Chapter 25 - Karter #3
I leaned back against the wall and crossed my arms. “Hastings backed down. That’s all that matters.”
“What matters is that my youngest son is blackmailing my business associates.” My father let out a sharp breath, the static crackling. “I spent two hours on the phone with the Wright family, cleaning up your disaster. You’ve handed them a grudge they will carry for years.”
Across the room, I looked over at Aleksey, who’d just pushed his shoulders off the opposite wall. He crossed his arms, his dark eyes locked on me. While he didn’t say a word, I liked how he stood there silently backing me up.
My heart pounded hard against my ribs, but having Aleksey in the room made it easier to hold my ground against my dad.
I forced my voice to stay flat. “Trenton lied. The recording proves it. If the Wrights want to hold a grudge over their son getting caught fabricating a Title IX complaint, that’s their problem. ”
“No. That recording proves my son is willing to burn every bridge I’ve built all to protect his damned college fling.
” A pause. Ice clinked against glass on his end.
“You’ve made your position clear. So here is mine.
You will finish the Cold Quartet. You will keep your head down.
After the tournament, you’re transferring to a different program.
I’ll have my office handle the paperwork. ”
The familiar urge to say ‘yes sir’, crawled right up my throat. I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I could taste blood.
And then I looked at Aleksey.
Seeing him standing there in my room, knowing how close I came to losing him to this exact kind of pressure, made the choice easy. I let out a slow breath and placed my hands on my knees.
“I am not transferring.”
Dead silence stretched over the line. “Excuse me?”
“I’m staying at Ridge Cross.” Digging my fingernails into my crossed arms stopped my hands from shaking. “You want this quiet. And I want Aleksey’s roster spot left alone and my tuition paid. That’s the deal.”
“Karter, you are not in a position to dictate terms.” His patience frayed audibly; the boardroom veneer he usually displayed over the phone finally cracking. “You are a Johnston. This is not how we act.”
“Then stop acting like I’m a problem you can reassign.” The words came out hard, steadier than I felt. “I’m not transferring. I’m not hiding who I am. But I will keep things private until the season ends, which is exactly what you asked for. Take it or leave it. I need to go.”
“Karter, do not hang up this phone.”
I reached forward and tapped the red icon. The screen went black, cutting him off mid-breath.
The room fell silent. Pushing the dead phone away across the sheets, I sat down on the edge of my bed. The absolute quiet that followed made me feel more anxious than if my father had started yelling at me.
Sucking in a deep breath of stale air, I tried to let myself relax.
A moment later, Aleksey crossed the short distance and dropped onto the bed beside me.
“So, he wants you to transfer,” Aleksey said softly.
“I guess that’s his plan.” Dragging my fingers through my hair, I let out a short laugh. “He really thinks he’s still calling all the shots about my life.”
Aleksey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and watched my face. “So what happens now?”
“Nothing happens,” I said, my voice steadying as my adrenaline finally leveled out. “My dad needs that audio file buried to protect whatever campaign he’s running. So, I’m gonna call his bluff.”
Aleksey shifted closer, throwing an arm over my shoulders to haul me tight against his side. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I agreed, resting against him. For the first time in my life, the Johnston legacy didn’t feel like a shackle. It just felt like a title I no longer needed to wear. “I am staying right here.”
At that, the lingering tension from the phone call confrontation drained out of my muscles.
Aleksey and I then killed the rest of the morning to early afternoon doing absolutely nothing. Since Matt was probably still hiding out at whatever girl’s apartment he’d crashed at last night—doing his best to dodge me—that left us with the entire attic to ourselves.
Aleksey eventually dozed off against the headboard. Pinned beneath the solid heft of his arm, I stayed awake, listening to the wind rattle the window frame as I stared up at the peeling paint on the slanted ceiling.
Right before two o’clock, my phone vibrated against the duvet.
Reaching for it, I tapped the phone screen and opened a new text from my mother:
I don’t understand everything, but I love you. Give me time.
Reading the short text stripped any remaining anxiety right out of me. Sinking deeper into the mattress, I dug my teeth into my bottom lip and gripped the plastic phone case tightly.
Aleksey shifted on the sheets. Looking as if he were still half-asleep, he slid closer, hooked an arm across my collarbone, and hauled me tight against him.
The text from my mother sat unanswered on the screen. I knew I should have replied. But instead, I eased into Aleksey and decided it could wait.