Chapter 7
“So,” Brock says to me after we order, “did you have time to get settled?”
“Not really.” I place the cloth napkin on my lap. Brock took us to a fancy seafood place that overlooks the ocean. If I’d known we were going to such a nice place, I would’ve worn something better than this sundress.
“You’ll have time tomorrow,” Brock says. “I’d planned to take you car shopping but since you don’t have a license, that’ll have to wait.”
“You don’t have a license?” Trystan asks. “What the hell?”
“People don’t drive in New York,” I explain. “Well, some do but most people don’t.”
“You need a license,” Trystan says. “You can’t go anywhere out here without a car and I’m sure as hell not driving you around.”
“You will if I tell you to,” Brock says. “If you want to keep your car.”
“Stop threatening me with the car,” Trystan says. “You take it away, I’ll just have Mom get me one.”
“Then you can live with her as well,” Brock snaps. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” he mutters.
Braden glances at his brother. Trystan glances back at him, then looks away.
What’s that about? They don’t want to be with their mom?
I wonder why. There’s so much I don’t know about these people, and I’m not sure they’d tell me if I asked.
They seem secretive, like they don’t want me knowing stuff.
It’s probably better if I don’t. I’m only here for a year.
If we’re still strangers by the end of it, that’s fine with me.
“Braden, how’s football practice?” Brock asks.
“Same as always,” he mutters, looking at his phone.
“Put it away,” Brock says, referring to the phone. “You know the rule.”
“The rule that applies to everyone but you?” Braden puts his phone down on the table. “Fucking ridiculous.”
Brock takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his thick dark hair.
He’s embarrassed by his sons. They’re being disrespectful, but I’m starting to see why.
How do you respect a man who’s never around and yet claims to be a great father?
Whenever I’ve seen him talk about his kids in interviews, he goes on and on about how close he is to his sons and how he loves doing stuff with them.
My uncle’s a liar and a fake. Maybe that’s why my mom didn’t want me around him or his family. She didn’t trust them. In the short time I’ve known them, I don’t either.
“Did Braden tell you about the football team?” Brock asks.
“No,” I say, glancing at Braden. His eyes have wandered to the waitress taking an order at the table next to us, another gorgeous woman who looks like she should be a model, not a waitress. Probably another wannabe actress.
“Twisted Pine is one of the top teams in the region,” Brock says. “The only school around here with a better record is Legion High.” He grips Braden’s shoulder. “But Braden’s determined to change that this year. Isn’t that right, Braden?”
Braden shoves his dad’s hand off his shoulder. “Like you give a shit about football. You don’t even go to the games.”
“Son, that’s not fair. I can’t help it if my work schedule doesn’t allow me the time to attend your games.”
“By work, he means Hollywood parties,” Braden says to me. “Or taking his girlfriend to Palm Springs.”
Brock looks at me. “He’s being dramatic. I’ve been to his games. Just not all of them.”
“What position do you play?” I ask Braden.
“Quarterback,” he says, sitting up straighter. “Last year we almost took down Legion. We had a winning record until game five.”
“When they got the shit kicked out of them,” Trystan mutters.
“What happened?” I ask Braden.
“Probably shouldn’t ask him that,” Trystan says. “They’ll kick us out of the restaurant.”
“I can tell her,” Braden says to his brother. “I’m done being pissed about it. Now it’s all about revenge.”
“Braden,” Brock says in a warning tone. “Do I need to remind you about our agreement?”
“I’m not gonna fight him,” Braden says. “At least not outside the field.”
“You do something during the game, they’ll kick you off the team,” Trystan says.
“Fight as in win,” Braden says. “You really think I’m gonna risk getting thrown off the team for that fucker?”
“Quiet down,” Brock says, looking around. “And stop using that language.”
Braden shakes his head. “Another rule that applies to everyone but you.”
“So what happened?” I ask. “At game five?”
Braden looks at me. “We lost to Legion in the last few seconds of the game. We were ahead but they threw a long pass and made it to the end zone right before the timer ran out.”
“And now you want revenge because they won?”
“It’s not about the team. It’s about him.”
“Who?”
“Don’t ask,” Trystan says under his breath.
“He has a history with one of the players,” Brock explains. “They used to be friends and now they’re not.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Braden says to me.
“Did you get in a fight with the guy?” I ask.
Braden glances at his dad. “I don’t want to get into it.”
A waiter brings our meals. The table gets quiet as we eat, Braden and Trystan both scarfing down their food.
“This isn’t a race, boys,” Brock says, seeming annoyed.
“I need to get home,” Braden says.
“And I need to get to the gym,” Trystan adds.
“We’re not leaving until everyone has finished their meals.”
Looking up from my plate, which I’ve barely touched, I see my cousins giving me the death stare.
They want to leave, and I’m holding them back.
Tough shit. I’m not hurrying because of them.
This is the first real meal I’ve had since my mom died.
And hurrying to finish it will just land me back in my room.
Alone. I can’t even call Axl because he’s out with Senna.
“Take your time,” Brock says, patting my arm.
We continue to eat, the boys slowing down now that they know it’ll be a while.
“Brock,” a woman says, coming up to the table. She’s super skinny with a leathery tan, wearing a short, silky white dress and the highest heels I’ve ever seen.
He looks up and smiles. “Whitney.” He stands up, and they hug. “Good to see you. How have you been?”
Her bright red lips lift into a smile. “Busy. You know how it is, right before school. So much to do to get the kids ready.”
“I do.” He points to Braden and Trystan. “Although these two aren’t too willing to let their dad help out anymore.”
She laughs in a really high pitch. “If only my girls were that way. They’re still so dependent on me. It’s a mother-daughter thing, I suppose. Girls need their moms.”
I take a long, deep breath, trying to stop the flood of emotion caused by her words. Girls need their moms. And mine’s gone. Every day I tell myself I can go on without her, and I can. I just don’t want to. I’m not ready to.
Quickly standing up, I toss my napkin on the table. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
“Rumor?” Brock says as I race off.
I go to the bathroom and into a stall. Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten and try to think of something else. Anything that doesn’t remind me of my mom. But everything reminds me of her.
Moving to California was supposed to get me away from the memories.
As much as I dreaded moving here, part of me was relieved to know I wouldn’t be surrounded by constant reminders of her.
Up until now, I was doing okay. After the funeral, there was so much going on and so much to do before I moved here that it distracted me from the pain.
But it all came back with that woman’s words. Girls need their moms.
Someone comes into the bathroom, her heels clicking on the floor. She stops right in front of my stall.
“Rumor?” the woman says. She sounds like the woman who was at the table.
“I’m using this one,” I tell her, clearing my throat.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.”
What the hell? Brock told her? And sent her in here? I don’t even know this woman.
“Rumor, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I wipe the tears from my face. “You can go. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I really wish you’d come out so I could apologize.”
Slowly opening the door, I smile at her. “I’m fine. Just needed to use the restroom.” I go to the sink and wash my hands.
She stands beside me, her red lips turned down into a frown. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I never would’ve—”
“It’s okay. Really.” I yank a towel from the basket by the sink.
“How long has it been?” she asks, touching my arm.
“A couple weeks.”
“Weeks?” She gasps, then yanks me into her arms. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I stand there, my arms stiff at my sides.
I just met this woman. Why is she hugging me?
It’s odd, but also kind of nice because she seems to genuinely care.
Everybody else here has been pretending like it didn’t happen.
I thought that’s what I wanted. For everyone to forget and not talk about it, but I’m finding that not talking about it is making me think about it even more.
Whitney steps back and grips my shoulders, staring at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Really.” I back away, tossing my hand towel in the bin. “I should get back to the table.”
She watches as I leave.
Brock sees me approaching and stands up. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I sit down. “Just had to use the restroom.” I look down at my half-eaten dinner. “I can’t finish this. I’m gonna take it home.”
“You can just leave it,” Brock says. “I’ll get the check.” He waves the waitress over.
I feel Braden and Trystan staring at me.
“Whenever you’re ready,” the waitress says, setting the bill down.
Brock hands her his credit card, and she hurries off with the bill, almost running into Whitney, who’s walking back to her table.
“How do you know Whitney?” I ask Brock.
“He slept with her,” Braden casually answers.
“What did I say about discretion?” Brock scolds.
“I can’t remember.” He looks at his dad. “Please, Father, tell me again. What is it I should say when the women you fucked approach us at dinner?”
Trystan chuckles.