Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
THAT ASS BETTER STAY JUICY
“Is this your doing?”
‘Head Coach of Oakwood College Hockey Team Fired Amid Drug Scandal’
I frown at the headline that Dad’s holding up like it’s my face on a WANTED poster and not that jackass.
“Is that why you’re here? Some dumb article?” My disbelief knows no bounds. “This your idea of a Christmas gift? You didn’t call me once the whole time I was in Poughkeepsie, but you’re coming at me with this? How did you even know where I’d be?”
“It’s Christmas Day, Zachary. Where did you think I’d be?”
“On the ice?”
“Even I have to let the players take some time off.” He sniffs his resentment that they get a free day. Then his shoulders sag. “Look, I wanted to talk to you, to call you, but—”
“Did you forget my number?” I jeer.
“The same could be said about you.”
“I didn’t want to talk to you. Not after that bullshit at Mom’s funeral.”
His jaw works as if the memory alone is enough to agitate him. “I just didn’t know what to say. Your mother…” Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s the one who handled this kind of stuff.”
“What? Feelings?” I scoff. “What makes you think I’d ever come to you to handle losing the one parent who gave a fuck about me?”
“That’s not true, Zachary.”
“Isn’t it? This is our first conversation outside of texts and emails in months and what you bring up is a newspaper! Seems like you only came here to talk about something that has nothing to do with you.”
“Rod told me you were causing trouble with this Dyers boy.”
So D’s dad called mine?
I’d laugh if this situation was at all funny. Dad has no say in what I do. Hasn’t since I turned 18.
“I told him Dyers’s reckless, which he backed up by starting a campus-wide humiliation campaign on Denny.”
“What do you mean?”
Once I’m done explaining, I demand, “Anyway, what does this have to do with you or Rod? Unless… do you know his dad?”
“I know of Brutus Dyers.”
“His name’s brUTUS?” Denny bursts out, proving that she’s listening into the conversation by popping her head around the door to the kitchen. “What is this? Ancient Rome?”
My girl’s too good at acting, I swear.
Dad frowns at her. “Denver, what are you doing there?”
“You mean aside from this being her damn house?”
Both ignore my sniping.
“It’s what’s known in the trade as refereeing, Mr. Bradley. You two tend to fight and I refuse to let my first Christmas with Zach as his girlfriend be ruined because you’re a party pooper.”
“I’m a what now?”
“A party pooper. Our friend Callan taught me that one—”
“I know what it means, Denver.”
“You do? I thought you’d know killjoy, but I rather like party pooper.
Aside from the fact that you’re being one, of course.
And Zach’s right. Where’s his gift? He got me this gorgeous coffee machine after one of his bimbettes broke mine.
” She flutters her lashes. “I hope you got Mom something… even if it’s only a hostess gift. ”
“I have wine and presents in the car.” Dad pinches the bridge of his nose again. “But I’m trying to have a conversation with Zach—”
“I’m not stopping you.” She beams at him.
The smile’s so nauseatingly sweet that I almost roll my eyes.
I don’t know who she reckons she’s kidding, but it’s not working on me or Dad.
“I think it’s so cute that you’re here, in fact.
You two should be together for the holidays.
” Before he can reply, she snags the paper out of his grasp and scans the article.
“Such a shocking story, but I’m not surprised he’s out on bail considering his background. ”
“You believe it?” Dad cuts in.
You’d never know that D was the mastermind behind Dyers’s takedown. Her expression’s guileless, and anyone who’d gotten to know her more than surface-deep, like my dad, would have known that too.
She doesn’t look so innocent in her sleep!
“Well, the press has definitely taken an interest in him, and they wouldn’t have if there wasn’t dirt to dig up.”
“You can’t trust the media.”
“No, but they’re not likely to make up lies at this level, are they? Especially as Dyers’s dad is an emissary to an embassy,” I point out.
“He’s the General Consul,” Dad corrects.
“You know him?”
He clears his throat at D’s question and, this time, appears shamefaced. “Of him.”
She hums. “I tell you what I know is a fact. A dozen students from Oakwood have come forward about being victims of his explosive temper. That’s something we can also attest to. Someone even posted videos of him exploding on random people.”
“Was he that unpopular? His family has a point—it does sound like a hate campaign.”
“Because there’s a lot to hate,” I snap. “If you’d have listened to me, you’d have known that.”
D pats my hand. “There’s a hate campaign and then there’s the whole goat’s blood and holy water his frat brothers found in his bathroom cabinet when they evicted him, Allan.”
“That’s a joke, surely!”
Ironically, they weren’t things D had planted. None of that was down to us. Callan surmised that some of his frat brothers wanted to muddy the waters. It’s not like we can judge!
“Maybe.” Her tone’s dubious. “But I don’t think so.”
“He was always so manic before hockey games. It’d make sense if he was taking part in fucked-up rituals—”
“Sounds like satanism to me,” Dad chides, his tone disapproving.
“Well, that’s what the papers are implying.
” D ticks points off on her fingers. “So, he’s linked to some weird pregame rituals that’d freak a priest out, the assault of a cop, multiple attacks on female students, and nearly $15k debt in parking tickets!
Whichever way you look at it, Allan, it’s not the best for his image, is it? ”
“Nor his father’s,” Dad states grimly.
Of course that’d be what concerns him the most.
“I just don’t understand why it’s all coming as such a shock. Everyone knows that he nearly got expelled last year for sexually assaulting a female student, and Zach must have told you he was using drugs.”
“You’re staying clean, aren’t you, son?”
“Of course.”
He breathes a sigh of relief. “I got the feeling your father was going to be his agent, Denver.”
“Past tense?”
“I highly doubt he’ll be in the draft.” Dad taps the paper with his finger. “If this carries on, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes a sabbatical from school. Your father’s interest won’t stick around if that happens.”
“Good. He’s the worst kind of bully.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Look, I don’t want to talk about dumbass students I have to share a campus with on Christmas Day. Are you going to eat with us, or are you just here to lecture me about something I wasn't involved in?”
“Zach,” Denny chides, placing her hand on my forearm.
I scowl at her, but it’s quick to fade.
“You’re my boy, Zach,” Dad mutters. “Where else would I spend the holidays?”
The admission, quietly offered, has the tension in my shoulders leaking out.
We’ve never had the easiest of relationships and I doubt it’ll improve without Mom around to umpire—not unless Denny takes over—but it is Christmas.
I hitch a shoulder. “Truce?”
“Truce.”
Denny’s back to beaming, but it’s genuine this time. “There are mimosas just through there, Mr. Bradley—”
“Allan. I think it’s time you call me that, don’t you, Denver?”
Her smile’s megawattage lifts a notch, but I can read her too well. She says, “That sounds great to me,” but I know she doesn’t mean it.
She’s never liked him—my girl has good taste.
Tossing me his keys, he asks, “Can you bring the gifts in from the car, please?”
She snags them before I can tell him where to get lost. “Will do, Allan.”
He nods at her in thanks then traipses into the living room.
Denny immediately grabs my arm. “No fighting on Christmas. You know the rules. Even my dickhead father follows that one.”
I grunt. “How can I help it when his whole face pisses me off?”
“Play nice, Zachary Allan Bradley.”
Smirking at her, I plant my hands on her hips and let them drop to her ass. “What’s my reward if I do?”
She pats my cheek, her newly painted nails after a pre-Christmas mother-and-daughter bonding session, that included the full lowdown on our relationship, scratching over my stubble. “I won’t throw your gift in the trash.”
I gape at her. “You wouldn’t. I love that babydoll nightgown you bought!” It’s definitely for me because it’s way out of her comfort zone.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?”
"You do know that Dad is well aware we had something to do with Dyers's downfall?"
"Of course, but we'll never admit to it and there's no proof.” She slips her arms around my waist. “What happened with your dad after the funeral? I didn’t see you two talking. If I had, I’d have adjudicated.”
My mouth purses. “We didn’t talk. We shouted. I told him he ruined her life and he said that I was too young to understand. As if. I knew what a piece-of-shit husband looks like then and I know now—”
“Franklin?! What the hell are you doing here?”
She peers around the doorway. “Sounds like your dad knows my stepdad.”
“They’re the same age,” I say dryly, drawing her back into a hug. “Ancient.”
“Hey! I like him.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. My brothers are morons. That’s why they don’t. He doesn’t let them get away with murder. Not only does he make Mom smile, but he also treats her right. Didn’t you notice she ate dessert every night this week?”
“That’s the measure of a good boyfriend?”
“Sure is. She doesn’t feel like she has to diet all the time.” She strokes my cheek. “You never question what I eat.”
I grab her ass. “Only if this got less juicy.”
Her smirk is pure sass and I have to kiss it. “Did I tell you what Dad said when Logan told him Mom had married Franklin?”
“Was he even listening? Figured he'd be on the phone to his party planner seeing as he won't have to pay her alimony anymore.” Her snicker tells me I’m partially right. “No?”
“Apparently, he was happy until Logan told him who Franklin was. Apparently, they don’t like each other.”
What Denny failed to mention when discussing her mom’s boyfriend—back when that was all Franklin had been—was the fact that he’s one of the best in the business.
He owns a law firm that services the whole of Florida, and he makes Rod’s agency seem small fry.
Honestly, I get why D likes him, just figured she might not because of her outright disdain for Francesca. Franklin has a great sense of humor and Mel’s laughed more this Christmas than I think I’ve ever noticed before. It’s great to see her so happy.
“I’d have figured they’d run in the same circles.”
She points her thumb at the door. “Maybe your father does too.”
“Maybe.” I pull a face. “I wonder if Rod told him where I was.”
“I warned Logan with the threat of a long and painful death not to tell him, and I don’t think he’d mess around.”
In her ear, I whisper, “What do you have on him?”
“What don’t I have on the little shit?”
“My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen.” I applaud.
She winks at me. “You got that right.”