CHAPTER SEVEN
Hardy
Sixteen Years Ago
“ C an we put away the football kit already?” Monty’s deep baritone floats down the hall to my room.
No. Absolutely not.
I stare at myself in the mirror. In my Chelsea Football Club kit—blue jersey and shorts with Hardy emblazoned across the back. They swim on me, but they were his—my dad’s—and that’s enough of a reason for me to keep them forever.
But when I don’t hear my mum refute him, flustered panic claws its way up my throat and steals my voice.
Say it.
Say it!
“It’s one of the only things he has left of his father’s,” she says softly in that appeasing tone I’ve come to despise.
“Yes, well, his father is gone. He must move on. I’m telling you, that’s exactly why the arrangements I’ve made are needed.”
I pull a pillow to my chest and hold it tightly, my heart hurting and my eyes scrunched to hold back the tears.
Suck it up, Alexander. Men don’t cry.
Monty’s refrain is a constant in my head every time I miss my dad.
“But he’s only ten, Monty,” my mum says.
“Exactly. Old enough to have a man made out of him, and since it’s not happening here, it needs to happen somewhere.”
“I don’t know that I agree,” she murmurs.
“No? Every time he acts out at school, you run to him. Every punch he throws on the pitch, you coddle him and make excuses. You really think it’s not required, Simone? How are we to live our lives as we choose? How are you to be the wife of Monty Kettering and attend required society functions and the necessary trips? How can we do that when we have a troublemaker causing exasperating disturbances?”
I wish I had wings so I could fly far, far away. So I could fly high and touch my dad’s angel wings.
So I could escape Monty’s authoritative voice and desire to discard me. So I could make my mum love me more than her need to cling to status and society. So I could pretend the whole last year never happened.
“You’ll agree when we have the freedom to move about Europe without worrying who will take care of him.” He chuckles and she giggles that scratchy sound that reminds me of Coke when it’s poured out. The hiss of bubbles trapped against the edges of a glass cup. They tickle your nose and make you want to sneeze simultaneously. Hatred for him tastes like acid on my tongue. “Kindly get him out here so I can advise him of his new adventure.”
I jump off my bed, yank my dad’s jersey over my head, and stuff it into my pillowcase to hide it. No one is taking it from me.
There’s a hushed back and forth. It makes me uncomfortable because I know they’re fighting about me. Then again, it’s not really fighting because Mum never fights for me . Not anymore.
“Alexander? Honey?” Her footsteps come down the hallway toward my room, each one heavier than the last, despite the cheerful tone of her voice.
She’s only cheerful when she fakes it.
I stand in my room, shirtless, and cautious when she fills the doorway. “What?” It’s a croaked syllable. My heart is pounding, and I don’t like this one bit.
The last time my heart pounded like this, my dad died.
Why do I feel the same now?
“Monty and I have a surprise for you. An incredible opportunity only offered to the best of the best.”
“We could go away together,” I whisper, eyes darting toward the sitting room where no doubt he hasn’t moved from. “You and me. We could travel together. Go to a place where no one, not even Monty knows. And I’d try my hardest in school so you wouldn’t have to worry about that and—”
“But I love Monty, sweetheart.”
Her words are like a punch to my gut.
“Say the rest.”
“What rest?” Her eyes narrow.
“‘I love Monty, sweetheart, but not as much as I love you.’ That’s what you were going to say, right?”
Her smile in response is so natural I feel a bit more at ease. Stop working yourself up, Alexander. For all you know, it really is a surprise.
And yet, the rock in my gut tells me otherwise.
“Right.” Another smile as she pulls me against her and hugs me tight. “Always. I’ll always love you more.” Her voice is thick, like she’s eating peanut butter, and she ruffles the top of my head before holding me at arm’s length. “You ready for your surprise?”
Why does she sound sad?
“No.” I shake my head back and forth as she pulls on my hand to lead me down the hall. “Mummy. No, I don’t want a surprise. I just want to stay here and play football and make biscuits with you.”
“I know,” she says. It sounds weird, but I can’t see her face to know why it sounds like she’s crying.
And there has been a lot of that over the past two years so I know the sound well. But not since Monty came. Not since he showed up in his shiny car with his fat wallet and...his pinched expression.
The one that greets me when I turn the corner and enter the sitting room.
“Son? Looks like you lost your shirt there?” He asks in that way that people talk when they’re not a big fan of kids but pretend to be.
I just stare at him, his unmoving hair, and the way his neck bulges over the collar of his dress shirt like a sausage coming out of its casing. My stomach twists.
“Didn’t lose it. No.”
“ No, sir , is the proper way to respond, Alexander. Especially with a name as regal as yours.”
I grunt.
“So we have a truly exciting opportunity for you. Due to my status, a school that’s extremely interested in you has approached me. They’re keen to further your education and to grow your football skills.”
If he lifts his eyebrows one more time, they might fly off his face. I snicker. Oops . That might be the wrong thing to do by the clench of his jaw and hands.
I clear my throat as what he says hits my ears. “There’s no such place around here.”
His grin widens. “I know. That’s why this is such a great opportunity. The Cannondale School in Kentwood.”
Like I know where that is. “Where?”
“It’s a few hours south.”
“But how would I get there and back every day? How would I make my practice in time? How would—”
“You wouldn’t.” My mum finally enters the conversation, her hands trembling and her voice shaky. “You’d stay there with all of the other boys who are excited to be there to further their football skills.”
“It’s exceptionally prestigious. Exceptionally ,” Monty emphasizes. “Only the best of the best are selected to attend. Some of their alumni have gone on to do incredible things professionally, on and off the pitch.”
All the stupid shows on the telly I’ve watched come back. The evil headmasters. The cruel students. The—
“Think Harry Potter but with football,” my mum says with too much enthusiasm.
I laugh nervously as I twist my fingers together. The ringing in my ears is almost painful. They have to hear it too, don’t they?
“A boarding school,” I whisper and stare blankly at them through squinted eyes.
“Yes, but the football opportunities are most impressive,” Monty says.
“I have football here.” And the swing my dad built me in the backyard. My friends who know me. My park where I can ride my bike. My mum . “I’m not going.”
Monty sighs as my mum glances nervously at him and then back to me, making that smile even faker if that’s even possible.
“I can’t possibly decline the headmaster’s offer. After all, The Cannondale School does treat its benefactors well.” He’s paying them to take me away?
“So they don’t want me then.” Just like you don’t. “You had to pay them to take me.”
“That’s not what Monty meant,” my mum says as she kneels before me and places her chilly hands on the sides of my waist. Her hug that seemed so warm moments ago feels so cold. “He means that the school year has already started, and the school was set with its students so he requested they take you halfway through. You’ll have a cool roommate—”
“Can’t be too cool if it’s halfway through the year and his current one left,” I mutter.
“Alexander,” Monty warns.
“I hate you,” I grit out as my mum gasps. “I wish you’d never met my mum. I wish you were dead. I wish—”
“That’s enough.” Monty’s voice thunders through the room as he rises from his seat. “This is not up for negotiation. It has already been settled, and this is what will be happening.” His smile looks like a cartoon shark’s—scary and daunting. “The conversation is over. We’ll leave this weekend.”
This weekend? The buzzing gets louder as I stagger a step back out of my mum’s reach. “Say something,” I beg her, but she just stares at me with alligator tears and a trembling bottom lip.
“It’s for the best,” she whispers. “For you. For me. For everyone.”
“Please don’t do this,” I say.
Her fake smile flickers. “It’s for the best.”