Page 44 of The Deal

Hannah gasps. “Seriously? Gross!”

“Gramps is pissing himself laughing, and Gran is freaking out because she thinks all the food on the table is contaminated now, and my dad…” My humor fades as I remember the look on the old man’s face. “Let’s just say he wasn’t pleased.”

Understatement of the year. A chill runs up my spine as I recall what happened when we got back to Boston a few days later. What he did to my mother as punishment for “shaming” him, as he’d accused her of doing during his rage.

The only saving grace is that Mom died a year later. She wasn’t there to witness it when he turned his rage on me, and I’m grateful for that every day of my life.

Beside me, Hannah goes somber as well. “I’m not seeing my parents for Thanksgiving.”

I glance over, studying her face. It’s obvious she’s upset, and her soft confession distracts me from the crushing memories pressing down on my chest. “Do you usually go home?”

“No, we go to my aunt’s for the holidays, but my folks can’t afford it this year, and I…can’t afford to go to them.”

There’s a false note there at the end, but I can’t imagine what she might be lying about.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs when she sees the sympathy on my face. “There’s always Christmas, right?”

I nod, though for me, there are no holidays. I’d rather get a full body wax than go home and spend the holidays with my father.

I set my popcorn bowl on the nightstand and pick up the remote. “Ready for season two?” I ask in a casual voice. The conversation has gotten too heavy, and I’m eager to derail it.

“Bring it on.”

This time I sit beside her, but there’s still two feet of space between us. It’s messed up how much I’m enjoying this. Just hanging out with a girl without worrying about how I’m going to get rid of her or that she’s going to start making demands on me.

We watch the premiere episode of season two, followed by the next one, and then the next one…and the next thing I know, it’s three in the morning.

“Oh crap, is that the time?” Hannah blurts out. As she voices the question, a huge yawn overtakes her face.

I rub my weary eyes, unable to fathom how it got this late without either one of us noticing. We’ve literally watched a season and a half of television in one sitting.

“Shit,” I mumble.

“I can’t believe how late it is.” She yawns again, which triggers a yawn of my own, and then we’re both sitting in my dark bedroom—I don’t even remember turning off the light—yawning like two people who haven’t slept in months.

“I should go.” She stumbles off the bed and rakes her hands through her hair. “Where’s my phone? I need to call a cab.”

My next yawn nearly breaks my jaw. “I can drive you,” I say groggily, sliding off the mattress.

“No way. You had two beers tonight.”

“Hours ago,” I object. “I’m good to drive.”

“No.”

Exasperation courses through me. “I’m not letting you take a cab and walk through campus at three in the fucking morning. Either I drive you, or you stay here.”

She looks startled. “I’m not staying here.”

“Then I’m driving you. No argument.”

Her gaze travels to the two Bud bottles on the nightstand. I sense her reluctance, but I also see the exhaustion lining her features. After a moment, her shoulders droop and she lets out a breath. “Fine. I’ll crash on your couch.”

I’m quick to shake my head. “No. It’s better if you sleep in here.”

Wrong thing to say, because her body goes stiffer than a board. “I’m not sleeping in your bedroom.”

“I live with three hockey players, Wellsy. Who, by the way, still aren’t home from a night of partying. I’m not saying it’ll happen, but there’s a chance one of them might stumble into the living room drunk off their asses and grope you or something if they find you on the couch. I, on the other hand, have no interest in groping you.” I gesture to my massive bed. “This thing can sleep seven. You won’t even know I’m here.”

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