SWNOVELS The Graham Effect: Chapter 6
No kiss goodbye?
I SLEPT THROUGH MY ALARM.
Fucking hell.
I hurl myself out of bed like a rocket, taking half the comforter with me. Carma whimpers in her sleep from the heat loss. Her bare legs and pink panties now exposed, she curls over and tucks her knees up.
I don’t typically do sleepovers, especially during the season, but we were both pretty exhausted last night, and I felt bad telling her she couldn’t crash. I did make it clear I had to be up at six, but Carma shrugged it off. Said if she was still asleep when I got up, don’t wake her. Just lock up, and she’d leave through the back door.
I fly into the bathroom, wondering how the fuck I managed to sleep through my alarm. Since I got to Briar, I’ve been setting the alarm for six to be at the rink for seven. I always go early to train, even though practice doesn’t technically start till nine. Carma and I didn’t even stay up that late. We crashed around midnight.
I’m so pissed at myself right now. It takes fifteen minutes to drive to campus. I won’t even have time to eat breakfast. Goddamn it.
Why didn’t the others wake me? They usually leave around eight. They would’ve seen my Jeep in the driveway.
Furiously brushing my teeth, I scroll one-handed on my phone to call Shane.
“Yo,” he answers. “Where are you?”
“At home. Why didn’t you guys wake me?”
“I don’t know. We figured you were taking a day off from your overachiever routine and showing up to practice at a normal time like a normal person.”
Ha. He calls it overachieving. I call it being a hockey player.
“I slept through my alarm. I’m on my way now, though. Can you have a coffee waiting for me in the locker room so I can chug it while I gear up?”
“Anything for you, darling.”
I return to my room, where I dress quietly while Carma continues to sleep. She’s wormed her way back under the comforter and cocooned herself in it.
Since she asked me not to wake her, I leave her in my bedroom and take the stairs two at a time. I lock the front door and throw myself into the driver’s seat a moment later.
When I turn the key in the ignition, the Jeep doesn’t start.
Mother.
Fucker.
Not now.
I cannot fucking deal with this right now.
I waste about five minutes of precious time trying to start the engine, but the vehicle is dead as a doornail. I then release a series of expletives that would horrify even the filthiest of mouths.
Back in my bedroom, I’m done catering to Carma’s beauty sleep.
“Hey.” I shake her awake. “Do you have a car?”
She blinks drowsily. “Yeah…why?”
Relief pours into me. Oh, thank fuck. “I need you to drive me to practice. Please.”
“But it’s so early.”
“No, it’s late. I should have been there at seven, but I slept through my alarm.”
“I changed it,” she says groggily.
I freeze in place. “What?”
“I changed the alarm on your phone. You said your practice was at nine, so I don’t know why you had to set the alarm for six—”
“Because I go for seven,” I snap, practically vibrating from the anger that surges through me. “I can’t believe you changed my fucking alarm.”
And then, right on cue, to add insult to injury, my phone alarm starts blaring.
She reset the damn thing to eight thirty.
“Eight thirty?” I growl. “Are you kidding me right now? It takes fifteen minutes just to drive there. How am I supposed to suit up and be on the ice at nine—” I stop talking.
Jesus fucking Christ. There’s no point even arguing right now.
I exhale a long, calming breath.
“My car won’t start,” I say flatly. “I need a ride. I would’ve gone with my roommates, but they left already.”
“Please don’t be mad at me.” She’s wide awake now and jumping out of bed. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”
It’s difficult not to snap at her. Who randomly sleeps over at a hookup’s house and then changes his alarm? I’m close to exploding again. So I ignore her while she gets dressed and call Shane back.
“Hey,” I say urgently. “I’m going to be late. Try to cover for me with Jensen if you can. Tell him my car broke down.”
“I told you that Jeep was going to fuck you over one day.”
Sure, it was the Jeep that fucked me over.
I’ve never been late for practice a day in my life. And while I hate being reliant on anyone other than myself, there are zero drivers available on any of the ride apps, so I have no choice but to catch a ride with Carma. Luckily, the fire I light under her ass does its job. She and I are jogging out the door and across the street to her driveway less than five minutes later.
Carma unlocks her little red hatchback. “All right, big boy. Get in.”
She gives me a teasing little grin, and it does nothing to abate my internal rage.
I dive into the car and direct her to the two-lane road toward the Briar campus. Within minutes I’m twitching with impatience. She’s driving five miles over the speed limit, so the rational part of my brain knows I can’t ask her to go any faster than that. She’s already speeding. But goddamn it, if it were me, I’d be risking a hundred tickets to make it on time.
I drum my fingers against the center console, hitting the imaginary gas with my foot and dying inside the entire drive to campus. Carma tries making conversation and I diligently ignore her. I’m scared of what I might say.
It’s five minutes to nine when we pull into the parking lot of the Graham Center. There’s zero chance I’ll be dressed and on the ice before Coach blows his whistle. That’s just a fact. Hopefully the car-broke-down excuse will suffice, but Jensen’s been giving us serious grief since camp started. He’s on the verge of cutting any of us at any time. I wouldn’t put it past him to dump even me, the cocaptain, for the crime of tardiness.
Carma puts the car in park. I unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door handle.
“What, no kiss goodbye?”
I’m too pissed to even look at her. “I have to go.”
“Seriously? We spent the night together and you can’t spare two more seconds to kiss me goodbye?”
If only to avoid any more delay, I dutifully lean in for a kiss. To my sheer annoyance, she doesn’t leave it as a peck. Next thing I know, she’s climbing into the passenger side and onto my lap, arms around my neck, tongue prodding through my surprised lips.
“Carma,” I caution against her mouth, curling a firm hand over her waist to try to move her off me.
She starts kissing my neck, and my anger boils over. Because this is my career we’re talking about. Jensen is watching me. My NHL draft team is watching me. If I want to play in the pros and succeed there, I can’t be making out with some girl while the rest of my teammates are warming up for practice.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say tightly. “Now move.”
All right, that was harsh.
But the last thread of my patience has snapped like a cheap elastic band. First she changes my alarm, and now she won’t let me get out of the car?
I’m done here.
I manage to open the door and get myself out from under her. I jump out, lunging forward just as my peripheral vision catches another flash of movement. For a second I think it’s Carma getting out of the car, but my step stutters when I notice the man clicking his key fob to lock a black Range Rover two spaces over.
It’s Garrett Graham.
For a moment I’m rendered both speechless and motionless. I stand there as the hockey legend struts toward me with a travel mug in hand. I haven’t seen him since the hockey camp I was invited to attend as a teenager.
He glances at the red hatchback with Carma still behind the wheel. Then he scowls at me, and I know without a doubt that he saw her in my lap.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Can this day get any worse?
“Morning skate starts at nine, doesn’t it, Mr. Ryder?”
Yes, apparently it can get worse.
“I know. I’m running late. I had car trouble.” I wince as the excuse leaves my mouth.
“Looks like some serious car trouble,” Garrett says with a bite to his tone. His frown hasn’t abated.
He matches my pace up the concrete walkway toward the entrance.
“My car broke down in the driveway,” I find myself explaining, like some desperate attempt to win his approval. “So I had to catch a ride this morning. But my driver didn’t see the urgency in getting me here on time.”
“Not really her responsibility, now is it?” Lifting a brow, he stalks through the front doors.
I give up.
On my mad race down the hall, I wonder what Graham is even doing here. Maybe he’s here to see his daughter.
The empty locker room is an accusation. A slap in the face. I can barely stomach myself as I strip out of my clothes and throw on my pads and practice uniform. Everyone else is on the ice, where they should be. And I’m here like a fucking idiot. All because I wanted to get laid last night. I already have a target on my back. From Jensen, from Colson and his guys, from the NHL. And now my idol thinks I can’t get to practice on time.
Fuck my life.
I leave my phone on the mahogany shelf in my locker and sit on the bench to lace up my skates. A minute later, I walk down the rubber-coated pathway on my skate guards and emerge into the rink, where I’m relieved to find practice isn’t underway yet.
Relief courses through me. Thank fuck. Guys are still warming up, while Coach Jensen stands at the benches talking to Graham, who’s sipping from his travel mug.
Saved by Garrett Graham. If he weren’t here distracting Coach, I probably would’ve been sent home.
Shane skates toward me. “You okay?”
For all the ways he can be a jackass, he’s also a good friend.
“Yeah.” I pause. “Carma shut off my alarm.”
He grimaces. “Well, I guess that neighborly relationship is over.”
I can’t help but chuckle. He nailed that one right on the head.
“Dude, what the hell?” Hugo Karlsson, one of our senior d-men, skates up to us. He looks concerned too. “Everything okay?”
See? I want to shout to Graham. All these guys know me. I’m never late. The fact that they’re all concerned means this is an anomaly.
Except who am I kidding? Rare or not, I still messed up. I took her upstairs last night. Let her crash in my bed when I knew I had to be up early. I was thinking with my dick. Which I don’t do very often, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong, I get laid. I like to fuck. But I’m the one who let a random hookup turn into a problem.
Shane and I do a few laps. I breathe in, trying to center myself. At one point Beckett comes up alongside me. “What happened?” he asks.
“Carma,” I reply.
“Karma always comes for you, mate.”
“You’re not funny usually, and you’re especially not funny this morning.”
He merely chuckles and skates off.
My gaze drifts back to the benches. My hackles raise when I notice Colson is there now, laughing at something Graham said.
“Best buds over there,” I mutter to Shane.
Shane leans in, lowering his voice. “I heard Colson and Trager talking in the locker room earlier. Turns out Colson used to date Graham’s daughter.”
I try to disguise my interest. But yeah…that is certainly interesting. Wonder how Colson fucked that one up.
Still, however things ended with him and Gigi, Case clearly remains in her father’s good graces.
Unlike me.
A piercing whistle slices through the crisp air.
“Gather around,” Coach orders.
I don’t miss the way everyone’s gazes dart toward Graham as we line up in front of the two men. The man is an actual superstar. The best player to ever come out of Briar, which says a lot because Briar’s produced plenty of other legends. John Logan. Hunter Davenport. This year alone, there are eight draft picks in this rink. Eight. Briar’s an elite hockey program, with only the cream of the crop.
“I’m sure this man needs no introduction, but this is Garrett Graham. He’ll be helping me lead practice today.”
A ripple of excitement travels through the group.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Patrick Armstrong blurts out.
Coach glares at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Patrick says hastily. “I mean, are you kidding me? No f-bomb.”
“Since when do I give a fuck about your language?” Coach says. “I care about the interruption. Shut up.” He jabs a finger at Patrick, who instantly shuts up.
“Now, this isn’t simply the case of an alumnus wanting to kill some time, relive his glory days,” Coach explains. “You want to tell them why you’re here?”
Graham takes a step forward. “Hey, nice to see you all. I’m not sure how familiar any of you guys are with my foundation, but we work with a lot of charities to raise funds for various causes. We also run a few junior hockey camps. There’s one in particular that I head up with Jake Connelly.”
More excited murmurs ring out. Connelly is another legend. Not Briar-produced, but a legend just the same.
“About three years ago, we started the Hockey Kings juniors camp. It runs for one week every August. And every year we pick two NCAA players to help us coach the camp.”
This is the first I’ve heard of it. But I realize why that is when he continues.
“I always pick one Briar player, and Connelly picks one guy from Harvard.” Garrett makes a gagging noise. “You can’t account for taste.”
A few guys snicker.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on all of you during the season, you know, to scope you out. Scout who I think would be a good fit to coach with us. Last year Case helped us out.”
I notice Shane rolling his eyes.
Lucky Colson. Guess that’s what happens when you bang the man’s daughter.
“Year before that was David.” Graham nods toward Demaine. “With that said, I never choose the same guy twice, so, sorry, you two. You’re shit out of luck this year. The rest of you, it’s fair game. Do your thing today, practice as usual, and anyone who’s interested, just leave your name with Coach.”
I imagine every single guy other than Colson and Demaine will be writing their name on that list. Even the rich ones who go jet-setting with their folks in the summer will undoubtedly make the trek back for that one week. We’re talking about running a camp with two of the greatest players of all time. Anyone who’s serious about hockey will want to be there, myself included.
I know from personal experience what it’s like to learn directly under Garrett Graham. He and I didn’t spend much one-on-one time that week six years ago, only a couple solo sessions, but I learned more in those five days from him than in all my years playing hockey combined. Graham possesses innate, almost otherworldly instincts when it comes to this sport.
“All right, enough talk.” Jensen claps his hands. “We’re going to set up two three-on-three corner drills. I want to see you fighting over that puck. We’re going to run them simultaneously on either end of the rink. Garrett on one end, me on the other. Graham, pick your men.”
Garrett scans the thirty or so faces in front of him. “I’ll take Larsen, Colson, and Dunne. Facing against Trager, Coffey, and Pope.”
My stomach sinks. So it’s like that, huh?
Jensen assigns me to his group, which is something, I suppose. While everyone scatters to get in position, I skate over to Garrett.
“Hey,” I hedge, feeling awkward as hell. “I just wanted to say it’s an honor to have you here. Learning from someone of your caliber is invaluable to all of us.”
Awesome. I might as well pull the man’s pants down and kiss his ass for real instead of proverbially.
His half smile tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing.
“If you think a couple compliments are going to make me forget what I saw out in the parking lot, they won’t. It’ll take a lot more than that.”
“I know. I just…I do want you to know that’s not who I am. I’m never late. Well, clearly not never. But this was the first time,” I amend. “And I hope you can overlook this morning’s screwup, because I’m an excellent player, and I really would like to be considered for this opportunity.”
He gives me a long, discomfort-inducing once-over. Finally, he speaks. “My choice isn’t based solely on who’s an excellent player, kid. This is about a lot more than stat sheets. It’s about leadership. And from what I’ve seen so far, you might be lacking greatly in that quality.”