the puck right back at the goaltender, whose glove whips up a second too late.
Natalie leaps to her feet and cheers herself hoarse as Birdie’s goal lights the scoreboard. We hug excitedly, then hold our breaths as the last three minutes of play tick by. The other team scrambles to gain possession of the puck, but Briar’s sophomore center wins the next faceoff and we dominate the rest of the game, which ends with a final score of 2-1.
Natalie and I walk toward the aisle, jostled in all directions as we’re shuffled down the stairs like cattle.
“I’m so glad you’re with Garrett,” she gushes.
The comment makes me smile, because she’s only known me for twenty minutes. “Me too,” I answer.
“Seriously. He’s such a great guy, but he’s so fricking intense when it comes to hockey. He hardly drinks, doesn’t gets serious with anyone. It’s not healthy to be that focused on something, you know?”
We leave the rink but don’t head to the arena exit. Instead, we make our way through the crowd toward the hallway that leads to the locker rooms so we can wait for our guys. Garrett Graham is my guy. It’s a surreal thought, but I like it.
“That’s why I think you’re good for him,” she says. “He looks so happy and relaxed every time I see him.”
My spine stiffens when I spot a familiar face in the crowd.
Garrett’s father.
He’s twenty feet away from us, headed in the same direction as we are. His baseball cap rests low on his forehead, but that doesn’t stop him from getting noticed, because a group of guys in Briar jerseys quickly approach him for an autograph. He signs their jerseys, then a photo that one of them hands him. I can’t see the picture, but I imagine it’s an action shot of him from his glory days, just like the ones I saw framed in his house. Phil Graham, hockey legend.
Now living vicariously through his son.
I’m so focused on my hatred for Garrett’s father that I don’t pay attention to where I’m walking, and a startled laugh leaves my mouth when I bump into someone. Hard.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where—” The apology dies on my lips when I notice who I bumped into.
Rob Delaney looks as stunned as I feel.
In the split second that our eyes lock, I turn into an ice statue. Shivers wrack every inch of my body. My feet are frozen in place. Wave after wave of horror slams into me.
I haven’t seen Rob since the day he testified in court—on my rapist’s behalf.
I don’t know what to say. Or do. Or think.
Someone shouts, “Wellsy!”
I turn my head.
When I turn it back, Rob is hurrying away like he’s trying to outrun a bullet.
I can’t breathe.
Garrett comes up beside me. I know it’s him because I recognize the gentle sweep of his hand on my cheek, but my gaze stays glued to Rob’s retreating back. He’s wearing a Buffalo State jacket. Does he go there? I never bothered find
“Hannah. Look at me.”
I can’t tear my eyes off Rob, who hasn’t made it out the door yet. The group of friends he’s with stop to talk to a few people, and he tosses a panicky glance over his shoulder, paling when he realizes I’m still staring at him.
“Hannah. Jesus. You’re white as a sheet. What’s wrong?”
I guess I’m pale, too. I guess I look like Rob. I guess we’ve both just seen a ghost.
The next thing I know, my head is wrenched to the side as Garrett’s hands clutch my chin to force eye contact.
“What’s going on? Who is that guy?” He’s followed my gaze, and now he’s watching Rob with visible mistrust.
“Nobody,” I say weakly.
“Hannah.”
“It’s nobody, Garrett. Please.” I turn my back to the door, effectively eliminating any temptation to look Rob’s way.
Garrett pauses. Searches my face. Then he sucks in a breath. “Oh fuck. Is it…?” His horrified question hangs between us.
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s not. I promise.” My lungs burn from lack of oxygen, so I force myself to take a deep breath. “He’s just a guy.”
“What guy? What’s his name?”
“Rob.” Nausea circles my belly like a school of sharks. “Rob Delaney.”
Garrett’s gaze moves past my shoulder, which tells me that Rob is still here. Damn it, why can’t he just leave already?
“Who is he, Hannah?”
Hard as I try, I can no longer pretend that my whole world hasn’t been knocked off kilter.
My face collapses and I whisper, “It’s Aaron’s best friend. He’s one of the guys who testified against me after the—”
Garrett is already stalking away.
38
Garrett
My blood roars between my ears. I hear Hannah calling after me but I can’t stop moving. It’s like I’m watching the world through a red mist. I’ve gone on autopilot, turning into an asshole-seeking missile that travels in a straight path toward Rob Delaney.
The bastard who helped Hannah’s rapist get off without so much as a slap on the wrist.
“Delaney,” I call out.
His shoulders tense. Several people glance our way, but there’s only one person I’m interested in at the moment. He turns around, dark eyes momentarily flickering with panic when he notices me. He saw me talking to Hannah. Probably figured out what she told me.
He says something to his friends and takes a hasty step away from the group, and my jaw turns to stone as he warily approaches me.
“Who the hell are you?” he mutters.
“Hannah’s boyfriend.”
His expression conveys unmistakable fear, but he still tries to play it off cool. “Yeah? Well, what do you want?”
I draw a calming breath. It doesn’t calm me down. At all. “I just wanted to meet the asshole who aided and abetted a rapist.”
There’s a long moment of silence. Then he scowls at me. “Fuck off. You don’t know shit about me, man.”
“I know everything about you,” I correct, my whole body trembling with barely-restrained fury. “I know you let your friend drug my girl. I know you stood by while he took her upstairs and hurt her. I know you committed perjury afterward to back him up. I know you’re a piece of shit without a conscience.”
“Fuck off,” he says again, but his bravado wavers. He looks stricken now.
“Really? Fuck off? That’s all you have to say? I guess that makes sense.” I swallow the acid coating my throat. “You’re a fucking coward who couldn’t defend an innocent girl. So why would you have the balls to defend yourself?”
The bitter accusations trigger his anger. “Get out of my face, man. I didn’t come here tonight to get railed on by some dumb jock. Go back to your slut girlfriend and—”
Oh hell no.
My fist snaps out.
After that, everything is a blur.
People are shouting. Someone grabs the back of my jacket, trying to yank me off Delaney. My hand throbs. I taste blood in my mouth. It’s like an out-of-body experience that I can’t even describe because I’m not there. I’m lost in a haze of unchecked anger.
“Garrett.”
Someone slams me into a wall, and I instinctively release a right hook. I glimpse a flash of red, hear my name again, a sharp, emphatic “Garrett”—and my vision clears in time to see the blood spurting from the corner of Logan’s mouth.
Oh shit.
“G.” His voice is low and ominous, but there’s no mistaking the worry swimming in his eyes. “G, you’ve gotta stop.”
All the oxygen in my lungs shudders out in a rush. I glance around and find a sea of faces staring at me, hear hushed voices and confused whispers.
And then Coach appears, and I’m suddenly hit with the gravity of what I’ve just done.
Two hours later, I stand in front of Hannah’s door, and I barely have enough strength left to knock.
I can’t remember the last time I reached this level of intense exhaustion. Instead of a post-game celebration with my team tonight, I sat in Coach’s office for more than an hour and listened to him shout at me for starting a fight on school property. Which, by the way, earned me a one-game suspension. To be honest, I’m surprised the punishment wasn’t stiffer, but after Coach and a few other Briar officials got the whole story out of me, they decided to go easy on me. Hannah had given me permission to tell them about her history with Delaney, insisting that she didn’t want them to think I was some psycho who went around attacking random hockey fans for no good reason, but I still feel like a shit for sharing her trauma with my coach.
One-game suspension. Jesus. I deserve a helluva lot worse.
I wonder if my dad has heard about the suspension yet, but I know he must have. I bet he has someone at Briar on his payroll to feed him information about me. Luckily, he wasn’t around when I left the arena, so I was spared from dealing with his wrath tonight.
Logan was there, though, waiting for me outside, and I’ve never been more ashamed in my life as I apologized to my best friend for hitting him. But Hannah had also given me the okay to share the truth with Logan, and after I told him who Rob was and why I went after him, Logan was ready to go after Rob himself, and then he apologized to me for pulling me off the bastard. That’s when I realized how much I fucking love the guy. He might be crushing on my girlfriend, but he’s still the best friend I’ve ever had. And hell, I can’t even fault him for the girlfriend-crushing part because why wouldn’t he want to be with someone as incredible as Hannah?
I’m nervous as hell when she opens the door to let me in, but she surprises me by immediately throwing her arms around me. “Are you okay?” she says urgently.
“I’m fine.” It sounds like I’m speaking through a mouthful of gravel, so I clear my throat before continuing. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”
She tilts her head to look up at me, regret etched into her face. “You shouldn’t have gone after him.”
“I know.” My throat closes up. “I couldn’t stop myself. I kept picturing that bastard sitting on the witness stand, calling you a whore and saying you took drugs and seduced his friend. It made me sick.” I weakly shake my head. “No, it made me crazy.”
She takes my hand and leads me to her room, closing the door behind her before joining me on the edge of the bed. She reaches for my hand again, and gasps when she sees the state of my knuckles. They’re cracked and caked with blood, and even though I washed my hands thoroughly before coming here, the little cuts have opened up and are now dribbling with blood.
“How much trouble are you in?” she asks.
“Not as much as I deserve. One-game suspension, which shouldn’t hurt the team too bad. Our record is solid enough that
Her eyebrows shoot up. “He did?”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath. “Too much of a hassle dealing with the police, I guess. He probably just wanted to go back to whatever hole he crawled out of and pretend it never happened. Just like how he pretended that his best friend didn’t hurt you.” Bile bubbles in my throat. “How the fuck is that fair, Hannah? Why aren’t you angrier? Why aren’t you furious that your rapist is walking around free? And his slimy friends are the ones who helped him get off.”
She sighs. “It’s not fair. And I am angry. But…well, life isn’t always fair, babe. I mean, look at your father—he’s every much a criminal as Aaron is, and he’s not in jail either. If anything, he’s still revered by every hockey fan in this country.”
“Yeah, because nobody knows what he did to me and my mom.”
“And you think if they knew, they’d stop idolizing him? Some of them might, but I guarantee you that a lot of them won’t care, because he’s a star athlete and he won lots of games, so that makes him a hero.” She shakes her head sadly. “Do you realize how many abusers are walking around unpunished? How many rape charges are dropped because of ‘insufficient’ evidence, or how many date rapists get away with what they’ve done because the victim is too scared to tell anyone? So yeah, it’s not fair, but it’s also not worth agonizing over.”
Sorrow clogs my throat. “You’re a better person than I am, then.”
“That’s not true,” she chides. “Remember what you told me on Thanksgiving? How your father isn’t worth your anger and revenge? Well, that’s the best revenge right there, Garrett. Living well and being happy is how we get over the shit in our past. I was raped, and it was awful, but I’m not going to waste my time or energy either, not on some pathetic, screwed-up guy who couldn’t take no for an answer, or his pathetic friends who thought he deserved to be rewarded for his actions.” She sighs again. “I put it all behind me. You really didn’t have to confront Rob on my behalf.”