He comes after me again and I ram him with my shoulder hard enough that he falls to the ice and slides away.
I chuckle around my mouth-guard and leave him to pick himself up.
Michael passes the puck to me and I sling it to another player named Roscoe who shoots it toward the goal. The goalie blocks it and we all groan.
“Stop playing like a bunch of girls!” Coach yells. “Arnett,” he says, referring to Roscoe, “you can do better than that!” We play for another hour before Coach calls it a day. “Come see me after you shower, James. Don’t come to my office smelling like a damn sweaty pig,” he says gruffly before leaving us to go down the tunnel.
I feel like every time he asks me to come see him it’s never good news. We’re into December now and I’m still not back with my team. I’m losing precious time.
I shower as quickly as I can and change into a pair of jeans and a sweater that Grace got me. It’s a little too preppy for my taste but I can’t argue about the fact that I definitely feel a hell of a lot more professional in the clothes she picked. I just have to get used to them.
I head down to Coach’s office and knock once.
“Come in and shut the door behind you,” he orders.
I take a deep breath before I open the door. If shit’s about to hit the fan, I want to at least brace myself before it happens.
I step into Coach’s shoebox-size office and wonder again why the man likes this tiny hole for an office.
“Bennett,” he says my name on a sigh and leans back in his chair. It squeaks from his weight and for a second I think he might fall, but apparently, the chair is in a lot better shape than it looks. “What are you still doing here?”
“I keep asking myself that too, Coach.”
“You’re a professional player, Bennett,” he says, like I don’t already know. “You don’t belong out there with a bunch of college kids. Go back to your team.”
I look away. “Coach Matthews won’t let me back. They’re investigating me.”
“Investigating you?” Coach’s brows knit into a line. “What the hell for?”
I shrug. “I told you, Matthews hates me.”
Coach snorts. “So you keep telling me, but you won’t tell me why he hates you. You must have done something.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I snap, offended that he’d suggest that it’s my fault. I’ve done a lot of shitty things, but I’m not a bad person.
Coach slams his hand down on the table. “Then tell me what it is. You must know.” A vein in his forehead pulses—a telltale sign that he’s pissed. “A coach doesn’t keep one of his best players benched for no reason.”
“You think I’m one of his best players?” I don’t know why I latch onto those words. I guess maybe after all this time I needed affirmation that I am a good player. After a while you begin to doubt yourself.
“You don’t need me to tell you that you’re a damn good player.” Coach picks up a pen and taps it against his desk. “Now, stop pussyfooting around and tell me what the hell is going on,” he demands. He narrows his eyes on me and gives me the look that he used to give me when I went to school here—the one that says he’ll keep me in this room until I spill the beans.
I told Grace—well, she figured it out—so I don’t see the point in not telling Coach Harrison. Keeping it a secret isn’t doing me any fucking good. Matthews is still coming after me.
“I caught Matthews giving Greg Paulson steroids. The fucking team captain.”
Coach says one word. “No.” He doesn’t say it like he doesn’t believe me but like he doesn’t want to believe it’s true.
I nod once. “He threatened to ruin my career if I told anyone and I know he could. I got injured just after it happened which I’m sure thrilled him. Even though I haven’t told a soul, except you now.” I leave Grace out of it, because even though I trust Coach, I don’t want there to be any chance of her getting dragged into this. “He’s doing everything he can to keep me off the team until my contract runs out at the end of the season and here’s the thing: if I don’t get to play soon, no other team will want to draft me.”
Coach nods, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “We’ll just go public with this then.”
“No,” I say quickly. Coach looks at me quizzically waiting for me to elaborate. “Do you really think anyone will believe me?” I ask. “You know what kind of reputation I have, and God knows what kind of lies Matthews is feeding the higher ups. I need proof. Right now, it’s my word against his.”
“Then we have to get you back with your team.” Coach nods at his words. “That’s the only way we can get proof. Unless you think the player you saw will talk?” He raises a brow and waits for me to answer.
“Why would he? If he admits to doing steroids, then he’s in a fuck ton of trouble.”
Coach makes a noise of agreement. “You’re right.” He rubs his fingers over his lips, a sign that he’s deep in thought. “Let me think on this. I’ll … I’ll come up with a plan.”
I nod and leave him. I didn’t want to get Coach Harrison involved in this but he’s one of the smartest men I know. If he can’t help me then no one can.
“My parents want you to come visit for Christmas and New Year’s.”
I choke on the pasta I was swallowing. “What?” I ask when I can breathe again.
Grace sighs. “My parents want to meet you over Christmas break. They asked me to invite you to Thanksgiving but I got you out of that. They won’t let it go, though.”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and look around the restaurant. Someone snaps a photo of us on their phone and whispers to the people they’re with.
My gaze slides back to Grace and I can tell how nervous she is. She hates asking me to do this.
“All right, I’ll go.”
“Really?” She swirls spaghetti around her fork. “I mean, if you can come up with a good enough excuse for them I’m sure they’ll let it go.”
“Nah.” I shrug. “It won’t be so bad.”
Grace chuckles like she thinks it’s cute that I believe that. “Just remember that they think we’re really a couple so prepare for an intense inquisition.”
“I’ll live,” I tell her.
She takes a bite of her spaghetti, chews, and swallows before speaking again. “There’s also this huge party my family throws every year on New Year’s Eve in the mansion my dad grew up in. You’ll need to bring a tux.”
“I can do that.”
She breathes out a sigh of relief. “I really thought you were going to run screaming from the restaurant when I told you.”
“It’s your parents, Grace, not Kim Jong-un.”
She giggles. “I’m semi-impressed that you know who the president of North Korea is.”
“Oh, is that who that is?” I joke.
“Funny.” She shakes her head. “I’m going to head home after my finals next Thursday and you can come whenever.”
“Why don’t I go then?” I ask her. “I can drive you home.”
“You want to drive me home?” she asks. “It’s like ten hours without stopping—and you have to stop for gas, food, potty breaks,” she rambles.
“I don’t mind.” I take a bite of my food. “It’ll be fun.”
The idea of a ten-plus-hour road trip with anyone else would have me wanting to poke my eyes out with a spoon, but not with Grace. I think it would be fun.
“If you’re sure, I’d love that. It saves me from having to ride the train. I hate the train.”
I chuckle. “I’m surprised your parents wouldn’t pay for you to fly home.”
“They would,” she admits. “But it’s so much cheaper to go by train. I don’t like them to spend money on unnecessary things.”
I bend my head to peer under the table. “Says the girl wearing a thousand-dollar pair of shoes.”
“I have my priorities.” She laughs.
There’s a speck of spaghetti sauce in the corner of her lip and I reach across the table
to swipe it away. I lick the sauce off my finger and her eyes widen with desire.
We’re playing a very dangerous game, one where someone gets hurt, but both of us seem helpless to stop it.
“You’re bringing all of this?” Bennett looks at all my bags sitting by the door of my dorm.
“Yes. I’m going to be home for three weeks. I need this stuff.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “You’re going home. How could you possibly need this much? I’m only bringing one bag and it’s not like I have stuff waiting at your house for me.”
I shrug. “I’m a girl, we need a lot of stuff.”
“I’d like to point out that I’m a girl and I don’t need that much stuff.” Elle points to the two duffle bags she has packed.
“Yeah, well you’re also flying home,” I reason. “It’s always better to pack light for a flight.”
“We need to get out of here,” Bennett says, grabbing three of my bags. “We’re already late.”
“I’ll meet you outside,” I tell him. “I want to say goodbye to Elle.”
He nods once and leaves us alone.
After our disastrous first encounter, I would’ve never thought Elle would end up becoming one of the best friends I’ve ever had, but she has. We’re only off for three weeks, but I’m going to miss her.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she warns.
“Like what?” I try not to laugh.
“Like you’re going to cry. I know I’m awesome but I’m not that awesome.”
“Come here, you loser,” I say and pull her into a hug.
We sway back and forth and she whispers, “I’m going to miss you.”
“I knew it.” I laugh, letting her go.
There’s a knock on our door and we turn to the open doorway to find Ryland. His dark hair is damp from a shower and he wears a pair of jeans and an Addams University sweatshirt. “Are you ready?” he asks Elle.
She nods. “I’ll see you in three weeks,” she tells me and hugs me again.
“Bye, Grace.” Ryland waves.
“Bye.” I wave back.
Elle still insists they’re not dating, but I don’t know whether she’s trying to fool me or herself. Ryland offered to drop her off at the airport since it’s on his way home, but I think there’s more to it. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, though. I don’t feel right to press her when I’m keeping so many secrets of my own.
They leave and I grab my last two bags, locking the door behind me.
Bennett is waiting outside on the steps like he promised and we walk over to his car in the garage. My arms are screaming by the time we get there. I probably shouldn’t have packed so much but I would never admit that to Bennett. I’d never hear the end of it.
Bennett loads my stuff in, squishing it in beside his one lone bag. It won’t all fit in the trunk so he ends up having to put two of my bags in the back seat.
When we finally get on our way, it’s after ten.
Bennett had wanted to get on the road by seven.
He turns on the radio and puts his sunglasses on. “Ready, Princess?”
I nod. “You bet.”
I’m excited to go home for longer this time. Thanksgiving break wasn’t long enough. I’m sure it’ll be hard to come back to school, but I need this. Family time is important.
A song comes on the radio and I smile when I recognize it. “That’s a Willow Creek song,” I tell Bennett—like he doesn’t already know, which of course he does since they’re only one of the biggest bands in the world.
“I know,” he says with a chuckle.
“My brother is dating the drummer’s daughter,” I tell him.
He glances at me with a surprised expression. “No shit?”
“Yeah, she’s a friend of mine. She’s Dean’s best friend, though. It was kind of inevitable that those two ended up together even though they were oblivious to it for the longest time.”
“Hmm,” Bennett hums.
“They went on a road trip this past summer and the rest is history.” I don’t know why I’m telling Bennett this. It’s not like he cares, but the words keep coming. “I envy them,” I admit.
His head snaps toward me and then back to the road. “Why?” he asks.
I shrug. “They found love in their best friend. That’s special.”
“All love is special,” he counters.
“I know, but … I guess I feel like I’ll never have any kind of love.”
He chokes on a laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re beautiful Grace. Sweet. Funny. Amazing,” he says the last on a sigh. “Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
“Really? Because I don’t see any lining up.” I hold up a hand. “And don’t say it’s because they think I have a boyfriend. I know that rarely stops most guys, and when I was in high school it was the same thing.”
“Maybe they’re intimidated by you,” he suggests.
I snort. “Intimidated by me? Are you crazy?”
“Well,” he starts, “in your hometown, they probably knew you came from a rich family, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s common knowledge around there.”
“Okay,” he says. “Take that and your whole take charge attitude and it scares a guy away.”
“Take charge?”
“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he says quickly. “I just mean, you’re kind of bossy.”
“Is there any good way to take bossy?”
“Fuck,” he curses, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m saying this all wrong. What I mean is, you’re a leader and a lot of guys are intimidated by that.”
“Are you intimidated by that?” I don’t know why I ask that, but I’m insanely curious of his answer.
He grins. “Hell no. I fucking love it. You don’t take anyone’s bullshit, and I find that insanely attractive.”
I press my lips together. I want to ask him if that means he finds me attractive, but I’m scared to push my luck. If he hasn’t realized I’ve developed real feelings for him I’d like to keep it that way. Something tells me that anyone that falls in love with Bennett gets their heartbroken, and I don’t want to be added to that list.
We stop for the night around seven o’ clock. We got stuck in traffic thanks to a nasty wreck so we still have a good six hours to drive tomorrow.
“You can shower first,” Bennett tells me, opening the door to our room and dropping our bags on the floor. “I’m going to go grab us something to eat from that restaurant next door. I’ll be right back.”
I nod as he immediately ducks back out the door.
I don’t hesitate to get in the shower. I didn’t have time this morning since I was already behind and I don’t know why, but sitting in a car all day makes me feel gross. I turn the shower on and let the room steam up. Bennett insisted on us staying in a nice hotel, and I’m thankful for that. I drop my clothes on the floor and step under the spray. I feel my coiled muscles instantly relax and I sigh. I’m glad Bennett asked if I was okay to stop and didn’t insist on continuing down the road. I don’t think I could’ve lasted another six hours in the car. Luckily, when we were growing up we usually flew everywhere when we went on vacation, but on those rare occasions when we drove, I was always the one complaining. Being cooped up in a car never bothered my brothers, though.
I step out of the shower and grab one of the fluffy white towels embroidered with the hotel logo and dry off before wrapping it around my body.
I stupidly didn’t bring a change of clothes into the bathroom with me but I was too eager to get in the shower. I open the door and find that our bags are no longer right there, which means Bennett is back.
“I got you a cheeseburger. I hope that’s okay,” he calls from the bedroom area.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” I pad in there and find him standing over the bed pulling Styrofoam boxes out of a paper bag.
He looks up when he hears me and makes a strangled sound.
I don’t move. I don�
��t think I even breathe.
“Grace,” he whispers my name like it’s the only word he knows.
I feel like everything between us has been leading to this moment. Like we’re at a crossroads and one choice will define how everything ends. I always make the safe choice. Always. But fuck it, the safe choice is boring, and I’m so sick of it.
I drop the towel.
Bennett makes a strangled sound and he swallows thickly. He doesn’t look away, and his eyes … They’re burning with a fire. He doesn’t move toward me, though, and I realize he’s giving me the choice. The choice to pick up my towel and pretend this never happened or the choice to grab the reins and take what I want.
I take a step forward and he doesn’t move away. I take that as a good sign.
Another step and then another until I’m right in front of him. My hands slide up around his neck, tangling into the hair that’s grown slightly shaggy since I first saw him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, breathing heavily.
“I want this,” I tell him, sliding my hands down his chest. “I want you.”
“Why?” he asks. “Why me? I’m not good for you.”
“I trust you,” I tell him. “I like you.” More than I should. “I want this to be you.”
He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tight. “There are plenty of other guys that would be so much better for you, Grace. I don’t want you to regret this.”
“I want you.” I plead with my eyes for him to understand. “How can I regret something I want so bad?”
He still looks unsure. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
“You might,” he counters. “Sex complicates things.”
“Everything is complicated, not just sex.”
He swallows thickly. “I feel like such an asshole.”
“Why?” I ask, my brows furrowing together.
“Because I want this,” he whispers, taking my face between his hands and crashing his lips to mine.
The Game That Breaks Us Page 17
