JFH, page 1
Table of Contents
A NineStar Press Publication
JFH: Justin F**king Halstead
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Connect with NineStar Press
A NineStar Press Publication
www.ninestarpress.com
JFH: Justin F**king Halstead
ISBN: 978-1-64890-780-7
© 2024 GiGi DeGraham
Cover Art © 2024 Jaycee DeLorenzo
Edited by Elizabetta McKay
Published in July 2024 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com.
Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-781-4
CONTENT WARNING:
This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers. Discussion of sexual assault/rape on a university campus (off page; past) and trauma from past assault.
JFH: Justin F**king Halstead
GiGi DeGraham
For Ethan
Chapter One
Justin
JUSTIN RAN HIS hand over his jean-covered thigh and brought the other up to his forehead, shielding his eyes as he focused on his textbook, seeing nothing. Don’t look, don’t look, he told himself as his knee began to bounce. His fingers pulled the curved and frayed brim of his ballcap lower as if it could camouflage him. Justin pinched the bridge of his nose, and he knew he was going to do it. Down to his soul, he couldn’t not look. He couldn’t resist it—this undeniable urge. It happened every time.
And he looked.
It was the guy.
Ethan Andrews was supposed to be studying for an end-of-the-first-week fall quiz just like Justin, but currently, he joked around with his study group, who all shushed one another through their bouts of laughter in the library. Ethan grinned, nodding convincingly through his fight, gripping his side as if in pain. His shoulders shook, his head moving back and forth in what seemed like a desperate plea to make it stop. The others in the group were nearly goners, too, as they tried to abide by the library aide, who warned them once again. This was her third trek back to their table. Something over there was beyond funny. The entire group was on the verge of getting kicked out of the fourth-floor study lounge.
Justin’s cheek pinched as he tried not to smile himself. He’d seen Ethan Andrews in action like this before. He was just funny, or so Justin thought, though he’d never actually been in on the joke since he didn’t even know the guy. When Justin would see him on campus, Ethan was always with others: a friend or someone from a class. Justin rarely saw him alone. There never seemed to be an opportunity to strike up a conversation or accidentally bump into him. Not that Justin would.
But he’d turned this strange obsession into a terrible habit, this expert-level Ethan-watching. So, Justin wasn’t buying it, not when he caught the brief moments that made him wonder. The ones overlooked by others when Justin saw those barely there glimpses of sadness concealed behind brave smiles and mixed in with the guffaws. He peeked between his fingers. And there, that little swallow, the quick glance downward, and Justin waited for it. The telltale subconscious rub of fingers across the forehead before Ethan went right back to laughing.
The girl working as an aide approached the table again. This time, her firm fists were pissed-off-planted on her hips. She waved around at the other students trying to study, and Justin quickly looked down again. The entire table turned to take in the only other student on the floor: him.
Justin flipped the geology lab workbook page so he wouldn’t look suspicious, but he hadn’t read a damn thing since Ethan had arrived and joined the group. This guy was everywhere, all the time. At the Coffee Stop, in the science lab, in his geology class, running around the track, in the gym, and now, in one of the last places Justin thought he’d see him, in the library. The one place Justin thought he’d be safe from his one-and-only distraction and the constantly nagging question: Which was the real Ethan?
Realizing he couldn’t do it, not with Ethan-ology overshadowing geology, Justin packed up his things, slipped out, and headed back to his dorm. He’d have to try to study there. Though it was nearly impossible to concentrate in his room, with all the testosterone and adrenaline-driven antics in the hallways, a football always flying, or someone knocking on the door every five minutes to see if he wanted to join them or go to a party.
Despite the chaos, at least he’d be free from the close proximity of Ethan Andrews in the library. Justin sighed; his reaction to the guy confused him more every time. Yeah, he knew what his mind and body were trying to tell him, but it was also something he could never pursue. Sure, the world had changed in leaps and bounds, but if he wanted to play ball, he had to keep that shit locked down. Oh, the NHL had tried it with “Pride Night” and special jerseys, but even they’d skated that back faster than a five-hole slap shot.
The media vultures were waiting for someone else to get outed in any sport, not just football, and it wouldn’t be Justin. At least two big leaguers had come out, but still. Not when he was only in his second year of college ball. Not when he didn’t even know for himself. And his parents, he didn’t think they would care. They weren’t the problem. Justin knew exactly who the problem was.
Justin unlocked the door to his dorm room, dodging bodies roughhousing, and dropped his backpack on the bed. Frustrated with himself, he pulled out his books and began again. He was a good twenty minutes into preparing for the quiz the next day when he realized he’d left his phone and some of his notes at the library. Justin squeezed his eyes closed tight for a moment.
I can be such a dumbass sometimes.
Justin knocked on his suitemate’s door. He used Shawn’s phone to call himself, hoping someone, the aide—he prayed—would hear it buzzing on the plastic seat. That hope died, swirled a few times, and went right down the drain when someone else answered his phone.
“This is Justin Halstead’s phone,” a guy said, and Justin ran a frustrated hand over his face, already knowing who had his phone.
“This is Justin,” he said.
“Oh, hey, Justin, this is Ethan Andrews,” Ethan said.
Of course, it is.
Justin could only shake his head. This is what he got for being so distracted, a lurker—an Ethan-watcher—and here came karma. Maybe not a lurker since that was creepy, but Justin was…well, very aware of Ethan, like, constantly aware. Yeah, he was going with that word choice and steering clear of anything sounding more stalkerish. He definitely wasn’t that guy.
Ethan’s bright and teasing tone didn’t falter. “Yeah, I guess you figured out you left your phone in the library. And who knew you took such copious notes, Justin Halstead.” Then, he laughed.
Justin was momentarily distracted by the sound of Ethan’s great laugh. He could hear papers shuffling in the background and then a pen being intentionally clicked several times.
“Nice pen, too,” Ethan said.
“Uh…” Justin had no words, hoping Ethan would keep talking. Keep laughing. And holy shit, Ethan knew his name, his full name.
“It’s really smooth; the ink just glides. No wonder your notes are so neat,” Ethan said.
Justin silently agreed. It was a great pen, a wide-point TUL, and it was like writing with soft butter. Justin liked it because it felt faster than most, and he could get everything down before his professor moved on.
“Yeah, um, I like it,” Justin said, sounding like an idiot. He shook his head; Jesus, he could do better than this.
Ethan belted out a laugh. “Tell me how you really feel.”
There was a pause Justin didn’t fill.
“All right,” Ethan continued, “down to business, it seems. Where are you? I’ll swing by and drop off your things. I’m about to leave the library now.”
“Yeah, I
Ethan let out a nervous laugh. “Eh, maybe you come pick it up from me, then?”
“Nah, man, it’s cool. You guys were studying for the quiz, right?” Justin asked, slightly panicked as his suitemate walked into his room and glanced at him.
“‘It’s cool,’ he says. Me in the football dorm,” Ethan said slowly, questioningly.
“It is. Just come up the stairs, and I’m in 214. And thanks for finding my things.”
“Yep. Anything good on here I can snoop through?”
Justin thought for a moment. “Hardly, but, hey, thanks again.”
“Yeah,” Ethan said and hung up.
Justin thanked Shawn as he handed the phone back to him. “I left mine at the library.”
Glancing around, Justin made sure his shit was squared away in his room after Shawn left. His heart hammered, and the shirt beneath his armpits began to feel sweaty.
Holy shit.
Ethan Andrews was coming to his room. Justin could finally get his answer. He frowned. Maybe getting his answers wasn’t the greatest idea because then Justin would have no reason to continue keeping an eye on Ethan.
Chapter Two
Ethan
ETHAN SINGSONGED TO himself, “Going to the football dorm,” as he swiped the screen of Justin’s phone.
No password.
What a dumb ass.
Ethan frowned, disappointed by the factory wallpaper and lack of intriguing or hopefully implicating apps. The photo gallery only contained images of school notes, snapshots of what looked like football plays on a whiteboard, and a few random pictures of Justin with his teammates. Nothing shocking or questionable.
No pics that fulfilled Ethan’s jockish expectations—because he so would have forwarded that shit to himself had there been. Ethan walked slower, searching. Not even a compelling Google search history. The last thing the guy had searched was: Is it farther or further? And okay, he realized he shouldn’t snoop too deeply into the phone belonging to a guy who could absolutely kick his ass. Resigned, Ethan locked it back and held it with the notes.
He was keeping the badass pen because—That’s the price you pay, Justin Fucking Halstead.
Ethan walked in the opposite direction of his own dorm and wondered about Justin. They’d had a few classes together; Halstead, as everyone else called him, was a somewhat popular football player. And he was a hot one compared to some of the intimidating brutes he hung out with or who were always around him. Ethan recalled reading Justin’s essay last year about his love of football.
Ethan sighed.
For a guy like Ethan, the football dorm was either the stuff of really great fantasy or absolute nightmare. He stopped on the path and stared at the building housing football jocks and the subjects of a few naughty daydreams and a good healthy dose of fear. Ethan headed for the door as one of the very giants was coming out.
“Hey, can you hold that for me?” Ethan called, lifting his free hand.
“Yeah, man, who are you looking for?” the linebacker-like guy asked suspiciously, eyeing Ethan as if he knew him.
“Justin Halstead.” Ethan held up the notes and phone. “He lost his stuff.”
The big guy chuckled. “Typical. He’s in room 214.” He pointed inside. “Use those stairs; don’t take the elevator.”
Ethan thanked him as he let him in.
“Yeah, man, are you good?” linebacker guy asked.
Ethan nodded and headed up, so used to these responses to him now. It no longer bothered him when people got weird and overprotective around him. It happened constantly, even with people like this guy, who didn’t even know him. They just knew of him.
Ethan knocked on the door of 214, and Justin opened it and stepped back to let him in. Justin had on the same thing he’d been wearing in the library but was now barefoot. Ethan forced his eyes to Justin’s face. But Justin just stood there, holding on to the open door and unblinking.
Deer in the headlights.
Justin was acting a bit strange. Ethan assessed him as Justin let out a nervous-sounding laugh, swiped a hand across his forehead, and wiped it on his thigh.
“Thanks for bringing them,” Justin said and motioned to a couch in front of a television and game system. “You want to come in?”
Okay, Justin was being weird. Ethan waved the notes and phone and then extended his hand, holding them out expectantly.
“Uh, yeah,” Justin said, not taking them. “I thought you might want to go over the practice quiz questions?” Then he pointed inside with two shakes of his finger at the couch.
Ethan frowned; it seemed as if Justin wasn’t breathing normally. Knowing it was likely the stupidest thing he could do—crossing this particular threshold—Ethan found himself standing in front of Justin’s couch as directed.
“Are you all right?” Ethan asked.
Justin shut and locked the door. He sucked in a breath, let it out, and then laughed awkwardly.
“Yeah, sorry.” Justin indicated the couch and table again, where books and more notes were strewn about as if he’d been trying to study.
With another glance at the solo study session happening on the coffee table, Ethan pulled off his backpack, sat down, and laid the papers and phone on the table. Suddenly, he felt guilty about his behavior in the library as his eyes took in the array and uncapped highlighters. He’d seen and could hear just how noisy Justin’s dorm was beyond the locked door.
“Sorry we were being so loud, and you had to leave the library. We felt bad—well, for at least a second. It’s really loud here. Now, I do feel bad.”
“Nah, it’s no big deal,” Justin said. “I’m glad you heard my phone.”
“You know, you should password-protect it.” Ethan unzipped his bag and pulled out his notes from study group. Maybe if he ran through what the group had come up with and helped Justin, he could eliminate the guilty feeling.
“There’s nothing on that thing; that’s, like, my fourth one.” Justin laughed nervously and didn’t make eye contact, which was even weirder. “They don’t last long with me.” Justin sat and held out his hand for Ethan’s notes.
Ethan handed them over, and Justin spread the notes out, leaning over to compare answers. Ethan took the opportunity while Justin was distracted to look around. Everything was neat and tidy, but there wasn’t much in the guy’s room—a lame mass-produced football equipment poster on the wall and a framed picture of Justin with his parents at his graduation. What did impress Ethan was a bookshelf jammed tight with books.
“Mind if I look at your books?” Ethan asked and stood so Justin wouldn’t say no. Justin only nodded as he copied down something from Ethan’s pages.
“Yeah, man, and the bathroom is there, and there’s water and beer in the fridge,” Justin said.
Ethan grabbed himself and Justin water and set Justin’s down on the coffee table. He headed for the bookshelf and drank as he eyed each row, tilting his head at the sideways crammed-in titles. He was impressed by several classics, some high fantasy, sports memoirs, and the many literature textbooks. Those looked well-worn and older. A few banned titles also stood out—definitely not reads currently available on the campus bookstore shelves.
“Are you a lit major?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah,” Justin said, seeming slightly less strange now. “Those were my mom’s. She teaches English and literature in high school back home.” Justin turned back to copying notes.
“Huh.” Ethan continued to study each shelf. Satisfied that this guy was not what he’d imagined, Ethan returned and sat down. He remembered Justin’s essay had been well-written, with few errors, making Ethan’s editing work easy. It had been one of those “swap essays and workshop your classmate’s story” assignments.
“I got a different answer for twenty-three,” Justin said, pointing it out but still not making eye contact. “I think this one is ‘sedimentary.’”
Ethan checked it and then reached into his bag for his textbook. “Let’s see.”
And that’s how he spent the next two hours in Justin Halstead’s room. They found several other questions with issues and conflicting answers but worked through them. Over those two hours, Justin somewhat relaxed, but something was off about the guy to Ethan. He couldn’t put his finger on it and hoped the dude wasn’t on Adderall or illegal script drugs students sometimes took. He came across as fidgety and uncomfortable.
