The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

“Hey, he’s trying.”

She’s not wrong—for the past three days, Garrett has texted, called, and left multiple voicemails for Gigi, asking to talk. But his daughter is stubborn. She’s the one refusing to accept the olive branch.

“He hurt her,” I say quietly.

“I know. He regrets it. You two just caught him by surprise. Garrett doesn’t like surprises. And no, I’m not secretly upset.”

“Really?”

She reaches across the table and takes both my hands in hers. “I know you lost your mother at a young age,” she starts.

I shift in my chair, discomfort tensing my shoulders because I don’t know how much Gigi told her parents about my background. I didn’t ask her to keep it a secret, what my dad did, but the idea of her parents knowing is still unsettling.

“It’s not an easy thing growing up without a mother.”

I shrug. “I had foster moms.”

She searches my face. “Were they good to you?”

I give an abrupt shake of the head. My throat tightens.

“That’s what I figured.” She squeezes my hands. “And that’s why I came over. I wanted you to know that I’m here for you. I mean it, Luke. I have no doubt you’ll be in our lives for a long time to come, and I’m not at all bothered by that.”

A thought tickles the back of mind. About my own mother. If she were alive and I brought home some girl I married, I wonder how she would react. If she’d be wise enough to recognize that Gigi actually isn’t “some girl” but my entire life.

But I’ll never know. And that bleak notion scrapes at something inside me. I blink. Blink again. The moisture in my eyes doesn’t dissipate. It just wells up, distorting my vision.

“Hey,” Hannah says gently. “It’s okay.”

I twist my head to avoid her gaze. I feel raw and exposed.

So she gets out of her chair and crouches in front of mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your mother.”

“No, it’s okay.” My voice breaks. I drag my forearm across my face, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

Before I can stop her, Gigi’s mom pulls me in for a tight hug and now I’m crying in her arms like a little kid.

This is so fucking embarrassing.

She reaches up and smooths a lock of hair away from my forehead, unfazed by my tears. “All I was trying to say is, you’re family now. I know I’m not your real mom, but I think I did pretty well with my own kids.”

“You did,” I say thickly.

“So if you ever need anything, I’m a call or text away. I’ll always be here for you.”

I suddenly hear the front door opening. Shane and Beckett’s voices. I quickly scrub my eyes, while Hannah gets up and sits back in her seat. She takes a sip of her water, then sets the bottle down and sighs.

“So. Now how are we going to solve the father-daughter problem?”



That is easier said than done. A week passes and Gigi still refuses to speak to her father. Garrett’s gotten so desperate he even called me and asked me to intervene on his behalf. I said I’d try. Because one, he’s my idol. And two, he’s now my father-in-law.

But…she’s my wife.

Wife.

It still feels surreal to say that. My whole life, nothing has ever felt entirely right aside from hockey. When I’m out there on the ice, chasing a puck, slapping a shot at net, that’s when I’ve always felt most like myself. A sense of belonging, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I’ve only felt that way one other time in my life.

When I said, “I do,” to Gigi in the courthouse.

We’ve chosen each other. And she’s right—I don’t expect it to be easy. Life never is. But she’s the one I want to face all the adversity with. She’s my partner, and no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other’s backs.

So I need to have her back now, even though I recognize that her father regrets every word he said in the locker room that day.

But man, those words cut her deep. She’s tried to please him her entire life, and he goes and tells her he’s disappointed in her? No, that he’s never been more disappointed in her?

It’s going to take a long time for her to forget that. Garrett knows, and that’s why he’s at the point of desperation where he’s turning to me. I know it must kill him. It’s obvious he disapproves of our marriage.

Oddly enough, someone who doesn’t disapprove—other than my mother-in-law—is my new brother-in-law. Wyatt texted me from the airport the morning he left Vegas.

WYATT:

Hurt my sister and I’ll hurt you. You feel me, Bill?

ME:

Bill?

WYATT:

Brother-in-law. Tried to write BIL but autocorrect didn’t like it. So you’re Bill now. Don’t hurt her and we’ll be good.

ME:

I won’t, and cool.

WYATT:

Welcome to the family. I figure we need to make an effort to get along. Now that we’re stuck with you forever.

ME:

Thanks, Bill.

Wyatt isn’t flying to Boston to watch me play in the Frozen Four tomorrow night, but Hannah and Garrett are coming. Garrett’s probably hoping Gigi will have no choice but to acknowledge his existence if they’re sitting together.

In another upset, Arizona beat out Notre Dame in their matchup two days ago, so we’re playing them in the National Championship. I don’t love it. I’m worried about playing with Michael Klein again. We didn’t face Arizona this season, so who knows how he’ll behave during play.

The entire team, including Jensen and the coaching staff, go out for dinner that night. Those of us who aren’t minors are even allowed to order one pint of beer—and only one—as Jensen so graciously informs us. Then he adds that anyone who takes him up on the offer needs to drink three glasses of water to combat the unwise choice. Still, more than a few of us order that pint.

News of my nuptials has traveled through the roster, and I notice Colson eyeing my wedding band on several different occasions during dinner. The one time our eyes meet, he mutters something under his breath and turns away in disgust. Next to him, Jordan Trager glares at me in solidarity. I reach for my pint glass in resignation.

We’ve just returned to the hotel and are striding into the lobby when my father-in-law texts to say he’s at the bar and do I have a minute.

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” I tell Shane, who nods and heads up to our room.

Some guys from the opposing team are milling in the lobby wearing their hockey jackets. Eyes widen and guys murmur in excitement when they catch sight of Garrett Graham striding across the lobby from the bar.

“Hey,” he says when he reaches me. He must feel the stares because he rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “I was going to suggest we grab a drink at the bar, but what do you say we go elsewhere?”

I nod. “Good idea.”

We leave the hotel and give the street a quick scan. There’s a bookstore at the end of the block with an adjacent coffee shop, so we walk toward it.

“I have no right asking you for favors,” Garrett starts ruefully. “I know I haven’t been very welcoming to you. When you came home with Stan for the holidays. When you showed interest in my camp. I probably could’ve been…less dickish.”

I shrug. “All good. I don’t hold grudges.”

“I usually don’t either. But I will say”—he offers a pointed frown—“I don’t love that you didn’t ask for my blessing before you married her.”

I tip my head at him, curious. “Would you have given it?”

“No.”

A snort slips out. “Then, better ask forgiveness than permission, right? Because I would’ve married her either way. I—” My jaw drops. “Holy shit.”

“What is it—”

But I’m already venturing toward the partition between the café and bookstore. I stop near a table of nonfiction books in front of the easel that caught my attention. Displayed on it is a large poster print depicting a barren white landscape bisected by a rushing river. Block letters read:





HORIZONS: THE YUKON TERRITORY


Holy.

Shit.