Saving the Beast, page 4
It takes all of two minutes for me to pass out when I get home, ready to do the same thing all over again tomorrow.
“Fire your new tutor yet?” Malik laughs as I skate up next to him, my legs burning with each stride, completely gassed.
“Not yet.” I smirk and bump my shoulder into his as I glide past him. “But we haven’t even had a session yet.”
“There’s still time,” he snarks and pushes away, scooping a puck up with this stick.
“Ha-ha,” I mock him, picking his pocket and stealing the puck.
Coach blows his whistle, and the team skates over to him, silent and ready for his instruction. We leave tomorrow for a doubleheader weekend against our biggest rival, the Knights, and everyone is wound a bit tighter because of it. They nearly beat us the last time we faced them in their barn, and we don’t want that to happen again. The problem is, our teams are so goddamn similar in talent, grit, and dedication. We might as well be fighting for our lives when we play against each other. We are both out for blood.
“All right, boys, the bus leaves tomorrow at eight a.m. Please do not give me a reason to bench you for being late; I want every one of you on the ice tomorrow night. Am I understood?” He pauses for our response.
We answer him with a slew of, “Yes, sir,” and, “Yes, Coach.”
“Good. See you boys tomorrow. Bruce, take us out,” he instructs our assistant coach, who steps forward from his command.
“Legends on three. One. Two. Three,” he shouts over us.
“LEGENDS!” we shout in unison.
I wanted to be on this dream team since I was old enough to understand college hockey. The best of the best go to school and play here. They truly are making legends here with legacies that will live forever on and off the ice. The diplomas they give out at graduation should be a golden check with a blank line that you can fill in with whatever you want. Because having this school on your résumé is the only thing you need to do whatever the fuck you want in life. All I’ve ever really wanted is to make it to the big show—the National Hockey League—and this school will get me there.
Now, all I have to do is not get benched for bad grades. I’ve always coasted through school with minimal effort and never had any issues. Until now, that is. I swear this professor has it out for me. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But I don’t see why opening up about my feelings will help me in the long run. It sure isn’t going to help me play hockey.
The professor decided to focus this entire semester on autobiographies and self-reflection, and our main project requires us to write a twenty-page paper about our past, present, and future. Our assignments and homework are pieces of the final project’s puzzle.
I’m a smart guy. I really am. But there is something about digging into the past that makes me want to take a skate blade to the throat.
Hopefully, this new tutor of mine will make everything easier. Honestly, I’m looking forward to having a session with her. For one, she’s more intelligent than everyone else in the class. Second, she literally ran away from me because she didn’t want to tutor me so badly. That might make someone else shy away from wanting to work with her, but not me. I usually have the opposite problem with tutors, like the last one I just fired.
Her immediate disdain was precisely what I wanted to see because if she’s going to make my grade better, then we both need to be able to focus, which seems to be her top priority.
Five hundred dollars is a bit fucking steep, but I’d have agreed to a thousand if she requested it. There isn’t an amount I wouldn’t dole out to get my grade up. Money isn’t an issue; I’m not worried about it, and she needs it. We’re a match made in heaven.
“What’s the jail time for murder?” Malik catches his breath, heaving as he skates up beside me next to the bench for a time-out.
“Pretty sure it’s prison time, but more years than that shithead is worth,” I scoff, trying to encourage him to cool off before he takes the head off of Knights’ number twenty-nine.
“Did you see him? He was trying to split my ribs in fucking half with his stick and elbow.” Malik is starting to turn red with every breath, and if I cared, I would be concerned for that player’s well-being because he fucked with the wrong guy.
Malik is malicious without provocation. But twenty-nine has been spending the entire last period poking the bear, and he’s about to get fucking mauled to death. As entertaining as a pissed-off Malik is, we have to win this game, and we need him to stay on the ice, meaning he can’t end up in the penalty box as long as we can help it.
Coach spends the next minute talking us through a couple of errors and corrections we can make in our play. We need to tighten our passes up, and we need to be quicker with them too. We are hesitating with our decisions, allowing the Knights a chance to step in and steal the puck before we make our move.
The ref blows the whistle, and we skate over to the dot on the ice just outside our offensive zone for puck drop.
The second the puck hits the ice, Dean Kensington dishes the puck back to Asher Kensington, who takes off into the zone. Speeding up, I cut off their defender, opening the lane up for Elias Lancaster, our center, who doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity and sinks it into the net, right through the goalie’s five-hole. We hold them off from scoring the rest of the game while getting two more goals of our own, sealing the win in our books.
Leaning my head on the chair of my seat in this comfy charter bus, I pull my phone out and start typing to my new tutor.
Hey, are you free tomorrow for our first session?
I don’t even know what our meetings will look like. I hope she’ll go over the previous tests and assignments, tell me where the hell I went wrong, and then tell me how to do better next time. When she explains everything, I need her to treat me like I’m five years old.
I dread discussing the parts of class I’ve been avoiding—the self-reflection and digging into our pasts. I don’t want to do any digging. Keep the shovels far away from me. I live in the present. I don’t fantasize about what’s to come, and I definitely don’t spend time visiting ghosts. I don’t want to start now.
I mean, I guess I could lie about everything in my papers and assignments. I could make up a story and pretend that it’s real. No one would know the difference. That’s probably a better option than the half-assed work I’ve been submitting.
My phone vibrates.
Tutor: Yes, I am. What time would you like to meet up?
I respond immediately.
Preferably not before 10 a.m. so I can at least sleep in.
Tutor: Would noon work?
Nope. I have weight lifting. Then practice at 5. By then, I’ll be starving and will need to eat, or my brain will be worthless. How about, like, 7:30?
Tutor: Are you serious? That’s so late.
It’s not that late, but it’s funny that you think so. I’ll pay you extra tomorrow if you can make 8 p.m. work. Six hundred.
Tutor: Fine. 8 p.m. Sharp. Where do you want to meet?
I should offer the library, but it will be closed for the night by then. We could meet at a coffee shop or diner, but I don’t want to have to deal with any HEAU hockey fans or puck bunnies. So, I offer the one place I typically keep to myself.
Here’s my address. Don’t worry. I’ll be ready and set up at my dining table.
Tutor: There is no way in hell I’m going to your house. You could be a creep for all I know.
I chuckle, taken aback by her response. She seemed so meek and shy in person, and for her to be snarky behind a screen is a pleasant surprise. I like this side of her. I need someone to tell me like it is.
I’m not a creep, thank you very much.
Tutor: Oh, perfect. Then, I won’t worry at all.
Am I talking to the same girl who sits quietly in the back of class? What the hell is going on?
If it makes you feel better, bring a friend. They can hang out while we work.
She doesn’t answer right away, and I swipe out of our messages and get distracted playing a game on my phone while waiting. Before I know it, two hours have passed when she finally gets back to me.
Tutor: Deal. See you then.
Sweet! I don’t know why that felt more victorious than our win tonight. Maybe it’s because I won’t get to keep winning on the ice if I don’t start performing off of it.
I like her message and return to my phone, falling asleep a few minutes later.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up right now,” Lumi whisper-shouts at me as we near our destination and turn into a never-ending private driveway lined with tall green hedges.
“Holy shit.” The words fall from my parted lips of their own accord as I try to keep my jaw off of the ground.
A gigantic house starts coming into view—and I use the word house loosely. Let’s call it what it is—a mansion. Well, technically, from how much land it’s sitting on, it would properly be called a manor. Hawthorne Manor. It’s three stories of beautiful light-brown bricks. Lumi pulls into the circular driveway with the most enormous fountain I’ve ever seen in the center of it. This place is bigger than some of our buildings on campus, and that’s really saying something.
Arched windows cover the front of the house, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to see every inch inside of this place. It’s unreal.
“Am I dreaming right now?” Lumi breathily asks.
“If you are, I’m in it with you. But seriously, is this guy in the mob or something? Are his parents royalty?” Word vomit flows from my mouth, and I catch myself, taking a breath and calming down.
I’ve just never seen anything like this. Of course, I’ve seen photos of places similar, but to see it in real life is entirely different. It has a presence of its own. It’s impressive and intimidating.
One of the front double doors opens, and Griffin steps out, wearing joggers, a Legends T-shirt, and a backward hat. He smiles as he raises his hand and waves. The hem of his shirt lifts off of his defined lower abs, and I have to physically stop myself from staring. It doesn’t matter if I want to acknowledge it or not; he’s hot. That’s not even an opinion; it’s just plain fact.
Still in shock, I lift my hand and wave back.
Lumi reaches over and gently grabs my arm, pulling my attention his way. “Real question: what are the chances that you think he could be gay?”
“What?” I chuckle, taken entirely by surprise at his question, although I should know better by now. “I don’t know. Find out for yourself.”
He sighs and looks past me, admiring Griffin. “If I knew it wouldn’t jeopardize this job for you, I so would.”
“Fair point,” I say and grab my backpack. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Show some enthusiasm. The entire campus would kill to be you right now,” Lumi mumbles as I throw the door open and step into the dark and cool evening air.
Lumi begged me to dress up for this tutoring session, but I absolutely did not take his advice. I dressed comfortably, donning a pair of yoga pants and an oversize HEAU T-shirt. I’m already completely out of my element, and I don’t want to make it worse by wearing something revealing and tight.
“Hey, glad you found the place okay,” Griffin calls out, jogging down the fifteen steps to the first landing and then down the final ten steps to us.
At least I’ll get a little workout from climbing these stairs when I come here.
“Yeah, super easy. Your house is amazing, by the way,” Lumi gushes, not holding back any sweetness in his voice.
“Thanks,” he mumbles and rubs the back of his neck.
Is that humility showing?
I can’t imagine that someone living in a house like this can even be humble. He has the world at his fingertips, and I guess, now, I have him wrapped around mine until this is all said and done. Maybe I should have asked for more than five hundred.
“I can take that for you.” Griffin gestures toward my backpack.
I sling it over my shoulder. “I’m good. Thanks.”
He smiles and lifts his hands in defeat before spinning on his heel and starting back up the stairs, Lumi hot on his tail.
Maybe Lumi wasn’t the best person to bring with me. I laugh to myself. Any red flags Griffin has will seem bright green to Lumi.
Thank God for all the time I spend on my feet at work because these stairs are kind of a bitch. Griffin takes them two at a time, and Lumi, now out of breath, drifts back to walk alongside me.
“It, like, has to be big, right?” Lumi murmurs and nudges my shoulder with his.
“What does?” I ask as my eyebrows pinch together.
He stops dead in his tracks and glares at me, then smirks, and it clicks.
“Stop that!” I whisper-scold him, slapping his arm.
He smiles and catches back up to me as we reach the front door Griffin is holding open for us.
“Thank you,” I say as I pass through the threshold and inhale sharply, examining the entryway.
Dark natural hardwood lines every inch of the floor I can see. To my left, a massive sitting room with furniture that looks like it’s never been used fills the modern and classy room, a giant rug nearly covering the center of it. To my right, the most extensive and elaborate kitchen I’ve ever seen takes up the entire space, continuing around a corner, seemingly endless. Vault ceilings and a hundred windows must illuminate the house with natural light during the day.
But the most magnificent part is the white marble staircase that splits in two directions, and I can’t see where they end. I want to explore this place and map it out because I am definitely going to get lost.
“So, Griffin, what the hell do your parents do for a living? Also, are they looking to adopt an adult?” Lumi asks, and reality slaps me in the face, pulling me out of my stupor.
Oh my God, he is so going to get me fired.
Griffin chuckles hauntingly, looking off to the side as he answers, “My mom invented a sports drink and founded the company behind it, and my dad invented a gadget that the military uses.”
“What drink?” Lumi’s nosy-ass asks.
“Elixir,” he murmurs.
Lumi digs a bottle from his backpack. “You mean this?”
Griffin nods, glancing away.
Elixir is the most popular sports drink in the entire world. They are the sponsored beverage for, like, every professional sport. Griffin’s not just rich. He’s rich, rich.
“Well, that’s amazing. Your parents sound like the ultimate power couple.” Lumi chuckles before mumbling, “Although they could still very well be in the mob.”
Griffin doesn’t laugh, and Lumi’s face falls flat instantly, like there might be any truth in his wild accusation.
“Please don’t kill me,” Lumi begs, and Griffin’s stonelike demeanor cracks with a smile.
“My family is not in the mob, I can assure you,” he says, grinning as he stalks across the wide-open corridor and turns, walking through an archway.
“Don’t touch anything and behave!” I scold Lumi as we trail behind Griffin, following him into the next room.
Jesus Christ.
This dining room is larger than my entire house.
“Will this work?” Griffin asks, gesturing to the large oak table that seats fourteen people.
“Yeah,” I answer and drop my bag on the table in front of the chair closest to me.
“Sweet. I’ll be right back,” Griffin says and walks back out of the room.
Lumi stops him. “Can I get a glass of water?”
He nods. “Be my guest.”
Lumi blushes, and I roll my eyes as he kindly replies, “Sweet. Thank you! And where can I find a living room with a TV?”
“You passed it when we walked in. Follow me. I’ll show you. I have to use the remote to bring it up,” Griffin says casually, as if any of that made sense.
“I’m sorry?” Lumi voices the confusion for the both of us.
“It rises out of the entertainment center,” he says quizzically, as if everyone’s TV does that.
“Oh, right. Of course it does.” Lumi smiles and follows a befuddled Griffin.
Leaving me to peaceful silence, I begin unloading my backpack and setting my stuff up. I can’t imagine living her. I would never have stress or sadness.
An aching pain twists my chest. I wish my life were this easy. A bitter resentment toward Griffin and the life he was born into tugs my lips downward.
He is taking all of this for granted. I know he has hockey, but aside from that, he has all the time in the world to focus on his grades, yet he’s still failing. If I didn’t have to work almost full-time just to stay in school, I would have one hundred percent in every one of my classes, not just English.
“All right, do you need anything? Water?” Griffin’s deep voice slices through my silent suffering, and I try not to let my sudden jealousy affect my reaction.
“I’m okay. Thank you.” I smile politely as he sets his stack of papers, laptop, and pens down beside mine.
“Cool,” he says, pulling out his chair and taking a seat.
I follow suit and drag the heavy wooden chair back before sinking down onto the cushioned pillow.
I’m prepared; of course I am. I might not have tutored someone before, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it perfectly. If I set my mind to it, I can do anything, including turning this jock into the smartest guy on the team.
Having already drafted an entire plan for how tonight will go, I turn toward him and ask, “Do you have the assignments and papers that we’ve done so far? I want to review them and see what you need to improve.”
