The Risk

by Elle Kennedy

  Since it’s an away game, my father and the guys have to ride the bus back to campus. Some Harvard players trickle out first, and the girlfriends and groupies swarm like bees. Jake and Brooks appear, both looking undeniably fine in their dark suits. I love whoever came up with the after-game dress code. Their suit jackets stretch across impossibly broad shoulders, and my heart does a little flip when I notice Jake’s hair is still damp from the shower. Which plants in my head the image of a naked Jake in the shower. Which is delicious.

  Weston’s face lights up when he spots Summer. “Di Laurentis!” He saunters over and opens his arms for a hug.

  She glowers at him. “Don’t you dare. No hugs tonight.”

  “Come on, don’t be a sore loser.” He widens his arms.

  After a moment, she gives him a quick hug.

  Jake winks at me from over Weston’s shoulder and Summer’s head.

  My lips curve slightly. “Good game, Connelly.”

  I see him fighting a smile. “Thanks, Jensen.”

  Summer steps out of Weston’s embrace. “So,” she tells him. “Looks like your penalty provoking didn’t work too well in the second and third.”

  “Yeah, the refs got meaner after the Jonah thing.”

  “The Jonah thing?” she echoes, poking Brooks in the center of his chest. “It was more than a ‘thing’! He broke Hunter’s wrist!”

  “It was an accident,” Brooks protests.

  As they argue, a familiar face catches my eye. It’s the girl from the Coffee Hut—Jake’s friend. Hazel, was it? She’s moving through the crowd, scanning faces until her gaze suddenly collides with mine. Then she notices Jake standing two feet away from me, and a frown mars her face.

  I tense in anticipation of her approach, but for some reason she stays rooted in place. Interesting. Didn’t she proclaim herself Jake’s closest friend and confidante?

  I arch a brow in her direction. Her frown deepens.

  As I break the eye contact, my peripheral vision snags on another familiar figure. I turn to see my father emerging from the corridor. Unfortunately, his arrival is perfectly timed with that of Daryl Pedersen.

  Uh-oh.

  The two coaches exchange a few words as they fall into step with each other. Dad is stone-faced, as per usual. He nods at something Pedersen says. I can easily guess their exchange—the usual good game, thanks, some fake camaraderie. But as they get closer, I distinctly hear Pedersen say, “Nice try.”

  I’m not sure what he means, and I guess Dad is also stumped, because rather than walk away, he stops. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Solid effort with the tricks.” Pedersen chuckles. When he notices me standing near Jake, his eyebrows flick up, and a little smirk forms on his lips.

  A sick feeling swirls in my stomach.

  Since my father doesn’t think rationally when it comes to the Harvard coach, he digs his feet in, his stance aggressive. “What tricks?” he asks coldly.

  “I’m just saying, your plan to distract my star player didn’t work.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jake frown.

  “I didn’t expect that of you, though.” Pedersen shrugs. “Not the Chad I know, that’s for sure.”

  Jake steps closer to me, and it feels almost like a protective gesture. My father doesn’t notice, however. He’s too busy glowering at Pedersen. The interaction has drawn a small audience, mostly comprised of Briar players.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my father says irritably.

  “I’m sure you don’t.” Pedersen laughs again. “But it’s nice knowing you’re not above pimping out your own daughter.”

  Oh my God.

  Silence descends, like dead air in a live newscast. My pulse races, and I’m pretty sure my blood pressure has dropped, because I’m feeling light-headed.

  Dad glances at me for a second, before directing a glacial stare at his nemesis. “As usual, Daryl, you’re talking out of your ass.”

  The other man cocks a brow. “To be honest, it was extremely satisfying being proven right. I’ve always suspected you’re not the honorable, rule-abiding martyr you present yourself as. The pillar of honesty and integrity, right?” Pedersen rolls his eyes. “Always thought it was an act. And while I’m glad to know the level you’ll stoop to, for chrissake, Chad. Your daughter setting up a honey trap for Connelly? I get that you hate me, but come on, that move was beneath you.”

  Pedersen stalks off, leaving my father and the rest of our audience to absorb the impact of his accusation. Several seconds of silence pass.

  Summer is the first to address the issue. “Bee?” she says uncertainly. “Is that true?”

  And suddenly all eyes are on me and Jake.

  31

  Brenna

  Twenty-four hours after the shit show that was the conference finals, I’m still dealing with the fallout. My anger over Daryl Pedersen’s actions hasn’t abated in the slightest. That spiteful dickhead didn’t need to drop that bomb and certainly not in public. After he did that, the Harvard players followed him, my dad ushered the Briar boys onto the bus, and I drove home with Summer, who was visibly hurt that I’d kept her in the dark about me and Jake Connelly.

  But at least she’s still talking to me. My father hasn’t said one word to me since last night. I genuinely don’t know if he’s pissed or simply indifferent. I’m definitely not confused about how Nate and the others feel, however.

  The guys are outraged. Hollis called me a traitor last night. Nate, still sore about being ejected from the finals, was livid that I would even dare to be with a Harvard guy after the bullshit Jonah Hemley pulled during the game. And when I got home from Cambridge, Hunter bitterly texted me: Wrist’s broken in 2 places. Thank your boyfriend for me.

  They’re being babies. I’m well aware of this. But these babies are still my friends, and they dealt with a brutal loss yesterday. A loss that might not have occurred if Jake’s teammate hadn’t instigated Hunter’s and Nate’s ejections.

  Doesn’t matter that Jake himself wasn’t responsible. He’s the Harvard captain, he’s the enemy, and I’m an asshole for “choosing him over us”—Hollis’s words, not mine.

  “I still can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

  Summer’s unhappy voice echoes in my ear. I’m lying on my bed staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore my rumbling stomach. I’d hoped Summer’s phone call would distract me from the hunger, but no such luck. Sooner or later I’ll have to drag myself downstairs to find something to eat. Which means having to face my father, who’s been holed up in the living room all evening.

  “I do trust you,” I assure her.

  “Do you really?” she says doubtfully.

  “Of course. But like I said in the car last night, I didn’t want to risk it. You’re the girl who tells her boyfriend everything, and that’s fine, at least most of the time. But tensions were already running high between us and Harvard, especially after that dumb prank on Jesse’s car. I just didn’t want to take the chance that you might tell Fitz, at least not before the finals. But the game’s over now, and Harvard’s moving on. There’s no reason to hide it anymore.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” she says, albeit grudgingly. After a few beats, she changes the subject to Hunter. “I can’t believe that jerk broke Hunter’s wrist.”

  “I know.”

  “And all because Hunter’s been banging everything in a skirt lately. If he hadn’t slept with that girl, we might’ve won the game.”

  “He didn’t know she had a boyfriend,” I point out.

  “I know. But still. Why are men so stupid?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  There’s another pause. “So is Jake Connelly your boyfriend?”

  “No.” I can’t stop a grin, because I’ve been waiting for this cross-examination since last night. I think Summer was too hurt over being left out of the loop to properly question me about Jake. Now that her feelings ar
en’t stinging anymore, Detective Di Laurentis is back on the case.

  “Have you slept with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How was it?”

  “It was good.”

  “Just good?”

  “It was very good,” I amend.

  “Just very good—”

  “I’m not doing this anymore, you brat,” I interrupt.

  “Sorry.” The interrogation resumes. “So you slept with him. And you’ve been sneaking around with him for years—”

  “It has not been years,” I grumble.

  “But since my fashion show?” she presses.

  “Yeah, around then.”

  “Do you like him? Wait, why am I even asking. I know you do.” Her voice is growing more and more excited by the second. “I think this is great, by the way. I mean, he’s insanely attractive—I could stare at him for hours and hours.”

  I try not to laugh. “Glad you approve?”

  Her tone becomes serious. “I do, you know. Approve.”

  “You’re the only one.”

  “They’ll get over it.”

  We chat for a couple more minutes. After we hang up, my stomach grumbles again, and I decide it’s time to bite the bullet and go downstairs. I can’t avoid my father forever. Plus, I’m famished.

  I know he hears me descending the stairs because of the horrible creaking, but he doesn’t turn around as I reach the doorway. He’s watching HockeyNet, and since yesterday’s game aired on the network, they’re not only showing highlights of it, but Kip Haskins and Trevor Trent are actually discussing the game on their show.

  Or rather, arguing about it.

  “There’s fighting in the pros,” Kip is grumbling. “I don’t see why the NCAA is so severe about it.”

  “Because these are kids,” Trevor points out.

  “Are you kidding me? Some of these guys are older than actual NHL players!” Kip argues. “Toronto has an eighteen-year-old on their active roster. Minnesota is starting two nineteen-year-olds. Those boys are thrust into a high-stakes violent environment and they’re able to handle it. And what, you’re telling me twenty-one and twenty-two-year-old college men are too delicate to throw a few punches and—”

  Dad pauses the DVR when he notices me.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He grunts. I don’t know if that means hello or get out of my face.

  “Can we talk?”

  Another grunt.

  Swallowing a sigh, I enter the room and sit on the other end of the couch. Dad watches me warily but doesn’t say a word. He’s clearly waiting for me to start, so I do.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was seeing Jake Connelly.” I shrug awkwardly. “If it helps, I didn’t tell anyone.”

  His jaw ticks. “Daryl Pedersen seemed to know.”

  “He saw us together at Harvard once.”

  Anger sharpens Dad’s features. “You’ve been around Pedersen?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Just one time, one conversation.”

  My father goes silent for a long, tense moment. I can’t read his expression anymore, and I have no idea what’s going through his mind.

  “I want you to stay away from that man,” he finally mutters.

  “Dad—”

  “I mean it, Brenna!” He raises his voice, and now his expression is easy to decode—bitter, cold, and disapproving. But what else is new? “Daryl Pedersen is a selfish prick. He was a dirty player, now he’s a dirty coach, and he has no honor, on or off the ice. Stay away from him.”

  I shake my head in exasperation. “Dad. I don’t care about your stupid feud with Coach Pedersen, okay? I. Don’t. Care. It has nothing to do with me, and if you’re worried I’m hanging out with him in my spare time, I can assure you I’m not. Why would I? As for Jake—”

  “Stay away from him, too,” Dad growls.

  “Come on.” I exhale slowly. “Jake’s a good guy. What’s wrong with me seeing him?”

  “I’m not doing this with you again.” He locks his gaze to mine. “I will not watch this happen again. We already did it with Eric—”

  “Jake is not Eric. And our relationship is nothing like my relationship with Eric was. I was fifteen when we started dating. And I was sixteen when—”

  “We’re not going through it again!” he booms. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you. But you’re not hearing me.” I rake my fingers through my hair, agitation rising inside me. “Jake is nothing like Eric. He’s smart, he’s disciplined, he doesn’t party. I swear, this guy is a generational talent, Dad. People will be talking about his career for decades to come. And he’s a good guy. He was with me the night I went to help Eric—”

  “So that’s the friend you spent the night with?” Dad’s lips tighten. “And I suppose he’s the one you keep going to Boston to see? Is this why the HockeyNet internship fell through? Because your mind’s been so wrapped up in this guy that you didn’t properly prepare for your interviews?” He laughs humorlessly. “And you’re telling me this is nothing like it was with Eric?”

  My jaw drops. “Is that a joke? I absolutely prepared for those interviews. I didn’t get the job because the man in charge thinks my sports knowledge is cute.” Anger heats my throat. “And yes, I stayed at Jake’s place that night, and I’m not apologizing for that.”

  “Fine, then maybe you should go and spend a few more nights there,” Dad snaps back.

  A second ticks by. Two. Three.

  “Are you kicking me out?” I ask in amazement.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Actually, yes. If you’re determined to revert back to this bullshit high school behavior, where you stay out all night and throw your life away for another hockey player—”

  “I’m not throwing my life away. Not only are you overreacting, but you’re being ridiculously irrational right now.”

  “Irrational? You have no idea what it’s like to almost lose your child,” he spits out. “You have no idea, Brenna. And forgive me if I’m not feeling optimistic about this relationship with Connelly. You have a track record of making terrible decisions.”

  I feel like I’ve been struck. My heart beats double time as I try to collect my thoughts. As I try to put into words why his accusations are such a slap in the face.

  “Despite what you think, I’ve actually been making solid decisions,” I say bitterly. “I turned a miserable high school transcript around by going to community college, where I excelled. So much so that I was able to get into an Ivy League university, without you pulling strings, without anyone else’s help. How’s that for terrible decisions? But no, you refuse to acknowledge that I’ve grown up or matured. You want to keep thinking of me as the selfish teenager who lost her head over a guy? Then fine, keeping doing that.” I stand up on stiff legs. “I’ll get my stuff and leave.”

  32

  Jake

  “Thank you for letting me stay here.” Gratitude shines in Brenna’s eyes as she drops her bag on the floor near my bed.

  “No problem.” I wrap my arms around her from behind and kiss the side of her neck. “I cleared out a drawer for you. I wasn’t sure how long you’re staying.”

  “You’re giving me a drawer?”

  I release her, my arms awkwardly falling to my sides. I’ve never actually spent more than one night with a girl, so I’m not entirely sure of the etiquette. Was the drawer too much?

  But Brenna’s surprise is quickly replaced with approval. “Aw Jakey, you’re the bestest.” She winks at me.

  Drawer for the win.

  I clasp my hands on her waist and lean down to kiss her. She kisses me back, but it’s only a peck. Then she kneels to unzip her black carry-on. “So what kind of destruction did Pedersen’s bombshell cause on your end? Any of your boys mad at you?”

  “Not really. I mean, McCarthy wasn’t thrilled when he found out I’ve been seeing you. He’s full-on dating that Katherine girl now, but he still called me a douche.” I let out a rueful breath. “I was a boss
y prick when I ended your hookup. And then to get together with you right afterward? I don’t blame him for being pissed.”

  “No, you were right to do it. He was starting to really like me, and I knew there was no chance of it ever going anywhere. You called him a puppy once, remember? I can’t be with a puppy.”

  “That’s right. You need the stallion.”

  Brenna snorts. “What is it with you guys thinking you’re either a puppy or a stallion? How is this the metric by which we’re measuring masculinity?”

  “It’s not. It’s the metric by which we’re measuring my dick.” I cup my package and wiggle my tongue at her.

  “Ugh. You’re the worst.” Grinning, she opens her assigned drawer and starts placing items of clothing into it, arranged in neat piles.

  “You’re already unpacking?”

  “Yeah. You gave me a drawer. Why would I leave my stuff in my suitcase?”

  “Oh Christ, you’re the person who goes on vacation and immediately puts all their shit away.”

  “Yes, Jake. Because then it’s easier to find,” she says primly. “Who wants to dig through a huge pile of clothes every time you’re getting dressed?”

  “I don’t think we can be together,” I inform her.

  “Tough, because I’m staying for a few days.” And just like that, her grin fades and her mood turns somber. “I can’t believe my dad asked me to leave.”

  “That’s brutal,” I agree.

  “Summer said I could stay at her place, but talk about uncomfortable. None of those jerks are speaking to me at the moment. Well, Fitz is, but he’s not one for drama. The others, not so much.”

  “Don’t you think they’re kind of overreacting?” I say tentatively.

  “Oh, they’re definitely overreacting. At least with my dad I can understand why he overreacts all the time. Considering everything I put him through during high school.”

  As usual, her vagueness piques my curiosity. But I force myself not to press for details. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. I hope.