It’s not a buyout, Wells, he murmured, pressing his warm palm against her cheek to brush away a stray tear with agonizing gentleness. “You think I give a damn about a donor, Gala? You’ve been rewriting those cords until your fingers bled. I’m not letting him take that from you.” Hannah’s fingers bunched into his sleeve, resting her forehead against his chest.
Every answer is just a new problem, Graham. The waiver requires a dual signature from the student senate liaison to override an athletic block hold. And the liaison is, “I’m the liaison.” John Logan’s voice cut in quietly from the doorway. He stepped into the room holding a green university ledger. Hank Graham’s firm finalized the contract today.
If we submit an override waiver now, it triggers an automatic compliance audit for the entire athletic block. Pull the waiver, Logan. I’ll sign it, Garrett said without hesitation. Garrett, think, Hannah countered, stepping between them. If the athletic block gets flagged 12 hours before qualifiers, coach has to sit the starting line.
You’ll lose your draft window. Let them review it, Garrett muttered. Give me the pen. Wait. Ally Hayes energized the room, marching past Logan with her canvas bag. Nobody is sitting out, and nobody is letting Hank Graham win a corporate chess match in our house. Listen to me. Ally caught Hannah’s hands. The main auditorium is locked, but the auxiliary recording studio underneath the old rink doesn’t change security codes at midnight.
It uses the same fiber optic audio bridge. If we move Hannah’s keyboards there, she can stream the tracks directly to the committee’s portal. Logan can sign a basic room use voucher instead of a full override. No audit, no compliance flags. Logan calculated the loophole. She’s right.
The auxiliary studio is mixed use. I can co-sign a room voucher with Garrett’s captain credentials without alerting the donor board. Only problem, the key is in coach’s office and the arena manager is downtown with your dad. Garrett’s sharp competitive edge returned. Then we go get it. Wells, get your boots on. We’re breaking into the rink.
By 2 mantra, the complex stood like a concrete fortress under the winter sky. Dean stood by the service entrance with a long metal ruler, looking entirely too excited. “Personally, I feel like a cat burglar,” Dean whispered with a sharp metallic click. The heavy door hissed open, releasing the cold smell of ice and Zamboni fuel.
They slipped into the dark corridor beneath the stadium seats. “Coach’s office is at the end of the tunnel,” Logan whispered. Garrett caught Hannah’s wrist, pulling her into the shadow of a pillar. Stay behind me, Wells. I can take a night watchman. Graham, Hannah murmured back, though her fingers tightened on his jacket sleeve. Garrett let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing her temple before he stepped toward the office.
2 seconds later, Dean picked the deadbolt. Logan bypassed the cabinet lock, grabbing the brass tag. “Auxiliary studio, room 104. What happened next made everything worse, Ally muttered, pointing to the internal security monitor. A black town car had just pulled up to the curb. Coach and Hank Graham stepped out, heading toward the administrative wing.
They’re early, Garrett said, his voice dropping into a cold, dangerous register. If your dad sees Hannah with that key, he’ll have her student ID revoked before sunrise. Dean Ally, take the key and get Hannah’s files loaded onto the audio bridge. Logan, keep the truck running. What about you? Hannah demanded, refusing to move.
“I’m not leaving you to take the fall.” “I’m the captain, Wells,” Garrett said, a cocky smirk breaking through his defensive mask as he cuped the back of her neck to pull her close. “I’m allowed to be here for extra ice time. Go.” By 3:00 a.m., the auxiliary studio was alive with the glowing green bars of the audio bridge.
Hannah sat at the digital keyboard, her fingers moving across the keys with frantic speed. Master tracks are uploading, Logan announced from the corner. 80% complete. The portal closes in 15 minutes. The door clicked open and Garrett walked in. His white shirt was unbuttoned, his knuckles red from aggressively wrapping hockey tape around a stick to maintain his alibi.
The moment his gaze found Hannah, his entire frame relaxed. “Did he see you?” Hannah asked, crossing the room to reach him. “He saw me,” Garrett murmured, wrapping his arms securely around her waist and pulling her against his chest. He told me I was wasting energy. I told him I had a very high standard to live up to this week. Tracks verified.
The submission is locked. Logan announced with a smile. Ally cheered and Dean immediately threw Logan into a chaotic headlock. The emotional breakdown from hours ago had completely dissolved. They were a team. An hour later, the hockey house was dark again. Hannah sat on the edge of Garrett’s bedroom desk, his charcoal suit jacket draped over her shoulders.
Garrett stood between her knees, his hands resting securely on her hips. “You really were going to let them audit the block tonight, wasn’t you?” she asked softly, playing with the silver chain around his neck. “I told you, Wells,” Garrett muttered, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his warm breath a steady rhythm.
“I don’t care about the ledger. I care about this,” Hannah smiled, closing her eyes. Finally feeling completely safe against the solid warmth of his body. The qualifiers were tomorrow and they were completely okay. Then his laptop hummed with a loud intrusive notification chime. The qualifiers were tomorrow and they were completely okay.
For the first time all week, neither of them had to fight anyone. Not the donor board, not the compliance office, not Hank Graham, just silence. Garrett leaned against the desk, watching Hannah as she absent-mindedly traced circles on the sleeve of his suit jacket. The room was dim except for the small desk lamp casting a warm glow across the scattered hockey schedules and music sheets.
“You know what’s annoying?” Hannah asked suddenly. Garrett narrowed his eyes. “The fact that Dean still thinks he’s the smartest person in the house.” “That’s permanently annoying.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. Hannah looked down at the letter, still sitting on the desk between them. “What’s actually annoying?” she continued softly.
is that you were willing to throw away everything without even talking to me. Garrett’s expression shifted. Not defensive, just tired. Hannah, no. Let me finish. She slid off the desk and stepped closer. You don’t get to decide what sacrifices are worth making for me. Garrett looked away. That alone told her everything because Garrett Graham never looked away from a fight.
