The Deal

“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 finding out what happened to Aaron’s friends. Where they went to college, what they’re doing now. The last time I had any contact with Rob Delaney, it was indirectly. It was when my dad attacked Rob’s father in the hardware store in Ransom.

“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?”