The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

Which is why tonight’s C-block topic had a title card with the words BRUTAL BRIAR BLOODBATH on it. Apparently, news of this morning’s scuffle made it all the way to the big sports networks.

“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?” I ask my dad when he calls me a couple of hours after he goes off the air. “It was, like, the least bloody brawl I’ve ever seen. A handful of blood drops, tops.”

“Hey, gotta get those views somehow. Blood sells in hockey.”

“You host a show with Jake Connelly, the most beautiful man in the world. Trust me, you’re going to get the views.”

“Nope, nope, nope,” he groans. “You know how I feel when you talk about Connelly’s stupid looks. It triggers my crippling inferiority.”

I snort out a laugh.

“What is it with you and your mother thinking that guy is handsome? He’s average, at best.”

“Oh, he’s definitely not average.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Chuckling to myself, I pull a pair of sweatpants out of my dresser drawer. I’m going down the hall to Whitney’s room tonight to watch a movie.

“Have you spoken to your brother today?” Dad asks.

“No. He texted last night, just some silly meme, but other than that, nothing in a few days. Why? Is he AWOL again?”

My twin has a habit of losing track of his surroundings when he’s writing music. His phone is constantly dead too. Which means Mom is constantly worrying and then texting me to find out if I’ve heard from Wyatt.

“No, no, he’s around. I talked to him this morning. He doesn’t have any gigs lined up, so he’s thinking he might come home for a few weeks.”

Unlike myself, Wyatt doesn’t attend college. He announced that decision to our parents the morning after our high school graduation, despite having been accepted into three of the best schools in the country, including Juilliard. He sat them down, all business (or as businesslike as one can look in ripped jeans and a threadbare T-shirt) and told them college had nothing to offer him, his path was music, and don’t bother talking him out of it, please and thank you.

Three weeks later, he moved to Nashville. And he’s not even a country music guy. His style lends itself more toward a folksy rock-pop mix—I don’t think I could accurately pin it down. All I know is, he’s good. Incredible, actually. He inherited the musician gene from Mom.

But the thing that sucks most about my brother? He also inherited Dad’s talent. Dude can play hockey too. And play it well.

He just doesn’t want to.

My brain can’t wrap itself around that. Who wouldn’t want to play hockey?

What the hell’s wrong with him?

“Anyway, I was thinking, if he does come home, maybe you can make it back too. Next weekend or the weekend after?”

“Yeah, I could probably swing it. Our season opener isn’t for a few weeks.”

“How did the men look, by the way? This morning, I mean.”

“I have no idea. Like I said before, they were two minutes into a drill before Jordan went off on one of the Eastwood guys. Luke Ryder finally broke it up.”

“That Ryder has a bad attitude. I have no idea how he’ll fare under a coach like Jensen, who has no patience for that crap.”

“Honestly, I can’t see how any of them are going to fare well.”

“If you’re worried about Case not making the team, don’t. There’s no doubt he’ll start.”

“Nope, wasn’t worried about that at all, but nice segue. Is the fishing expedition beginning now?”

“Who’s fishing?” Dad says innocently. “But I mean, since you brought it up…”

I roll my eyes at the phone. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you want to know. I know you’re obsessed with him, but you need to move on, my friend.”

“I’m not obsessed with him,” my father protests. “I just like the guy. I thought he was good for you.”

I thought so too.

Until he went and cheated on me.

But my dad doesn’t know that. We’re a tight-knit family, but there are certain things I draw the line at when it comes to sharing. I don’t discuss my sex life. I don’t tell them how many drinks I might imbibe at a party, or if I take a hit of an occasional joint.

And I certainly don’t talk about how the guy I was madly in love with kissed someone else the night after I told him I loved him. Nope.

“Anyway, I gotta go now,” I say before Dad can grill me some more. “Movie night with Whitney and Cami.”

“All right. Say hi to them. Love you, Stan.”

“I will. Love you too.”

I end the call just as a text from Case pops up on the screen. His ears must’ve been burning.

CASE:

Can we please talk?

I stare at the message. My thumbs hover over the keypad, but I can’t bring myself to type a response.

I know I should. It was easy to dodge his texts and calls over the summer, but now that we’re both back on campus, it’d probably behoove us to clear the air. Yet at the same time, I don’t know what there is to say anymore. We’re broken up. I’m not interested in getting back together, and I’m not ready to be best friends with him again.

CASE:

I should probably add—I’m at your door.

For fuck’s sake. He’s taken the decision out of my hands, and I’m a bit annoyed as I stomp toward my door and throw it open.

Sure enough, Case is there at the threshold wearing sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a backward baseball cap. He bites his lip when he sees my displeased expression.

“I know. I’m a dick. I shouldn’t just show up here.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” I agree.

“Also, I should give this back.” He holds out the key card required to gain entry into Hartford House.

I quickly snatch it from him. Shit. I forgot he even still had it.

“But now that I’m here…” He casts that familiar smile that usually melts my heart into goo.

Tonight it’s only half goo, because I’m mad at him for showing up uninvited.

“I only need five minutes.” At my reluctance, he implores me with those pale blue eyes. “Please?” he says huskily.

I open the door wider. “Fine. But I’m on my way out. Whitney’s waiting for me.”

“I’ll be quick,” he promises.

He walks into the common area, his tall muscular frame dominating the modest space. I have a two-bedroom suite in Hartford House, one of the nicer dorms at Briar. It’s also one of the oldest buildings, almost entirely covered in ivy, and since it was built before the university started maximizing every square foot of space, the rooms and suites are much bigger than those in other dorms. Hartford is located on the very edge of campus, right near all the running trails, which is perfect for me—a few times a week I’m able to wake up and get a quick run in before practice. I’ve never been a gym girl. I like being outdoors, even in the winter.

Rather than immediately diving into emotional territory, Case starts us off with a safe topic, sliding both hands in his pockets.

“This morning was brutal,” he tells me. “I know you guys were watching.”

“Yeah. It looked tense. Did Jensen give you shit afterwards?”

“Oh yeah.” He grimaces. “And then he named me cocaptain.”

Surprise flutters through me. “Really? Why didn’t he just keep Demaine as captain?”

“Oh, he didn’t pick. The guys did. And it gets even better—Jensen says we need two captains to try to unite the team or whatever. Which is fucking garbage. Nobody’s uniting shit.” Bitterness splashes off every word. “Anyway, the other captain they picked? Luke Ryder.”

My eyebrows soar. “Are you kidding? They voted him captain? That dude’s got the personality of a cactus.”

Case snickers. “Accurate assessment.”

Several seconds of silence tick by, and I brace myself for the change of subject. I feel it coming the way I always know when it’s going to rain. I’m a barometer for rain and awkward conversations.

“I’ve really missed you.”

His grief-stricken confession hangs between us. My heart can’t handle it when he says things like that.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Case…”