Chapter 6 Donovan
I’m spending Sunday with Dad, like I always do.
He’s getting stronger now, and today it’s almost like nothing ever happened.
After weeks stuck at home without being able to coach, the man has apparently decided to unleash every ounce of pent-up frustration on me.
It’s not even the regular season yet, but that’s never stopped Coach.
According to him, it’s in the offseason that champions are made.
“Okay, that’s enough warm-up,” he barks.
I’ve just finished my hundredth lap of our basketball court. I jog over to him, my forehead slick with sweat.
“That was just the warm-up?”
“This is your year to shine, Donovan. NBA scouts are going to be watching the second the season starts. You need to be ready for that.”
“I know.”
“Your stats are great, but if you want to be a draft pick, you’ve got to push harder, son.”
“Relax, Dad. Lewis is literally on my case about it every single day.”
He looks unimpressed, and I know my dad like I know myself—he’s not about to ease up.
“Okay, let’s go.” He claps his hands. “Give me one hour of shooting.”
Free throws, dunks, three-pointers—I’m on fire.
When he isn’t happy with my form, he throws a ball at the back of my head.
The guy’s a total drill sergeant, but honestly?
I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is the version of Dad I’m used to and missed.
And everything he does, he does for me. He knows how much basketball matters to me.
“Okay, son. That’s enough for today.”
Fucking finally. After thirty minutes of extra defensive drills designed in the deepest circle of hell, I collapse on the ground, my chest heaving. It’s so hot already. I need a glass of something chilled, and food. Any kind of food.
By the time I trip back down the stairs after my shower, Dad is already sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for me with a plate of food.
“You housebroken now?”
He holds up a silencing hand. “Just eat.”
He flicks on the sports channel, and we trade bets on what teams look set to take the season.
My gaze wanders to the living room, landing on a photo of Amelia and me. Back when I was twelve. Back when everything was okay between us.
I place my fork down. Not hungry anymore. I glance back at Dad, wondering how much he really knows about his own daughter. With everything he’s been through recently, I still don’t have the heart to ask for his thoughts about me and her.
“Heard from Amelia lately?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.
“She’s real busy with classes.” He shrugs. “You know what your sister is like, though. She keeps to herself.”
“Right. But back when she was a kid, you couldn’t shut her up!”
A wave of nostalgia crests in me, and I shift in my seat.
“Just like her mom! That lady is outta control, Donovan, I’m telling you.” He shakes his head. “You know she calls me every day to check that I’m taking my meds? Says she’ll kneecap me if I don’t.”
I suppress a smile. If she didn’t call every few days, he would lose his shit over that, too.
My parents’ relationship is… different. Sure, they’re divorced.
But they’ve never gone more than two days without speaking.
Why is my relationship with Amelia so different?
I don’t get why she didn’t tell me what was going on at the time.
“You have no idea why Amelia’s been so distant?” I press.
I want to hear something—anything—that’ll help me make sense of it all.
“Distant?” He frowns. “She’s not distant. Just independent.”
“Sometimes it feels like she’s mad at me.” The words come tumbling out, and I hold my breath.
“What? Why would she be mad at you?”
“I don’t know. But you and Mom must have noticed we’re not exactly BFFs, right?”
“It’s normal for siblings to not always get along. It happens.”
He sips at his water, and I decide to drop it. He’s clueless, and it’s annoying me. Like I could’ve used some fatherly advice, you know. I sigh. Guess that leaves one last, unfortunate, pain-in-the ass option—Carrie.
WHEN I GET BACK TO my place, the first thing I see is Adam and Lewis sprawled on the couch, phones glued to their faces. They wave without looking up.
I drop my bag on my bed and pull out one of the books I bought from the mall bookstore on Saturday.
At checkout, the cashier gave me the weirdest look when she saw that cover.
Can’t really blame her—the dude on the front looks like he was glazed in coconut oil for fifteen minutes.
Do girls really find that hot? I make a mental note to ask Carrie.
I grab a recovery drink from the fridge and head for the living room, where I collapse on the couch. Thank God it’s the weekend—I’m totally drained. I can’t wait for Dad to get back to work in January, because at this rate I’ll have aged ten years before he sets foot in the gym again.
I open the book to the dog-eared page, remembering how Carrie had gasped in pure horror when she saw I had folded the corners of her book. I mean, how was I supposed to know she was a neat freak who needed her books to look like no one had touched them before?
I pick back up at chapter 7 and do my best to focus, but honestly, it’s tough. This heroine won’t stop crying her eyes out over some guy who definitely doesn’t feel the same.
Suddenly a butt lands on my armrest.
“What you got there, buddy?” Lewis croons, gesturing at my book.
I stare at him blankly.
“This is called a book, Lewis. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”
“You don’t have to hide your porn from us, dude,” he continues. “I myself dab—”
I flip the book over, front-cover guy beaming back, and I smack Lewis with the spine. “Fuck off, dumbass. It’s not porn. It’s research. It’s basically this bible for impressing girls.”
“Wait, seriously? So what does it say?”
“I just started it, but I promise to share the wisdom.”
He slaps his knees. “Okay! I’m out. Call me when things get interesting.”
I laugh as Lewis heads for his room, but when I catch Adam’s gaze, my smile fades.
“Since when do you need help picking up girls?”
I give him my usual nonchalant shrug. Scratch that—I exaggerate it, hoping to throw him off. This guy must have been CIA in a past life, or a psychic, or possibly even both.
“Just a little self-development. You gotta keep your skills sharp, man. Seriously, try it sometime. That way, when you do eventually manage to sleep with a girl, you’ll blow it out of the park.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nobody wants to end up like those losers with their lame pickup lines.” I pray I sound halfway convincing. “You need to keep things fresh, you know? Girls these days have high standards. So, I’m just brushing up.” I smile. “Take it from a pro.”
Stop fucking talking, Don. The first rule of lying is keep it simple.
By the look on Adam’s face, I’m pretty sure he’s not buying a single word I’m saying. I cringe inwardly and pick the book up, hoping I can transport myself away right now.
But this book is hella boring. Zero useful intel, I decide, and I end up skimming every chapter. The sex scenes are decent, though. I wasn’t expecting it to be as good as actual porn, but the more I read, the hornier I get. I’d say the scenes are weirdly almost hotter than porn, actually.
I skim through three quarters of the book, and when my dick can’t take it anymore, I make a beeline for my room.
Fifteen minutes later, I reach for the book again, cursing myself. This time I have to focus—sex is not what I’m looking for here. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to take in the words. This is bullshit!
A couple of pages later, I officially give up. What I need is one-on-one tutoring here, and as I drift off to sleep, I start planning stage two of Operation Carrie.
TO KICK OFF THE WEEK on a productive note, I corner Carter and grill him for intel. I need insights so I can launch the next step of my master plan—and since his girlfriend is Carrie’s roommate, he’s prime source material.
I manage to get my target’s schedule out of him. Excellent. Now I have everything I need to casually “bump into” her somewhere in the arts and science block.
I spend the next five days treating her like a queen. Opening doors, even holding out a napkin when she gets sauce on her chin. And if I weren’t afraid she’d slice my shins, I’d probably cut the damn apple she eats every day at lunch for her.
I buy her a new copy of the book I messed up, too—my way of saying sorry for destroying her property. That earned me my first tiny hint of approval—a quick, satisfied smile. In return, I got a morsel of advice.
“You should go to class more, instead of following me around like a lost puppy. Girls love a smart guy.”
I’m not dumb. I know it’s her way of telling me to beat it, but the point is, day by day, she’s slowly dropping her guard. And she can serve up those vicious one-liners all she likes—I’m not going anywhere.
WHERE THE HELL IS SHE hiding? Today sucks. I’ve scoured SHU’s sprawling campus, but my future tutor is nowhere to be seen.
Granted, SHU is huge, and between my Campus Driver runs, personal training, and actual classes, I don’t have time to play detective too much.
By the time late afternoon rolls around, I’m stumped.
Maybe she skipped class? I discard the idea immediately.
That’s not Carrie’s style, and anyway—she’s never avoided me before. Why start now?
The next day, there’s still no sign of her. Okay, so now I’m worried.
When I spot Becca leaving the library, I practically sprint at her.
She slips her shades down with a manicured hand and shoots me a smile.
“If you’re looking for Lane, I just saw him with Lois in the medicine section.”
“Actually, I’m looking for Carrie.”
“Really?” She pouts. “How come?”
So, I was right, then—she didn’t take me seriously that night at Lane’s. I can’t be bothered to remind her of my plan, so I feed her a harmless lie instead.
“She left some stuff in my car.”