Chapter 17
Kristen glances away from me and says, “I needed a break from Jackson.”
She didn’t tell them. She had her chance, but she didn’t do it. Why? Because she doesn’t want to piss off Jackson? She definitely didn’t do it for me.
“You with someone else?” Braden asks. “Better not be another fucker from Legion.”
She smiles and stands up, sticking her big boobs out and tilting her head back as she gathers her hair in a ponytail. All the guys stare at her as she puts an elastic around her hair. “See you boys later.”
She turns and walks away.
“Fuck, she’s hot,” Miles says. He looks at Braden. “Was she good in bed?”
He watches her leave. “If she was, I would’ve kept her around.”
Kept her around? She dumped him. And yet nobody’s brave enough to point that out. I definitely would if I didn’t have to stay on his good side.
A man in a suit appears and goes up to Braden. “Mr. Halliway.”
“What the fuck you doing there?”
“I need to speak with you privately. It won’t take long.”
Braden mutters something as he gets up. People whisper and stare as Braden leaves with the guy.
“What’s that about?” Dante asks, his mouth full of mac and cheese.
“No clue,” Kade says.
“I know, but I can’t tell you,” Wyatt says.
“Which means you will or we’ll kick your ass,” Miles says. “So what is it? What do you know?”
“I can’t say. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Miles looks over at me. “Do you know? You live with him.”
“I don’t know what’s going on. I stay in my room.”
Miles reaches across the table and shoves Wyatt. “Tell us or you’ll be doing twice as many suicides at practice today.”
“Coach decides that, not you.”
“You really want to test that theory?”
Wyatt blows out a breath. “If I tell you, it stays at this table. Don’t go spreading this shit around school.”
“Yeah?” Miles says. “So what is it?”
Wyatt leans forward, motioning us to do the same. Once we’re huddled together, he says, “The cops are looking into the Andrea thing again.”
“No shit?” Miles whispers. “How do you know?”
“My dad plays golf with the chief of police. They played on Saturday and the guy told my dad they were reopening the case.”
“Why would he tell him that?” Miles asks. “Shouldn’t that shit be private?”
“He got a call when they were golfing, and from what he was saying, my dad figured it out. He asked him about it and the guy admitted it. He said they got new evidence.”
“Against Braden?” Kade asks.
“I don’t know. I only know what I told you.”
“So that’s why the lawyer’s here,” Kade says. “Fuck. He better not get arrested. If he does, there goes our chance at State.”
That’s all they care about? Their friend may be going to jail, but they’re more worried about winning and going to State?
“Bell’s about to go off,” Dante says, getting up.
We take our trays to the drop-off area.
“When do you have Pruitt?” Dante asks.
“Right now.” I groan.
He laughs. “She’s not that bad.”
“You’re lying.”
“She’s strict, but outside of class she’s nice.” He opens the cafeteria door for me as we leave. “She goes to our church.”
“You go to church?”
“Only on holidays, but my parents go every week. Ms. Pruitt does too. She was going to be a nun but decided to go into teaching instead.”
“Ms. Pruitt was going to be nun?” I say as we go down the hall. “I guess I could see that.”
He stops at the door to my class. “Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
The door swings open, and there’s Ms. Pruitt, standing straight and tall, her hair in a tight bun, her glasses perched on her nose.
“Ms. Halliway,” she says, shoving the doorstop in the door with her tan leather loafers. “How are you adjusting to the school?”
“Great!” I say in an overly enthusiastic way, a big smile on my face. “I love it!”
She stares at me, knowing it’s a lie. “Please take your seat.”
I sit in the back, like I always do. The class quickly fills up, nobody wanting to be late now that Ms. Pruitt is back. When we had the sub, everyone came in right before the bell rang.
“Welcome back, everyone,” Ms. Pruitt says. “I’m going to start by handing back the quiz that was administered last Friday. Unfortunately, many of you did not pass. I expect you all to work extra hard this week to acquire the knowledge you’ll need for the next exam, which will be coming up soon.”
She hands out the quizzes. I got a D, which is better than I was expecting. The girl next to me got an F.
Ms. Pruitt begins her lesson. I scribble notes down as she talks, trying to listen at the same time. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard. I don’t care about this class. It’s more like I feel this need to prove to Ms. Pruitt I’m not as stupid as she thinks.
By the end of class, I’m exhausted and have a hard time focusing for the rest of the day. At four, I wait for Trystan, but as usual, he’s one of the last to leave. He gets mad when he has to wait even a minute for me in the morning, and yet he’s at least ten minutes late leaving school every day.
“Why are you always the last to leave?” I ask when he finally shows up.
“I’m not the last,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.
“Look around. Everyone’s gone.”
He gets his phone out, ignoring me as we walk to the car.
“What happened to Braden?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Your dad’s lawyer showed up at lunch and took him away.”
Trystan shrugs. “They must not have talked long. I saw him after lunch.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“No.” He smiles at me as he opens his door. “Did you guys go make out in the cleaning closet?”
“You’re disgusting,” I say, getting in the car.
“Under the bleachers?” he asks as we’re driving off.
“We didn’t make out. And stop talking about it. I’m gonna throw up.”
He laughs. “I think it’s cute the way you pretend you don’t like him.”
“Yeah, you’re hilarious. Oh, on Wednesday, I have to see the stupid counselor after school, so I need you to wait to take me home.”
“Fuck that. You’ll need to find someone else.”
“What if you went home and came back? I’ll give you gas money.”
“I don’t need fucking gas money. Dad pays for that.”
“Then what’s the big deal? Just come back and pick me up.”
“Ask someone else to do it. Like Peyton. She seems to be your new best friend. I saw her following you around all day.”
“She’s not my friend. She lies. And dates old guys her dad works with.”
“She’s the one who needs counseling.”
“I know, right? Trystan, c’mon, will you just pick me up? It’s not that far.”
“Can’t do it. I have a date on Wednesday.”
“A date? With who?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Is it someone at school?”
“I’ll repeat — none of your damn business. Just get your damn driver’s license and this wouldn’t be a problem.”
“To get a license I have to get a permit and then wait an entire year before I can get an actual license where I can drive without having someone with me in the car.”
“Yeah, that sucks. My dad used to pay a guy to ride with me since he wasn’t here.”
“Like a stranger?”
“It was a guy he knew. Another actor. He needed money so he agreed to do it.”
Trystan turns his music on and blasts it, ending our conversation.
When we get to the house I go to find Brock. He’s in the kitchen with Ana. She’s facing the stove, and Brock’s behind her, his arms wrapped around her, kissing her neck. At least he’s single again.
I clear my throat, startling them. They quickly break apart.
“Rumor,” Brock says, turning to me. Ana remains at the stove, stirring something. “How was school?”
“I had to see the counselor today.”
“And?” His brows lift.
“She’s making me meet with her after school. I won’t have a way home. I need you to pick me up.”
“What about Trystan?”
“He won’t do it. He has a date.”
“With who?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”
Brock turns to Ana. “What are you doing on Wednesday? Could you pick her up?”
She glances back at him. “I suppose I could. What time?”
“Probably around five,” I tell her. “I could text you when I’m done.”
She nods and turns back to the stove.
“Are you busy on Wednesday?” I ask Brock.
“I’m not sure yet. I might have a meeting with Gunner.”
He has nothing planned, but he won’t pick me up? He’s so self-centered. I can’t believe he had kids, but I understand why they’re so messed up.
“I set up an appointment with Ms. Robbins,” Brock says.
“Who’s Ms. Robbins?”
“The counselor I told you about. The one the boys saw. She’ll be meeting with you next Tuesday.”
“I thought you were going to wait until I was done seeing Ms. Adams.”
“Which should happen by the end of this week. Did you do as I told you?”
“I tried, but she kept asking me questions.”
“Which I told you not to answer.” He comes over to me, taking my arm and leading me out of the kitchen to the living room. “I don’t want you seeing Ms. Adams. And I don’t want you talking to her about me or this family.”
“Why? Do you two have a history?”
He hesitates. “We might have gone on a date or two, but that’s beside the point. I don’t want you seeing her because I don’t feel she’s qualified. The next time you meet with her, I want you to keep quiet, no matter what she asks.”
“Okay, but I don’t think she’ll end our sessions. She’d get in trouble.”
“That’s not for you to worry about. Just do as I say and keep quiet.”
The doorbell rings.
“That’s the lawyer,” Brock says. “Go tell Ana what you’d like for dinner.”
He leaves, and I head into the kitchen. Ana is still stirring something on the stove.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Bone broth,” she says.
“What’s that?”
She glances back at me. “You boil bones in water to make a broth.”
“No offense, but that sounds disgusting. What’s it for?”
“Braden. It’s been shown to help athletes heal faster after an injury.”
I walk over to the stove, putting my nose to the pot. It smells awful.
“Have you tried it?” I ask.
“Yes. It doesn’t taste good on its own, but I’ll add some seasoning to make it more palatable.”
Braden walks in. “Is it ready?”
“Not yet,” Ana says. “It needs to simmer a little longer.”
“I’ll be with Dad in his office,” Braden says. “Text me when it’s ready.”
“What’s going on?” I ask Braden. “Why’s the lawyer here?”
He glances at Ana, then back at me, giving me a look that says I shouldn’t be talking about this around Ana.
“Oh, I remember,” I say. “Never mind.”
When he’s gone, Ana turns to me. “What would you like for dinner?”
“I know it takes forever so you can say no, but could you maybe make lasagna? You don’t have to make your own sauce or anything. You don’t even have to make it tonight. I just really miss lasagna. It’s one of the few things my mom used to make.”
Brock must’ve told her what happened to my mom because she gives me that sad look people give me when I mention her. “I’ll have it ready at six. Will that work?”
“That’s great! Thanks! And thanks for agreeing to pick me up Wednesday.”
She nods and goes back to stirring her sauce. She doesn’t seem very happy. I wonder what her life is like outside of work.
When six arrives, I race to the kitchen, smelling the cheesy lasagna the moment I leave my room.
“That smells amazing,” I say to Ana as she gathers up her things.
“It’s plated and on the table. Enjoy.”
“Thanks!” I say as she leaves.
I take the plate from the table, bring it to the kitchen island, and take a seat on one of the metal stools.
“Something smells good,” Brock says, coming into the kitchen. He’s holding a glass of bourbon. He has bottles of it in his office.
“I asked Ana to make lasagna. You can have some. She made a whole pan.”
“Lasagna.” He takes a drink of the bourbon. “Your mother’s favorite.”
“It was. How’d you know?”
He sits beside me, almost falling over. He’s drunk. I’ve never seen him drunk.
“Sonia took me to her favorite place in Little Italy. She said she could eat lasagna every day for the rest of her life.”
“You and my mom went to dinner?” I set my fork down. “When was this?”
“Before you were born,” he says, waving his hand around as he takes another drink.
“I was in New York to see Devon perform in an off-Broadway play.” He smiles.
“Your mother was in her portrait phase, where all she wanted to do was paint people. She wanted me to pose for her, but I didn’t have time. ”
I turn to him, eager to hear more. I didn’t know he knew my mom before I was born. I thought my dad introduced them later.
“Did my dad pose for her?” I ask.
“Probably. He had nothing else to do, other than be in that ridiculous play.”
“Is that when you first met my mom? When you went to see my dad in that play?”
“I’d met her before.” He finishes his drink, then gets up. “I’ll be in my office.”
“Wait!” I follow him down the hall, thinking his drunken state might be my only chance to get the truth out of him.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need to see my dad. Tell me where he is.”
He frowns. “Rumor, you know where he is.”
“No, I don’t. The rehab place said he left weeks ago. Is he back at his apartment?”
Brock puts his hands on my shoulders and leans down to my face. “Your father is a drunk. A junkie. He’ll go wherever he needs to go to get his fix.”
“Yeah? So how would I know where that is?”
“You don’t. Nobody does.”
“Then why’d you say I know where he is?”
“I was talking in a general sense, as in you know where addicts tend to end up.”
“Where? At shelters? Under a bridge? Are you saying he’s homeless?”
“He could be any of those places. Or . . .”
“Or what?”
He sighs. “Or he could be dead.”