The Deal

Hannah rests her chin on my shoulder, and I can feel the waves of sadness radiating off her body.

I have no idea what to say. Everything she described is so brutal, and yet…I understand. I know what it’s like to hate someone that much, to run away because you’re scared of what you might do if you see that person’s face. What you might be capable of.

My voice is raspy as hell as I blurt out, “The first time my father hit me was on Halloween.”

Hannah’s head snaps up in shock. “What?”

I almost don’t keep going, but after the story she just told me, I can’t hold back. I need her to know that she’s not the only one who’s experienced that kind of anger and desperation. “I was twelve when it happened. It was a year after my mom died.”

“Oh my gosh. I had no idea.” Her eyes go wide, not with pity, but with sympathy. “I got the feeling you don’t like your dad—I heard it in the way you talk about him—but I didn’t realize it was because…”

“Because he beat the shit out of me?” I fill in, my tone dripping with resentment. “My father isn’t the man he pretends to be for the world. Mr. Hockey Star, family man, all that charity work he does. He’s perfect on paper, huh? But at home, he was…fuck, he was a monster.”

Hannah’s fingers are warm as she laces them through mine. I squeeze them, needing a physical distraction from the tight ache in my chest.

“I don’t even know what I did to piss him off that night. I came home from trick-or-treating with my friends, and we must have spoken about something, he must have yelled about something, but I don’t remember. All I remember is the black eye and the broken nose, and being so stunned that he’d actually laid a hand on me.” I laugh callously. “After that, it happened on a regular basis. He never broke any bones, though. Nope, because that would lay me out, and he needed me to be able to play hockey.”

“How long did it go on for?” she whispers.

“Until I got big enough to fight back. I’m lucky, I only got wailed on for three, maybe four years? My mother lived through it for fifteen. Well, assuming he started hitting her the day they met. She never told me how long it actually went on for. Honestly, Hannah?” I meet her eyes, ashamed of what I’m about to say. “When she died of lung cancer…” I’m sick to my stomach now. “I was relieved. Because it meant she didn’t have to suffer anymore.”

“She could have left him.”

I shake my head. “He would’ve killed her before he let that happen. Nobody leaves Phil Graham. Nobody divorces him, because that would leave a black stain on his pristine reputation, and he can’t have that.” I sigh. “He doesn’t drink or have problems with substance abuse, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s just…sick, I guess. He loses his temper at the drop of a hat, and the only way he knows how to solve problems is with his fists. He’s a fucking narcissist, too. I’ve never known anyone who is so full of himself, so fucking arrogant. My mother and I were just props to him. Trophy wife, trophy son. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”

I have never told anyone about this before. Not Logan or Tuck. Not even Birdie, the master of keeping secrets. Anything related to my father, I keep to myself. Because the sad truth is, too many people out there would be tempted to sell the story to make a few bucks. It’s not that I don’t trust my friends, I do, but when you’ve already been disappointed by the one person you’re supposed to trust most in your life, you’re not exactly keen on giving people any kind of ammunition over you.

But I trust Hannah. I have faith that she won’t tell anyone about this, and as my confession hangs in the air, it’s like a load has been lifted off my chest.

“So yeah,” I say roughly, “the last time I celebrated Hallo-fucking-ween, I got the shit kicked out of me by my own father. Not a happy memory, huh?”

“No, it’s not.” Her free hand rises to stroke my jaw, which is covered with stubble because I was too lazy to shave today. “But you know what my therapist used to tell me? The best way to forget a bad memory is to replace it with a good one.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s easier said than done.”

“Maybe, but there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

My breath lodges in my throat when she climbs into my lap. You’d think it would be impossible for me to get hard when we’ve just had the most depressing conversation known to man, but my dick thickens the moment her firm ass settles over it. The kiss she gives me is soft and sweet, and I groan in disappointment when her mouth suddenly leaves mine.

I don’t stay disappointed for long, though, because the next thing I know, she’s kneeling on the floor in front of me and freeing my cock from my sweatpants.