At least Kane was there. He laughed like a hyena when I trudged up to him and handed me a shovel. We dug muddy sewage water for three goddamn hours until we were released. None of it mattered. All I could think about was getting back to my room so I could call Father. It chafes that he’s my only option, but he is, and it’s worth trying.
My keycard almost slips from my hand, my fingers frozen in the shape of a shovel handle, my body close to collapse. The lock clicks, and the door gives way as I push the handle. I trip over my feet as I stumble inside.
Becks is there, sitting up in bed, textbook in hand. He’s not the studious type, I know that much, but at North Point, you do homework or suffer. Only Kane’s crazy enough to challenge indoctrination from a well-practiced cult. We tried hard our first year, but they’ve beaten the rest of us into submission.
He wrinkles his nose. “I can smell you from here, bro. What happened?”
“Don’t ask.” I gather my toiletries, shoving my phone in the case, and grab a change of clothes. At least I don’t have to do laundry in this place, that is, unless my corrective duties tomorrow include laundry.
He laughs, but his laughter dies off as he studies me. I’m sure I look exactly how I feel. Mud’s found its way to places it’s never been before. My hair’s stuck to my face via sweat. “You ready yet?”
Thinking about answering him, waiting for the words to leave my mouth, I lean against the doorframe on my way out,letting my forehead rest against the wood and my lids close. Is this what it’s like for Griff? Thinking words, pushing them through a wall of molasses toward your mouth, them getting trapped before they can make it to your tongue? Man, I must be tired if this is comfortable. Could fall asleep right here …
“Savage. Wake up.”
“Huh?” Becks is beside me. “Fuck you, man. I don’t need your hockey thing.” I move to leave.
“You might want these.” He picks my shit off the floor, shoving the case and clothing against my torso. The fucker smirks.
I don’t take too much time in the shower, just enough to get my thoughts together. Everything’s spinning out of control. I thought once we got here, it would be easy to look after Griff, but today’s been nothing but a quick reminder of how little control I have. Towel around my waist, hair still wet, I check the time. Eight thirty. He’ll be up, most likely still working.
Taking a breath, I hit send on Father’s number.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah, it’s me, sir. I need … I need your help,” I admit. It pours out, everything that happened with Griffon. And I must be beyond my endurance, because my words fall out in the way they only do with a parent, like they used to with Mom. When you’re asking without actually asking them to pick up the pieces and put them back together for you.
When I finish, I close my eyes—breathe, Ryan—and let the words hang there. I brace for impact, because I’ve said way too fucking much, but none of the sharp words I’m used to come. Instead, an ominous silence stretches between us. All I can do is wait and hope he’s grown a heart in the past two weeks.
“I had a conversation just a little while ago with Major Jarvis,” he says. His voice is soft—not a good thing. It’s the same softness he used when he told me I was coming home fromPhoenix, my rookie season in the NHL. “He got Griffon to talk. He’s making progress.”
That fucking bastard got to Father before me.
“He forced Griffon to talk,” I hiss. “What’s going on for Griff doesn’t work like that.”
“You’re not a doctor, nor are you a psychiatrist.”
“With all due respect, neither is Major Jarvis, sir.”
“No, but he’s working closely with both. I was pleased to hear Griffon’s made strides in his first three weeks. I should have sent him sooner, but I listened to your misleading counsel.”
Between Rosaline and me, we were able to hold back Griffon’s enrollment.
“He’s lying to you. I saw Griff today. He’s not okay.”
“Have you ever thought that he’s only that way around you? You’re a crutch for him.”
Lead sinks to the bottom of my stomach. He believes that. “This isn’t about him getting better, he’s fine the way he is. Being forced to speak is what’s breaking him apart.”
There’s another deadly silence. My skin prickles. “The major thinks you’re a danger to his recovery. That you have been all along.”
“What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Please tell me you don’t believe that.”
“I’m not sure what to believe, but it sounds like your focus isn’t on him getting better.”
I run a hand over my face. “I want what’s best for Griffon.”
“Even if that means staying away from him?”
