The Play (Briar U Book 3)

TJ: You and hockey guy straighten everything out?

The message pops up when I’m on a bus headed for Boston. I would’ve preferred taking the train, but none of the departure and arrival times lined up with my schedule for today. I wanted to visit Boston all week, but my dad’s been in surgery nearly every day. Now it’s Friday and he’s available, but Hunter’s team is playing tonight, so I’m squeezing in a quick trip to the city and then racing back to Hastings.

I can’t miss this game. Apparently it’s a crucial game in the playoffs. If they win, they go to the semi-finals? I think? I’m not entirely sure how it goes, but I know Hunter would appreciate it if I came to cheer him on.

I’m at the front of the bus, curled up in a window seat. Luckily, there’s nobody with ferret pics sitting beside me. No seatmate at all, in fact, so my purse gets its own seat.

ME: Yep, it’s all good. We talked at the beginning of the week.

HIM: Oh. You didn’t mention it.

ME: You didn’t ask 🙂

HIM: I’m sorry that pic upset you. Wish I never showed it to you.

ME: No, I’m glad I saw it. It was actually the catalyst we needed to have THE TALK. Anyway, how are you doing? Is your Lit prof still being an ass?

HIM: Sort of, but it’s nbd. I’m more interested in your TALK. How’d that go?

ME: Well, we’re officially together now, so I’m gonna say it went pretty well. Guess who has a boyfriend again lol I’m on my way to Boston right now to tell my parents.

HIM: Seriously? You’re going all the way to Boston to tell your family you’re dating some guy?

ME: Yep.

A wry smile tickles my lips. It’s true, a phone call would have sufficed. A text, even. But my parents are a huge part of my life. It’s always been just the three of us, and in my family we talk things out in person. Our little unit took a hit after Nico and I broke up, but Dad isn’t pushing me to get back with Nico anymore. Granted, now he’s regularly dropping hints about how I should stop seeing Hunter.

I honestly don’t know what his problem with Hunter is, other than Hunter’s wealthy background, which is a non-issue. Dad is just being extra protective, and I’d like to get to the heart of that.

And because I’m feeling so emboldened, I’m also going to tell him I’m not applying for med school.

Which means I’ll either be at Hunter’s game tonight, or I’ll be dead.

TJ: Well, good luck with that. Doesn’t your dad hate him?

ME: Don’t know if he hates him, per se. But he does disapprove.

HIM: Same thing.

ME: No it’s not. But it doesn’t matter. Hunter is my bf, and Dad will just have to deal. Anyway, gotta go! Just got to the station xo

I tuck my phone away and slip on my parka in preparation of leaving the warmth of the bus. The air is frigid as I walk through the bus station toward the taxi and ride share lines outside. There’s a taxi right there and it’s too cold to wait for an Uber, so I hop into the back of the cab and provide my address.

Mom told me that Dad had pulled an all-nighter at the hospital and only got home at ten-thirty this morning. That means I’ll most likely be dealing with Grumpy Papa today. It’s not ideal, but I can’t schedule my life around my dad’s various moods.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

When the taxi reaches my brownstone, I take a deep breath before getting out of the car. I need to gather every ounce of courage I possess, because my father won’t be happy to hear what I have to say today. But Hunter was right—Dad’s not going to disown me. I know in my heart he won’t. He might huff and puff, but he’s not blowing any houses down.

I just need to stick to my guns, and not let him bulldoze me, especially about medical school. It’s time for me to stop being Daddy’s Little Girl and be my own woman.

As usual, numerous aromas greet my nostrils when I stride into the house. “Mom?” I call.

“In here.” She’s in the kitchen, where else?

I pop through the doorway and almost collapse in a puddle of ravenous drool. She’s pan-frying chicken with peppers and peas, and the spicy smell draws me toward the stove.

“Oh my God, Mom. Please move into the Theta house with me,” I plead. “You could cook for us every single day. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners.” I shiver in pure joy. “I’d be living the dream.”

Mom snorts.

I wrap my arms around her from behind, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then I try to steal a piece of chicken and she smacks my hand with her spatula.

“Go away! Shoo!” She flaps her arm around like she’s trying to get rid of a pesky fly.

“You’re mean,” I gripe.

She rolls her eyes and continues cooking.

Because the food looks and smells so delicious, I make an executive decision to wait until after dinner to start dropping truth bombs. Dad looks exhausted when he joins us in the dining room. His dark eyes are lined with fatigue, and he keeps rubbing them throughout dinner.

“Tough surgery?” I sympathize.

“Surgeries, plural. I performed back-to-back craniotomies—one biopsy and one tumor removal. And just when I thought I was done, a third patient was airlifted in with a subdural hematoma.” He goes on about each case in depth, which includes a shit ton of technical details. I don’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he seems content to just chat with me about it.

“I can’t imagine being in an operating room for so long,” I confess. “I’d probably fall asleep on the patient.”

“It requires great discipline.” He chuckles. “It’s funny—this was indeed a long night, but I’m nowhere near as wiped as when I was completing my residency or going through medical school.”

It’s the perfect opening.

Take it, Demi, take it!

But I’m a wimp. So I don’t.

Instead, I bring up the other reason I’m home. Better to start small, right? Revealing that I have a new boyfriend isn’t as extreme as telling them I’m switching career paths.

I clear my throat. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

Mom scrapes back her chair and starts to rise. “Let me put everything away first.”

“No, Mom. Come on, sit down. We can do that after.”

“After?” She sounds horrified. Because in our house, you eat a big meal and then you clean it all up. But then she sees my grave expression and sinks back down, concern flickering in her honey-brown eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is more than all right,” I confess.

At the head of the table, Dad’s expression clouds over. Dammit. I think he knows what I’m about to say.

“I wanted to let you know…” I blow out a hasty breath. “I’m officially dating Hunter.”

Silence.

“Um. This is good news…?” I prompt, looking from one parent to the other.

Mom is the first to speak. “Okay. Marcus. What are your thoughts on this?”

“You already know my thoughts. I don’t think he’s good for her.”

She nods deliberately before turning back to me.

“And that’s it?” I exclaim in disbelief. “He says that and you just nod along like a little puppet?”

Mom frowns. “Demi.”

“It’s true. You haven’t even met Hunter!”

“If your father says he’s not good for you, then I agree with him.”

“You. Haven’t. Even. Met. Him.” I spit out each word through clenched teeth. Then I suck in several breaths, trying to calm myself. “Seriously, Mom. I’m so disappointed in you right now.”

Indignation darkens my mother’s face. She opens her mouth and I know the Latina temper is about to be unleashed. But mine beats her to it.

“You’re constantly letting Dad dictate how you think! You yell and scream and throw temper tantrums when it’s about your stuff. Your kitchen, your wardrobe, your interests. But when it comes to important things, he has the run of the house—and the run of your brain, apparently.”

“Demi,” my father rumbles.

“It’s true,” I insist, angrily shaking my head at her. “You haven’t even given Hunter a chance. I expected better from you. And you,” I turn toward Dad, “you did meet him, and he was nothing but nice to you. He wasn’t rude, he listened when you spoke, tried to pay for lunch—”

“Because he’s a rich boy,” Dad says snidely.

“No, because he’s a nice person. And I’m really, really into him.” Anguish rises in my throat. “You guys don’t have to like him if you don’t want to—that’s fine. But he’s going to be in my life either way. We’re dating now, and it’s serious between us. We’ve talked about going away for spring break, and maybe Europe this summer. Hunter will be in my life whether you like it or not.”

Dad is frowning. “You’re supposed to take Molecular Biology in the summer,” he reminds me.

Frustration seizes up all my muscles. For a moment I find myself too tense to move, let alone speak. I inhale again, willing myself to relax. I know from experience that temper tantrums don’t work on my father. He’s impenetrable to yelling. If you want to get through to my father, you need to use logic.

“I’m not taking that class,” I tell him. “I’m not interested in taking any more sciences.”

His brow furrows. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying my brain is going to explode. I don’t care about bio or chem or any of the pre-med courses I’ve been taking these past couple years.” I lick my suddenly bone-dry lips. “I won’t be going to med school after I graduate.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. Nobody says a word, and yet my head is a cacophony of noise thanks to my shrieking pulse. Dad’s shock is unmistakable, but I can’t tell if he’s angry.

“I’m not going to med school,” I repeat. “This is something I’ve been thinking about since…well, pretty much since I started at Briar. I want to go to grad school, get my master’s, get my doctorate. And while I do that, I can get a counseling degree and actually see patients—”

“Clients,” he corrects stiffly. “There’s a difference.”

“Fine, whatever, it won’t be patients. It’s still people—people I’ll be able to help. That’s what I want to do,” I finish, and when I realize my shoulders have sagged in defeat, I force myself to straighten up. Because fuck that, why should I be defeated? I’m proud of this decision.

Dad flicks up one bushy eyebrow. “What does your new boyfriend think about this?”

“He supports me one hundred percent.”

“Of course he does,” Dad sneers.

“Marcus,” Mom says sharply, and I look over in gratitude. Maybe what I said got through to her a little.

“Is he the one who talked you out of going to med school?” my father demands.

“No. I told you, I’ve been struggling with this forever. I make my own decisions—Hunter just supports them. Unlike you.” My chest clenches with disappointment. “Anyway. This is why I came home today. I wanted to tell you guys, in person, about the two very important life changes happening for me right now. I’m with somebody new and I’m pivoting career-wise. I’m sure there are lots of interesting specialties within psychiatry, but that’s not the path I want to take.” I pause. “Oh, and since I’m being extra honest right now—I don’t like hoop earrings and I gave Pippa your birthday present because I’m never going to wear those earrings.”

The dining room falls silent.

Mom rises and starts gathering up the dishes. Without a word, I help her. As we trudge silently into the kitchen, I notice that her eyes look moist.

“Are you crying?” I ask in concern.

She blinks hard, and her long eyelashes shimmer with tears. “I’m sorry, mami. I didn’t realize… I…” She pauses, then tries again. “You know your father, Demi. He’s an alpha male. And you’re right, I defer to him a lot and I’m sorry for that. I should be forming my own opinion of your new boyfriend.”

“Yes,” I agree.

She rubs her knuckles beneath her wet eyes. “The next time you’re in the city, why don’t you bring him and we can go out for lunch or dinner?” she suggests, her voice soft. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful. Thank you,” I say gratefully.

“As for the rest of it, you know I’ll support you no matter what career you choose.” She winks at me. “You could be a stripper and I’d be in the front row cheering you on—but please don’t choose that path because I think your father might actually kill you.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Do you think he’ll kill me for the med school thing?”

“He’ll come around.”

“You really believe that?”

“Absolutely.” She sighs. “But I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive you for giving away your birthday gift. He picked those earrings out himself, Demi.”

The journey home is timed perfectly. Hunter’s game starts at eight, and the bus pulls into Hastings just before seven. That gives me plenty of time to go home, shower, and make my way to the hockey rink to meet Pippa, and Hunter’s roommates. Well, except for Hollis and Rupi. They’re away on a weekend trip, which is a relief because the arena is already loud enough without adding Rupi Miller’s voice to it.

I do have one more task to complete, though. I’ve been thinking about it for days now, ever since Hunter told me he loved me.

I feel like a jerk for not saying it back, but I didn’t want him to think the only reason I was saying it was because I was upset, or simply grateful that he wasn’t cheating. When I do say it, I want to be calm and centered. I want him to look into my eyes and see the sincerity shining there when I tell him I love him. Because I do love him.

And when I love someone, my first instincts are to protect them, support them, encourage them to embrace their strengths and combat their weaknesses. I heard the confidence in Hunter’s voice when he announced that he would never cheat on me, and it told me something important.

It told me he’s starting to trust himself.

Sure, it helps that his season didn’t fall apart after we started sleeping together, as he feared it might. But even if it had, I still think he would’ve learned these same lessons. That he’s capable of staying faithful. He’s capable of playing hockey and having a girlfriend, a sex life.

I truly believe he can succeed in the NHL without letting the lifestyle corrupt him. Don’t get me wrong—I can see how it would freak him out. Garrett Graham can’t leave his house without a disguise, for God’s sake. And Garrett’s girlfriend told me at the nightclub that there’s a woman who lurks outside their city brownstone hoping to catch glimpses of him.

So yes, it’s a daunting life. It’s long stints away from your loved ones. It’s sex on a platter. But I have faith in Hunter. And although he’s finally starting to have faith in himself, he still needs one last push.

I pull up Brenna’s number and gaze out the window as I wait for her to answer. The bus is about ten minutes from the station in Hastings.

“Hey,” Brenna greets me. “Are we still good for tonight?”

“Of course. I’m going to take an Uber to campus and stop off at home first to shower and change, though. But I just had a quick question for you.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you have any way of contacting Garrett Graham?”

A beat. “Um. Yeah, I should be able to do that. Why?”

“I’m planning a surprise thing for Hunter,” I answer vaguely. “I could use Garrett’s help.”

“Sure. I don’t know if I have his cell saved in my phone, but Fitzy would definitely have it, or Summer’s brother. I’ll ask them.”

“Thanks, chica. I’ll see you in a bit.”

The moment I get home, I strip off my clothes and take a hot shower, hoping to inject some warmth back into my bones. We’ve reached that hideous part of the winter where you can never, ever feel warm. February in New England is a glacial hellscape, the time of year when my mother and I are in whole-hearted agreement. She hates the winter from start to finish, I hate it in February. It’s like a Venn diagram and we’re finally in the same circle, clinging to each other for body heat.

I bundle up in my terrycloth robe and approach my closet, debating what to wear. I’d like to look cute for Hunter if we’re hanging out afterward, but the arena is so damn cold. Sure, there are heaters and enough bodies in the place to generate some heat, but it doesn’t completely eliminate the chill.

I finally settle on thick leggings, thick socks, and a thick red sweater. Key word: thick. I look like a marshmallow, but oh well. Warmth trumps cuteness.

I’m about to start doing my makeup when my phone lights up. I hope it’s not Hunter calling to ask how it went in Boston. He needs to focus on the game tonight, and hearing that my father and I aren’t speaking right now probably won’t pump him up for the playoffs. I’ll tell him later.

But it’s not Hunter; it’s TJ. “Hey,” I greet him. “Are you coming to the game? You never gave me an answer.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Ah. Okay. That sucks.” I open my makeup case. “It would have been nice to see you.”

“Really? Would it have?” His mocking voice ripples into my ear.

I furrow my brow. “Are you all right? You sound a bit drunk.”

He just laughs.

My frown deepens. “Okay, then. Well. I’m getting ready right now, so tell me what’s up, otherwise I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” He’s still laughing, but it’s tinged with hysteria.

“TJ.” A queasy feeling tickles my stomach. “What the hell is going on?”

Silence. It lasts about three seconds, and just when I’m about to check if the call dropped, TJ starts babbling. He talks so fast I can barely keep up, and my constant interruptions—“wait, what?” “What are you saying?” “What does that mean?”—only agitate him further. By the time he winds down, I’m on the verge of throwing up.

I draw in a fearful breath. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”