The next morning, I leave Garrett asleep in my bed and get ready for work. Although I’m still shaken up over what happened last night, I meant every word I said to him. I don’t blame him for losing his temper. In fact, some spiteful part of me is glad that Rob took a fist to the face. He deserves it after what he did to me. Lying under oath, providing testimony that allowed the case against Aaron to be dismissed…what kind of person does something so cruel and vindictive?
But I know Garrett is upset about what he did, and I know I’m going to have to work hard to make him see that he’s not the monster he thinks he is.
But I also can’t bail on work, so Operation Reassurance will have to wait.
Once I’m dressed and ready to go, I sit on the edge of the bed and touch Garrett’s cheek. “I have to go to work,” I whisper.
“Mmmddrv…yuou…?”
I deduce that he’s offering to drive me, and a smile tugs on the corner of my mouth. “I’ve got Tracy’s car today. Go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be back around five.”
“’Kay.” His eyelids flutter and a second later he’s asleep again.
I make myself a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen and chug it to jumpstart my barely functioning brain. My gaze shifts to Allie’s bedroom door, which is wide open. The glimpse of her perfectly made bed worries me only for a second, because when I check my phone, I find a text from last night that tells me Allie spent the night at Sean’s frat house.
My shift at the diner is chaotic from moment one. The breakfast crowd arrives in droves and it’s a good two hours before the rush finally dissipates. I don’t even have time to take a breath once it clears out, because Della asks me to reorganize the supplies under the counter before the lunch rush hits. I spend the next hour on my knees, moving stacks of napkins and packets of sugar from one shelf to another, and switching the coffee mug shelf with the drinking glass shelf.
When I hop to my feet, I’m startled to find a man sitting on the stool directly in front of me.
It’s Garrett’s father.
“Mr. Graham,” I squeak in surprise. “Hi.”
“Hello, Hannah.” His voice is as chilly as the December air outside the diner. “We need to talk.”
We do?
Shit. Why do I have a feeling I know exactly what he wants to talk about?
“I’m working,” I answer in an awkward tone.
“I can wait.”
Double shit. It’s only ten o’clock and I’m not off until five. Is he actually going to sit around and wait for seven hours? Because there’s no way I’ll be able to get through my shift if he’s in the diner, staring at me the whole time.
“Let me see if I can take a break,” I say hastily.
He nods. “It won’t take long. I assure you, I only need a few minutes of your time.”
I don’t know if that’s a promise, or a threat.
Gulping, I pop into the back office to talk to Della, who signs off on a five-minute break after I tell her that my boyfriend’s father has something urgent to discuss with me.
The moment Mr. Graham and I step outside, I get the answer to that age-old promise vs. threat question—because his body language emits some serious menace.
“I bet you’re quite pleased with yourself.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
He shoves both hands in the pockets of his long black coat, and he looks so much like Garrett it’s actually kind of upsetting. But he doesn’t sound like Garrett, because Garrett’s voice isn’t this harsh, and Garrett’s eyes definitely don’t carry this much animosity.
“I’ve been with a lot of women, Hannah.” Mr. Graham laughs, but without an ounce of humor or a shred of warmth. “You think I don’t know what an ego boost it is for a woman when she has two men fighting over her?”
Is that what he thinks last night was about? That Garrett and Rob were fighting a duel for my love? Jesus.
“That’s not why they were fighting,” I say weakly.
His lips curl in a sneer. “Oh really? So the fight had nothing to do with you?” When I don’t answer, he laughs again. “That’s what I thought.”
I don’t like the way he’s looking at me with such blatant hostility. And I wish I hadn’t forgotten my gloves inside, because my hands feel like two blocks of ice.
I shove them in my pockets and meet his eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want you to stop distracting my son,” he says briskly. “Do you realize he’s facing a one-game suspension for that stunt? Because of you, Hannah. Because instead of concentrating on winning games, he’s panting over you like a puppy dog and fighting battles on your behalf.”
My throat tightens. “That’s not true.”
He takes a step closer and I’m genuinely frightened for a moment. I chastise myself for it, though, because come on, he’s not going to hurt me when we’re out in public. When the diner window is right behind me and anyone can see us.
“I see the way he looks at you, and I don’t like it. And I certainly don’t like that you’ve divided his attention. Which is why I’ve decided you’re no longer going to be seeing my son.”
I can’t stop a laugh of disbelief. “With all due respect, sir, but that’s not your decision to make.”
“You’re right. It’s going to be your decision.”
My stomach lurches. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re going to break up with my son.”
I gape at him. “Um…no. I’m sorry, but no.”
“I thought you’d say that. It’s all right. I’m confident I can change your mind.” Those cold, gray eyes bore into my face. “Do you care about Garrett?”
“Of course I do.” My voice cracks. “I love him.”
The confession brings a flash of annoyance to his eyes. He studies my face, then makes a derisive sound. “I believe you mean that.” He shrugs dismissively. “But that just means you want him to be happy, don’t you, Hannah? You want him to succeed.”
I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I know that I hate him for it.
“Do you want to know why he’s succeeding right now? What enables him to do that?” Mr. Graham smirks. “It’s because of me. Because my signature is on the tuition checks I send to Briar. He goes to school because of me. He buys his textbooks and pays for his booze because of me. His car? Insurance? Who do you think makes the payments for that? And his gear? The boy doesn’t even have a job—how do you think he’s able to live? Because of me.”
I feel sick. Because now I do know where he’s going.
“I generously allow him these luxuries because I know his goals align with mine. I know what he wants to achieve, and I know he’s capable of achieving it.” His jaw hardens. “But we’ve hit a little speed bump, haven’t we?”
He gives me a pointed stare, and yep, I’m the speed bump.
“So this is what’s going to happen.” His tone is deceptively pleasant. Garrett is right. This man is a monster. “You’re going to break up with my son. You won’t see him anymore, you won’t remain friends with him. This will be a clean break with absolutely no further contact. Do you understand?”
“Or what?” I whisper, because I need to hear him say it.
“Or I cut the boy off.” He shrugs. “Bye-bye tuition and books and cars and food. Is that what you want, Hannah?”
My brain snaps into overtime, rapidly running over my options. I’m not about to let some asshole blackmail me into ending things with Garrett, not when there are clearly other solutions available to us.
But I haven’t given Phil Graham enough credit, because apparently he’s not just a jerk, but a mind reader.
“You’re considering what will happen if you say no?” he guesses. “Trying to think of a way you can still be with Garrett without him losing everything he’s worked so hard for?” He chuckles. “Well, let’s see, shall we? He can always apply for financial aid.”
I silently curse him for raising the idea that had just entered my mind.
“But wait, he didn’t qualify for financial aid.” Graham looks like he might actually be enjoying himself. “When your family’s income is as substantial as ours, schools don’t give you money, Hannah. Believe me, Garrett applied. Briar turned him down on the spot.”
Shit.
“A bank loan?” Garrett’s father suggests. “Well, that’s hard to get approved for when you have no credit or assets.”
My brain scrambles to keep up. Garrett must have credit, though. Some kind of income. He told me he works during the summer.
But Mr. Graham is like a sniper, shooting down every thought that enters my head.
“He gets paid in cash for his construction work. What a pity, huh? No record of income, no credit, not needy enough to warrant help from Briar.” He tsks with his tongue and I almost smack him in the face. “So where does that leave us? Oh, right, the other option you’re considering. My son will find a job and pay for his own education and expenses.”
Yep, that idea has also occurred to me.
“Do you know how much an Ivy League education costs? Do you think he can pay that kind of tuition working part-time?” Garrett’s father shakes his head. “No, he’ll have to work full-time in order to do that. He might be able to keep attending school, but he’ll have to drop hockey, won’t he? And how happy will he be then?” His smile chills me to the bone. “Or let’s assume he can juggle it all—full-time job, school, and hockey…there won’t be much time left for you, will there, Hannah?”
Which is exactly what he wants.
I feel like I might throw up. I know he’s not fucking around. He will cut Garrett off if I don’t do what he says.
I also know that if Garrett found out about his father’s threat, he’d tell him to fuck right off. He’d pick me over the money, but that only makes me sicker, because Mr. Graham is right. Garrett would have to drop out or work his ass off, which either means no hockey altogether, or no time to focus on hockey. And I want him to focus on it, damn it. It’s his dream.
My mind continues to spin.
If I break up with Garrett, Mr. Graham wins.
If I don’t break up with Garrett, Mr. Graham still wins.
Tears well up in my eyes. “He’s your son…” I choke on the words. “How can you be so cruel?”
He looks bored. “I’m not cruel. I’m just practical. And unlike some people, I have my priorities in order. I’ve invested a lot of time and money in that boy, and I refuse to see all that hard work go to waste over a piece of coed pussy.”
I flinch in repulsion.
“Get it done, Hannah,” he says harshly. “I mean it, don’t fucking test me, and don’t think I’m bluffing.” His icy stare pierces my face. “Do I look like a man who bluffs?”
Acid burns my throat as I slowly shake my head. “No. You don’t.”
