Off campus fanfiction

The roar of the crowd at Briar University was usually Garrett Graham’s favorite sound in the world. It was a rhythmic, pulsing beast that fed his ego and fueled his slap shot. But tonight, as he skated off the ice after a shutout win against Yale, the adrenaline felt hollow. His eyes immediately scanned the stands, landing on the specific seat behind the home bench where a quiet girl with a messy bun usually sat wearing his spare jersey.

The seat was empty.

It had been empty for three weeks.

Garrett stripped off his pads in the locker room, ignoring the boisterous chirping of his teammates. Wellsy was shouting something about a kegger at the hockey house, and Tuck was busy recounting his second-period goal for the tenth time. Normally, Garrett would be at the center of the chaos, the life of the party, the king of the castle.

"Hey, G," Logan said, nudging him with a gloved hand. "You coming tonight? Or are you doing that 'study session' with Y/N?"

Garrett felt a sharp pang in his chest at the mention of her name. "Not tonight, man. I think she’s busy."

"Busy?" Logan arched an eyebrow. "She hasn't missed a home game since freshman year. You guys have a falling out?"

"No," Garrett lied, pulling a shirt over his head. "Just... stuff."

The 'stuff' was the problem. For the last year, Y/N had been his sanctuary. It started as a friendship—she was the quiet, observant girl in his Ethics class who didn't swoon when he flashed his dimples. Then, it turned into late-night movies, which turned into shared beds and whispered secrets. They had a deal: no strings, no labels, just benefits. It was the perfect arrangement for a guy who grew up under the suffocating shadow of a famous father and didn't want the mess of a real relationship.

But lately, the silence from her end was deafening. She wasn't answering his texts. She wasn't coming over to "study." And tonight, she hadn't shown up to see him play.

Garrett didn't go to the party. He drove straight to her apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that had nothing to do with cardio. When he knocked on her door, he expected her to peek through the crack with that shy, submissive smile that always made him want to wrap her in his arms and never let go.

Instead, when the door opened, she was wearing a dress. A real dress. Not his oversized hoodie, not leggings. She looked beautiful, and she looked like she was going somewhere that didn't involve him.

"Garrett?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant. She didn't step back to let him in.

"Hey," he said, suddenly feeling oversized and clumsy in her narrow hallway. "You weren't at the game."

Y/N looked down at her shoes, a faint blush creeping up her neck. "I had plans, Garrett. I told you I might be busy this weekend."

"Plans? With who?" He knew he sounded possessive. He couldn't help it.

"A date," she whispered.

The word hit him harder than a check into the boards. "A date? Since when do you go on dates?"

"Since I realized that waiting around for a text that only comes after 11:00 PM isn't exactly a future," she said, her voice gaining a tiny bit of strength. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "You’ve been very clear about what you want, Garrett. Or rather, what you don't want. You don't want a girlfriend. You don't want commitment. And I... I can't do the 'friends with benefits' thing anymore. It hurts too much."

Garrett felt the air leave his lungs. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't. You were honest from day one," she said, reaching out to briefly touch his forearm before pulling back as if burned. "But I'm not built like you. I can't turn my heart off. So, I’m trying to move on. I’m trying to find someone who actually wants to take me out to dinner, not just order pizza to your bedroom."

"I take you out," he protested weakly.

"You take me to the diner at midnight when no one is there," she countered. "It’s okay, Garrett. We had fun. But I need more."

A car honked outside. Y/N glanced toward the window. "That’s him. I have to go."

"Y/N, wait—"

"Good game tonight," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I saw the score online. I'm happy for you."

She brushed past him, the scent of her vanilla perfume lingering in the air, and walked down the stairs. Garrett stood in the hallway, frozen, as he watched her climb into a silver sedan driven by some guy who wasn't a hockey player, who didn't know how she liked her coffee, and who certainly didn't deserve to hold her hand.

The realization hit him with the force of a freight train: he had played himself. He had been so scared of becoming his father—so scared of the vulnerability that came with loving someone—that he had pushed the only person who truly knew him right into the arms of someone else.

He went home to the hockey house, but the music was too loud and the smell of cheap beer made him nauseous. He retreated to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the spot where she usually slept.

Garrett Graham was many things: a star athlete, a straight-A student, a flirt. But in this moment, he felt like a complete failure.

He spent the next three hours staring at his phone. He typed out a dozen texts and deleted them all. *I miss you. Come back. I'll take you to dinner. Don't go out with him.* They all sounded desperate. They all sounded like the commitment he’d spent years sprinting away from.

Around 1:00 AM, he heard a soft thud against his bedroom door. It wasn't the heavy kick of one of his teammates. It was a hesitant, familiar scratch.

He lunged for the door and yanked it open. Y/N was standing there, her dress slightly wrinkled, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked small and fragile, and Garrett’s protective instincts flared white-hot.

"Did he do something?" Garrett growled, stepping into the hall. "I'll kill him."

"No," she said, her voice trembling. "He was perfectly nice. He was a gentleman. He opened doors and asked about my major and told me I looked pretty."

Garrett flinched. "Then why are you here?"

"Because he wasn't you," she sobbed, the sound breaking his heart into a million pieces. "I sat there all night trying to be interested, trying to move on, but all I could think about was how much I wanted to be in your bed, even if it meant I was just a secret. I'm so pathetic, Garrett."

He didn't hesitate. He reached out, grabbed her waist, and hauled her into his room, kicking the door shut behind them. He pressed her against the wood, his hands framing her face.

"You are not pathetic," he whispered fiercely, his forehead resting against hers. "You’re the best thing in my life, and I’m a moron for letting you think otherwise."

"You don't want a girlfriend," she reminded him, her breath hitching. "You said—"

"I don't care what I said," he interrupted. He kissed her then—not the playful, casual kisses they usually shared, but something deep, desperate, and possessive. He tasted the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her lip gloss, and he knew he was done for. "I can't watch you get into another guy's car. I can't look at that empty seat in the stands. If having you means I have to be 'that guy'—the guy with the girlfriend, the guy who's tied down—then I’m in. I’m so in."

Y/N pulled back slightly, her eyes wide. "Are you serious? You’re not just saying this because you’re jealous?"

"I am jealous," he admitted, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "I’m losing my mind with jealousy. But it’s more than that. I’ve been scared, Y/N. My dad... he made love look like a cage. But with you? It doesn't feel like a cage. It feels like home. I don't want benefits. I want you. All of you. Publicly. I want to take you to the team banquet. I want to buy you a jersey with 'Graham' on the back that you actually get to wear in front of people."

She looked at him for a long beat, searching his face for any sign of a joke. When she found only sincerity, she let out a long, shaky breath and buried her face in his chest. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as if he were her anchor.

"I'm so tired of trying to move on," she whispered into his skin.

"Then don't," Garrett said, lifting her up so her legs wrapped around his waist. He carried her to the bed, the place where they had spent so many hours pretending they didn't matter to each other. "Stay here. Stay with me."

He laid her down on the sheets, hovering over her. The power dynamic had always been skewed—he was the loud, dominant athlete, and she was the quiet, submissive girl who followed his lead. But as he looked at her now, he realized she held all the power. One word from her and he’d be leveled.

"Garrett?" she asked softly, reaching up to touch his hair.

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean I'm your girlfriend?"

Garrett grinned, the first real smile he’d felt in weeks. He leaned down and nipped at her earlobe, making her shiver. "It means if I see that silver sedan near your apartment again, I'm taking a hockey stick to his windshield. You're mine, Y/N. I think I’ve known it for a long time. I was just too slow on the play to realize it."

She pulled him down for another kiss, this one slow and full of promise. The labels were finally there, the walls were down, and for the first time in his life, Garrett Graham wasn't looking for the exit. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

The next morning, the hockey house was quiet as the sun began to peek through the blinds. Garrett woke up with Y/N curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He watched her sleep for a while, feeling a sense of peace that surpassed any victory on the ice.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Wellsy: *Where'd you disappear to last night? Missed a legendary party.*

Garrett looked at the girl in his arms, her skin glowing in the morning light, her presence filling the void he hadn't even realized was there until she tried to leave. He typed back a simple response before turning the phone off and pulling the covers up around them both.

*I found something better.*