Chapter 9 #2
Instead, he said, “I don’t know.”
“Do you think you’ll play again this season?”
“Maybe.”
“You should. The team needs you. Chappell’s been trying to fill in but he’s not fast enough. And Morrison can’t hold the line by himself.”
Knox glanced at her. “You really do watch hockey.”
“I told you.” She turned back to the windshield. “Right at the next block.”
The neighborhood had changed. Buildings older, more run-down. Streetlights spaced farther apart. Graffiti on a few walls.
Knox didn’t comment, but I saw him take it in. Saw his eyes track the boarded-up storefront on the corner, the cluster of guys smoking outside the convenience store, the overflowing dumpster behind the fence.
This was a mistake. I should’ve insisted on the bus. Should’ve gotten out at the last intersection and walked. He didn’t need to see this. Didn’t need to know—
“It’s the third building on the left,” Angelica said. “The one with the green door.”
Too late.
Knox pulled up to the curb.
The building looked worse at night. Peeling paint. Crooked railing on the front steps. A window on the second floor covered with cardboard—Mrs. Radford’s place, broken since September.
I stared straight ahead, jaw locked, trying to look like I didn’t care. Like this was fine. Totally normal. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
This was where I lived. This was what I went home to every day while Knox went back to that penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows and a kitchen island bigger than my entire apartment.
The obsessive superfan who lived in a shithole and raised his little sister and couldn’t even remember to show up to her ceremony.
Perfect. Great. Exactly the impression I wanted to make.
Angelica unbuckled her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem. Keep up the school stuff.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “You know, you’re not as much of an asshole as Matthew says you are.”
Oh my god.
“Angelica Quinn,” I hissed from the back seat.
Knox’s mouth twitched. “Good to know.”
He handed her the certificate, and she grabbed her backpack and got out. Then Angelica leaned back in. “Seriously. Thanks. Good luck with. . . everything.”
She shot me a grin and headed for the building.
I stayed in the backseat, trying to figure out how to get out of this car while maintaining literally any dignity whatsoever.
Say something. Thank him. Get out. Act like this is normal. Like you’re not dying inside.
But my brain was stuck on a loop: He saw where I live. He knows I’m obsessed with his stats. He knows our parents aren’t around. He knows everything now, and he probably thinks I’m the most pathetic person he’s ever met.
I forced my expression neutral. Casual. Like none of this mattered.
“Thanks.” I kept my voice even. Detached. “For driving us. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this was fine. He’d seen too much, and I couldn’t take any of it back. I reached for the door handle.
“Quinn.”
I stopped, still facing forward. Braced myself.
This was it. The moment he told me this wasn’t going to work out. That he needed someone more professional. Someone who wasn’t a weird superfan who lived in a building with cardboard windows and forgot important family obligations.
“You’re doing okay,” Knox said quietly. “With her. You know that, right?”
The words hit me sideways.
I turned to look at him.
His expression was softer than I’d ever seen it. No judgment. No pity. Just. . . something genuine.
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So I just nodded and got out of the car.
The apartment was exactly how I’d left it that morning.
Small. Clean. Too warm because the radiator didn’t have a working valve.
Angelica had dropped her backpack on the couch—our couch, which was actually a futon I’d found on Craigslist three years ago when I realized my teenage sister was going to be living with me—and was already in the kitchen.
“We have eggs and . . . half a carton of milk.” She closed the fridge. “Want me to make something?”
“I’ll order pizza.”
She looked at me. “Matthew.”
“It’s your night. We’re getting pizza.”
She didn’t argue. Just came over and hugged me hard, face pressed against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry I forgot,” I said.
“You were working. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
“Well, you’re here now.” She pulled back, swiped at her eyes quickly. “And you brought Andrew Knox to my school. That’s pretty cool.”
“He’s still an asshole.”
“He drove you all the way here. In his fancy car. That’s not asshole behavior.”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
She went to the bathroom. I heard the water run.
I looked around the apartment. At the stack of bills on the kitchen counter—rent, utilities, her SAT prep course fee.
At the bookshelf crammed with her textbooks and college prep materials.
At the corkboard on the wall where she’d pinned information about colleges that cost an insane amount of money. Colleges she deserved to go to.
Knox hadn’t fired me yet. He gave me access to his credit card without blinking, and he drove me across the city tonight because I’d fucked up. He didn’t say a word about it. Didn’t make me grovel. Just did it.
Ninety days of this job, and I’d have enough saved to breathe easier. Maybe enough that Angelica wouldn’t have to worry about whether we could afford her future.
I exhaled slowly.
Yeah, okay. Maybe not an asshole after all.
Maybe.