The Deal

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.”