Page 83 of Campus Crush
“Gram,” I pressed, setting down the dish towel. “Please look at me.”
When she finally turned, her eyes were guarded in a way I’d never seen before. She wouldn’t meet my gazedirectly, and in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that something was very wrong.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about right now,” she said softly. “You have your studies, your new relationship. I don’t want to burden you.”
“You could never be a burden,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
She patted my hand. “Soon, sweetie. But not tonight. Tonight is for celebrating you and that wonderful young man.” She nodded toward the living room, where Foster’s laugh mingled with what sounded like Mason’s voice, more animated than I’d heard in ages.
I wanted to push, to demand answers, but the fragile happiness of the evening held me back. Not to mention that Gram’s stubbornness was legendary.
The truth would have to wait, but my fear wasn’t going anywhere. Something was wrong with Gram, and I didn’t know if I was strong enough to face losing another person I loved.
FORTY
The next week went by in a blur of sex, hockey, and playingStardew Valleynext to my girl.
And it was perfect.
Every moment with Abby felt like discovering something new. The way she’d arch her back when I kissed that spot just below her ear. How she’d bite her lip to keep from making too much noise when my roommates were home. The soft, breathy way she’d say my name when she was close.
When we weren’t having sex, I’d find myself captivated, watching her build her farm like her life depended on it—naming cows after classic authors and planting neat rows of strawberries. It was even more endearing to see the fierce concentration on her face or the way she tilted her head when she was meticulously organizing her farm. These were all things I hadn’t been able to witness before, and too often I’d find myself mesmerized by her.
On the ice, things were just as good. Our team was on a winning streak—three games in seven days, and we’d taken all of them. Coach Maxwell had even pulled me aside afterThursday’s game against Helena College to tell me he’d never seen me play better.
“Whatever’s got you so focused, Kane, keep doing it,” he’d said with a knowing smirk.
I was walking on cloud nine until a single text message threatened my bliss.
Dad
Great game last night. Let me take you out to dinner Sunday night to celebrate how great your season is going.
You should bring your girlfriend too.
The messages had come in Friday morning as I was getting dressed for class, and my stomach had immediately knotted. I stared at my phone for a full minute, reading and rereading the texts.
The whole pretense of celebrating had me on edge. My father didn’t “celebrate” my hockey accomplishments—he tolerated them at best. And he certainly didn’t take interest in my dating life unless he thought he could use it somehow.
But when I brought it up to Abby, she thought it might be a good idea—that maybe it was an olive branch. She was more optimistic than I was about my relationship with my father.
So on Sunday, Abby and I joined my dad at one of his favorite restaurants in town. It was one of those upscale places with white tablecloths and waiters who looked down their noses at college students. The kind of place where the menu didn’t list prices because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.
Abby squeezed my hand as we walked inside. “Relax. I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know my dad,” I said. I couldn’t help but be wary. “He never does anything without an ulterior motive.”
But it made me especially nervous that he had specifically asked for Abby to come. I didn’t know what his play was, but it made me tense, nonetheless.
I wanted to protect her from my dad’s vitriol.
The hostess showed us to my dad’s table and he stood, his eyes brightening as he saw me. He was wearing one of his expensive suits—tailor-made and probably costing more than my entire semester’s tuition. His silver-streaked dark hair was perfectly styled, and his smile was practiced and polished like everything else about him.
“My boy,” he said, clapping me on the back and pulling me in for a hug. I returned it stiffly, the familiar cologne he wore bringing back a flood of memories—most of them involving disappointment and criticism.
Then his gaze landed on Abby. “Abby, so nice to see you again. You’ve done well, son,” he said, giving me a wink that made me feel gross. Like Abby was some trophy I’d won rather than an amazing person in her own right. “Aren’t you just a cutie? I didn’t notice the last time we met,” he said to Abby.
Abby stiffened beside me. She was wearing a simple blue dress, and her hair down. She looked beautiful, but I knew she hated being reduced to her appearance, especially by men like my father.
