The Graham Effect (Campus Diaries, #1)

What I want is to throw up.

Other bodies drift in, including Coach Jensen and Coach Maran, and soon there’s a full-scale meeting in process. My entire body feels itchy, like there’re ants creeping along my skin. Shane and Beckett know about my dad, about Owen, but nobody else does, and now I’m forced to stand there and discuss the darkest thing that’s ever happened to me.

I don’t offer details, not to the level I did with Gigi. I give my teammates only the gist of it. Dad had gun. Gun go bang. Mom dead.

They’re all stricken. Even Trager looks upset.

“It’s fine,” I tell them, so uncomfortable I want to crawl into a hole.

I wish Gigi were here, but she’s not coming until tomorrow. I’m sure if I called her, she’d hop in the car and break every speed limit to get here. But tonight was supposed to be about my team. Dinner, game tape, our last official night of a roller-coaster season full of ups and downs.

“Why is this Klein asshole giving interviews about shit that’s none of his business?” The outraged demand comes from Rand Hawley.

“For real,” Trager actually agrees with Rand. “I’m starting to think this dude deserved to have his jaw wired shit.”

I shrug. “He did. Said a lot of nastier shit in the locker room after the game.”

“What did he say?” Colson glances at me from his perch against the wall next to Garrett. They exchanged a hug when Case came in. I didn’t love seeing that.

“Nothing that bears repeating.” A sigh lodges in my throat as I look around the room. “You guys have played with me all year. You know I don’t have a temper. It takes a lot to trigger me.”

“So this fucking asshole was running his mouth back then, and now he’s doing it again,” Trager says. “You know what they’re trying to do, right? They’re trying to distract us with this superfluous bullshit so that our heads aren’t in the game.”

Angry murmurs go through the room. Me, I’m more impressed by the fact that Trager knows the word superfluous.

“Well, fuck that,” Rand pipes up, nodding at Trager. “It’s not going to work.”

“No,” Colson agrees. “It won’t.”

Coach Jensen finally speaks, his hard gaze landing on me. “We can skip the press conference tomorrow morning if you want. I have no issue telling the officials we’re not interested.”

There’s always a pregame press conference between the two teams, usually comprising of the captains and assistants. Michael Klein happens to be the latter.

“It’s fine,” I tell Coach. “I’ll do it.”

His dark eyes focus on my face. “Your head will be where it needs to be tomorrow?”

“Always,” I promise.

The coaches head for the door, along with Garrett, who claps me on the arm before leaving. Everyone else starts to disperse too. I walk various guys to the door and accept various words of encouragement that I don’t want to hear. I just want to be left the hell alone. I even wish Shane weren’t here right now, and he’s my roommate.

Colson lingers, then gestures for me to step into the hall. I flip the lock to keep the door open and follow him out.

“You okay?” he says brusquely.

I offer a faint smile. “You really care if I am?”

“I do. Also…” Case lets out a breath. “I never thought I’d say this in my life, but… I sort of miss you.”

“Bullshit.”

He laughs. “Right? Who in their right mind would miss your prolonged silences and asshole remarks?”

I run a hand through my hair, and Case’s gaze fixes on my left hand. Just like that, his laughter dies.

“Christ, Ryder. You married my ex-girlfriend,” he says flatly.

“No, I married my wife.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, pale blue eyes focusing on his feet. Then he sighs again.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to, like, hang out with you guys. Just the three of us.”

“I wouldn’t put anyone through that uncomfortable torture.”

He snickers. “But I’ll get over it,” he says, shrugging. “You’re not a bad guy, Luke. I know you didn’t do this on purpose.”

“I didn’t.” I sigh too. “Can’t help who you fall for.”

“No. You can’t.” He sticks out his hand. “We’re good if you want.”

“I want.”

I shake his hand, but he surprises me by yanking me in for a side hug. I return it, giving him a determined look when we pull apart.

“I won’t let this Klein bullshit screw with my head,” I promise.

“Never thought you would.” There’s a steely look in his own eyes. “Those assholes are going down tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll make them regret pulling this stunt.”



The next morning, I awake to a missed call from Julio Vega. I’m instantly sick to my stomach, because I highly doubt the Dallas GM is calling to wish me luck in the finals today. Just happens to coincide with the fact that my sordid family history suddenly became hot news.

My hand is shaking as I step onto the balcony holding my phone. Shane is still asleep. I woke up ahead of the alarm, as if my subconscious sensed I missed a call from the man who holds my future in his hands.

There’s a chill in the air, and I wish I threw my hoodie on first. I stand there in a T-shirt and track pants, cold fingers scrolling to return his call.

“Luke, I’m glad I caught you. Sorry for the early hour.”

“No problem. I was up.”

“Some media storm you found yourself in,” Vega says, cutting right to the chase. “Way to draw focus away from what really matters, huh? It’s the Frozen Four. That’s what they should be writing about.”

My stomach twists into knots. “I’m sorry, sir. I had nothing to do with—”

“Oh, you misunderstand. I’m not laying the blame at your door. It’s those vultures. And judging by the source of the initial article, it seems your opponent was trying to unnerve you.”

“Seems so.”

“Well, I wanted to touch base and let you know you have the full support of myself and the franchise on this matter.”

I’m so shocked I almost drop the phone off the ninth-floor balcony. “I do?”

“Of course. Not only will you be part of the family soon, but it’s just common decency. You lost a parent at a very young age. That shouldn’t be made into a spectacle or a piece of gossip.”

I swallow. “Oh. Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

“I lost my mother at a young age too. Not under such appalling circumstances, but painful nonetheless. If you need anything—you want me to speak to the prosecutor in Phoenix, arrange for you to attend the hearing without it being a media circus—just let me know. We’ll do everything on our end to help.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And good luck today. We’ll be rooting for you down here in Dallas.”

After I end up the call, I’m embarrassed to realize I’m blinking back tears. But, Christ, the relief that gusts through me is almost an emotional release. I fumble with my phone to text Gigi, filling her in on the call with Vega. She’s awake too and texts back immediately.

GISELE:

I’m so glad, baby.

She’s still typing.

GISELE:

Maybe now you can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop all the time? Dallas wants you. They’re waiting for you. Stop doubting yourself.

ME:

I’ll try not to.

GISELE:

Good. Now go get something to eat and try not to overdo it during morning skate. Save it for the game.

ME:

I will. Love you.

GISELE:

Love you too.

I do my best to keep my mind relaxed, my body loose. After a very light game-day skate, I make my way to the hotel conference room for the press event.

Dread rises as I near the door. Fuck. I don’t want to do this. But I’m not going to run from it. I’m not a coward.

The moment I slide through the door, Coach Jensen pulls me aside and says, “Anything you don’t want to answer, just say, ‘No comment,’ understood?”

I nod.

“Don’t feel bad about it or explain why you’re not commenting. ‘No comment.’ Period, end of sentence.”