Chapter 37 #2
I take a step back so that I’m standing next to Wells. “He was a lifesaver last semester. Really kicked my ass into gear so that I could be at my best on the ice.”
Carter turns toward his parents, who’ve been less than overcome with enthusiasm at my arrival. “Mom and Dad, this is Kellan. He’s graduating from Radford this year and leaving as their star center. He also went to Warwick.”
Mr. Wellington gives me an appraising stare, and I see why Wells finds spending time with him so frustrating.
I cannot for the life of me figure out where I stand with this guy.
He’s not being cold, but he’s definitely not rolling out the red carpet.
Honestly, he reminds me a lot of Wells in that way, though I’ll never say it out loud.
I nod my head in their direction and put my hands in my pockets. “Nice to meet you both. Seems like a big year for the Wellington family. One son is graduating college and the other son is graduating high school. You must be very proud.”
Mr. Wellington scoffs. “Kids these days have no sense of what it takes to be successful in this world. If Bennett can get the London office into shape, now that will be an accomplishment.” He turns his attention toward Carter, so I don’t have time to think about the fact that he’s talking about London like it’s a done deal.
“And athletics have their merits, but… really, Carter? College hockey?” He says it with so much disdain that it’s a wonder that either Wellington brother has ever followed their heart on anything.
I cock my head to the side. “With all due respect, you do realize that you’re in a hockey arena right now with people who’ve dedicated thousands of hours to the sport?”
Carter is watching us like it’s a ping pong match. I don’t have the stomach to look at Wells right now. This whole thing is going way more off the rails than I’d hoped.
Mr. Wellington nods. “And I applaud effort, but without direction, it’s nothing more than wasted energy.”
“Wow, you must be a hit at parties.” I feel Wells stiffen next to me, but I can’t stop myself at this point. I’m sick of him pushing his sons around to inflate his self-important ego. “Both of your kids excel in the areas they’ve decided to pursue. It’s a shame that you can’t–or won’t–see that.”
“What’s your last name?” he asks, suddenly giving me a far more critical look than before. Which is sort of insane because nothing about the last few minutes has been a walk in the park.
“O’Reilly,” I answer quickly. Let him go to the Coach. Like I give a shit.
A strange look flashes across his face, and for the first time, I feel off-kilter. “Kellan O’Reilly. Now I remember you.”
“Remember me?”
“After Bennett switched schools during freshman year, I looked into the situation. As if I believed he was too capable for Warwick’s academic programs.” I have no idea what this guy is talking about, even when he adds, “All roads led back to you, if gossip is to be trusted.”
I shoot Wells a confused stare. He’s white as a ghost. And suddenly, I feel like I could be sick, though I’m not exactly sure why. But there’s something gnawing at me, trying to claw its way from the inside out.
“Wells didn’t even go to Warwick.” I know, because we talked about it months ago. But the balloon in my stomach is still growing.
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel ashamed.” He gives me a collusive look, like we’re in this together. I hate everything about it. “I think it’s pretty clear that Bennett needed some toughening up.” He shoots a disappointed stare in Wells’ direction. “Too bad that it didn’t stick.”
“Mr. Wellington, I have no idea–” The words die on my lips as the balloon in my stomach pops.
Those green eyes, no longer hidden behind Coke bottle glasses.
And his perfect, straight white teeth that were covered in braces.
Wells used to be a skinny, gangly kid before he bulked up.
He told me all this, himself, all those months ago.
When we met in October, he’d called me a ‘loser from South Warwick,’ which he shouldn’t have known.
Except that he did know me. And I knew him.
Tortured him, even. Tripped some kid I barely knew in the halls every time I saw him.
Tracked him through hallways just to see him squirm.
I worked out my anger on him to feel the smallest semblance of control over a life that was hell every time I stepped into my family’s apartment.
Then one day, he was just gone. And I was so lost in my own misery that I barely noticed. What kind of person does that make me?
I look at Wells again, who still hasn’t said a word. For the first time in my life, I feel honest-to-god fear, wondering if the joy of these last five months and a possible lifetime after it are going to be wiped away.
Emotions are rapid cycling through my body. Confusion. Embarrassment. Disgust.
I wish someone would just hit me. Hard. That would feel a hell of a lot better than this empty, cavernous feeling that’s expanding in my chest. Despair. I think this is the worst thing that I’ve ever felt when suddenly, everything rushes into focus and it’s like I’ve been stabbed in the heart.
It’s written clear across Wells’ face, now that I know what I’m looking for. All this time, he’s known who I am to him, too.