The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Thanks, Ryder.”

He heads off and I walk into the lobby. I notice the bright red flowers in the planters near the main desk, and when the security guy isn’t looking, I nonchalantly pluck one of the scarlet blooms and keep walking. Then I search on my phone, grinning to myself.

Ten minutes later, Gigi walks into the hot tub area, wearing the Speedo that never fails to make me burn for her.

I stick out the flower. “Here.”

She sighs. “Oh God. I’m scared to ask, but…what international day is it?”

“National Cotton Candy Day. Seemed like one you’d celebrate.”

She releases that melodic, feminine laugh, and I pretend it doesn’t affect me when the truth is, everything about her does.

We settle on opposite ends of the hot tub, as the jets swirl the water around us in a foamy eddy. We both know what’ll happen if we sit too close together, and for once we’re on our best behavior.

“I really thought I’d hear something about Team USA by now,” Gigi grumbles. “Like, why did Dustin bother hyping me up in Maine, telling me I had nothing to worry about, if they weren’t planning on contacting me soon?”

“I know it’s frustrating, but you need to have more patience,” I advise. “I remember it took forever when they were putting together the World Juniors team.” I lick a drop of moisture off my top lip. “I think the more important question right now is—what are we gonna do about Colson? I keep going back and forth about whether we should tell him about us.”

Her features strain. “You guys are really starting to get along, huh?”

“We are. I like him,” I say begrudgingly.

She grins. “That was painful, wasn’t it?”

“Very.” I pause. “I don’t know, though. Maybe we shouldn’t say anything to him yet. This last month has proven that camaraderie is what the team needed. I can’t fuck that up.”

“So let’s keep it on the down-low for a while longer.” She sounds relieved.

The timer beeps, and we towel off, slip into our flip-flops, and move to the sauna. Afterward, stepping back into the corridor is the most refreshing feeling, the normal temperature instantly cooling my face.

Gigi’s face is still flushed from the steam. She looks so pretty, gray eyes sparkling and cheeks rosy, that I forget where we are. I lean down and kiss her.

The tip of her tongue touches mine when someone clears their throat and we jump apart.

It’s Coach Jensen.

Shit.

“Graham. Ryder,” he greets us warily.

She jerks away from me, not at all discreetly. “Coach,” she says with a nod of greeting. “Um. I need to grab a shower and change. Good night.”

Then she dashes away.

Coach watches her fleeing form, then shifts his gaze back to me. I resist the urge to close my eyes so I don’t have to face that scowl of condemnation.

“You really want to go there?” he asks, dragging a hand over his salt-and-pepper buzz cut. The guy’s hairline looks the same as it does in pictures of him in the lobby from twenty years ago.

When I don’t respond, he sighs.

“These fucking guys always thinking with their dicks,” he mutters to himself. “Can I just have one season where this shit doesn’t happen?”

“It’s more than…whatever you think it is,” I finally say.

He looks unconvinced.

“We’re together. There’s, ah, feelings involved.”

Goddamn feelings. How did it even get to this point? I thought I would fuck her a few times and we’d both be on our way. Now, the idea of never seeing her smile at me again feels like someone ripping my heart out of my chest.

“All I can say is, tread carefully. Don’t do anything to hurt the team.”

“I’m trying not to. Look, you know we had a rough start, but I’ve been doing what I can to change that. Colson and I have been trying to unite everyone.”

“I’ve noticed,” Jensen acknowledges.

“So then you know that the last thing I want to do is screw that up.” I shrug, a tad helplessly. “I didn’t plan for this.”

He lets out another heavy breath. “Look. Kid. I don’t give a shit about other people’s lives. I only care about a few things. My wife, my daughters, my grandkids. And my men. Once they leave Briar, that doesn’t change. They still belong to me, you understand?” He nods in the direction Gigi went. “Her father is like a son to me, which means she’s like a grandkid to me. Which means don’t fuck around.”

I gulp.

“I know you’ve had a tough go at it from a young age,” Jensen says gruffly. “And I know I gave you a hard time when you first got here. But I’ve noticed the difference in you, Ryder. You’re doing a good job as cocaptain, and the team is showing improvement because of that. If you keep this up, you boys are going to go all the way to the end.” He shrugs. “So…I just want you to think about whether that’s something you’re willing to jeopardize.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


RYDER



Don’t call me that


THE LAW HAS FINALLY CAUGHT UP TO ME.

Or rather, the lawyer. I’ve been dodging his calls since September. More than three months and he still hasn’t gotten the hint. In fact, he’s only accelerated his get-in-touch-with-Ryder campaign. Emailed multiple times this week, left two more voice messages, and I’ve finally realized if I don’t suck it up and rip the Band-Aid off, I’m going to be running from this guy for the rest of my life.

It’s Wednesday evening and I’m on my way to the dorms to see Gigi. We made plans for dinner and a movie. When I pull into the parking lot, I stay in the Jeep and call Peter Greene back without listening to the message he just left.

“Peter Greene,” comes his brisk greeting.

“Mr. Greene. It’s Ryder.”

“Finally.” He sounds a bit annoyed. “I was beginning to think you pulled a disappearing act and changed your name.”

God, the dream.

“Sorry for not returning your calls sooner, but…” I trail off, then opt for brutal honesty. “I didn’t want to.”

That gets me a rueful chuckle. “Look, trust me, I understand. I really do, kid. But no matter how badly you want to avoid this, it doesn’t change the fact your father is up for parole.”

“Yeah, explain that one to me again,” I mutter, trying to tamp down my anger.

But he hears it in my voice. “I get it,” Greene says. “I’d be pissed too. But I wasn’t the original prosecutor on the case, and I didn’t make that plea deal. But it was made, and he qualifies for the hearing, provided he’s exhibiting good behavior. And according to reports from the penitentiary, he is. He has a job. He’s involved in the prison church.”

“Good for him,” I mutter sarcastically. “Just be real with me right now—is there a chance he gets out?”

“A very slim one. So, no, I wouldn’t worry too hard about it. But…a spoken statement from you at the hearing will go a long way in ensuring that slim chance becomes zero.”

“No.” My tone is emphatic. Cold.

“Ryder.”

“No. If you want a written statement, I’ll send you that. But I’m not going in person. I don’t want to see him—ever. Got it?”

“And you’d be willing to take the risk he gets out?”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s in or if he’s out or wherever the hell he is. He doesn’t exist to me. You got it? Don’t ask me again,” I warn.

“Luke—”

“Don’t call me that.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to correct him. Greene and I met when I was thirteen, while Dad’s various appeals were making their way through the courts. Luckily, the door was effectively slammed on each one of them. And I truly didn’t foresee we’d be talking about parole so soon.

“Sorry, Ryder. I know this is difficult, but I urge you to reconsider.”

“Not interested.”

Then I hang up.

I take a breath. Fuck. I’m keyed up now. Wired. I didn’t expect to talk to Greene tonight, and I gather my composure as I walk toward Hartford House. I tell the security guard I’m there for Gigi, and he buzzes me into the lobby, where I sign in and then head for the stairs. The dorm is only three floors and has no elevators.