Chapter 11
“Morella!” I shout up the stairs. No answer. “Morella!” I yell again, louder this time. Still nothing.
I sigh and turn toward the front door. I’ve got practice soon, and I like to let her know when I’m leaving, just in case. Heavy footsteps echo above me, and then she comes thundering down the stairs.
“Yeah?” she asks, a little out of breath.
“I’m heading to practice. Just wanted to make sure you knew I was leaving.” My hand’s already on the doorknob.
“Ooh. I wanna go!” She whips out her phone.
My eyebrows pull together. “Okay, so… what are you doing?” I ask, already irritated. I’m ready to go.
“I’m texting Liv. She messaged me earlier about wanting to go to the rink, and I totally forgot.”
“Oh no. Nope. I’m not picking her up.” I shake my head and wave my hands like she’s just suggested we bring a stray cat home.
“I’ll pick her up. It’s fine. You go. I’ll be there soon.” She’s already halfway back up the stairs.
“Seriously, Morella…” I mutter under my breath.
I yank the door open and stomp down the front steps toward my SUV.
The last thing I need is Wendy hanging around again.
I already see her too much at school and at home.
I reach the driver’s side and pause with my hand on the handle.
A sigh slips out before I can stop it. I shut my eyes and inhale through my nose.
Focus, Rafe.
I pull up to the rink and spot Silas and Archer waiting by Silas’s truck. Archer’s leaning against the back door, head tilted back, eyes closed, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. As I reach them, I nod. “You guys ready for practice?”
Silas glances over at Archer, raises his eyebrows, and presses his lips into a frown. “Pookie here is still frustrated.”
“Call me Pookie one more time, Silas, and I swear to God I’ll send my fist through your teeth,” Archer growls, voice low and deadly.
“Oh, violent. I love when he gets aggressive.” Silas says, licking his lips and wiggling his eyebrows at him.
Archer finally lifts his head, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not interested in seeing one best friend kill the other today, so I’m heading inside.” I mutter, already turning toward the front doors.
Behind me, I hear footsteps shuffle into motion.
I reach for the handle but glance over my shoulder to check how close the guys are.
That’s when I catch sight of Morella’s car pulling into the lot.
Sleek, jet black Jaguar F-Type. The guys reach me, and when I don’t open the door right away, they both turn to look, trying to see what’s holding me up.
“Ah, baby Haverhill is here,” Silas says, spotting the car.
I roll my eyes and smack him in the back of the head.
“Ow! What was that for?” he complains, rubbing the back of his head.
“Just felt like it.”
He mutters something under his breath, but I ignore it. I’m already pulling open the door and stepping inside.
Morella jogs up to the front, gym bag slung over her shoulder. “Thanks for waiting,” she says, slightly breathless.
I pull the door open and nod for her to go in. She slips through, and Silas and Archer follow behind.
As soon as the doors close behind us, I glance around and raise a brow. “So where’s Wendy? I thought she was dying to come.”
Morella looks at me confused. “Who’s Wendy?”
I shake my head. “Nevermind.”
We hit the front desk, and Rita looks up with her usual sunshine smile. “Hey boys. Morella, great to see you, dear.”
Rita’s always nice to us, but she’s nicer to Morella. Like, soft-voice, twinkle-in-the-eye, do you want a homemade cookie kind of nice.
Morella lights up. “Hi, Rita! How’s your daughter?”
Rita launches into a quick update. I notice Archer has zeroed in on the candy bowl on the counter.
“Go ahead and take some.” Rita offers, motioning to the bowl.
He stares at it like it’s a puzzle box, then scoops up a whole handful without a word. I blink. Alright then. He turns and heads toward the rink doors like he’s on a mission. The rest of us follow.
“Dude, what’s with the candy?” I ask as I catch up.
He doesn’t answer. Just unwraps a red sucker, holds it to his nose, and smells it.
I stop walking. “Okay. What the hell.”
Silas and Morella both pause too, their expressions echoing mine. Archer unwraps another one. Sniffs it and tosses it into the trash. Then another. Same thing.
I glance at Silas, then back at Archer. “Should we be worried?”
Silas tilts his head. “If this is his villain origin story, I feel like we missed a few chapters.”
“He doesn’t even like sweets.” Morella mutters, watching Archer work through his sugar purge like it’s a science experiment.
Another candy. Another sniff. Another drop into the trash can.
“Seriously,” I say. “If he starts muttering to himself or drawing symbols on the floor, I’m out.”
After Archer runs out of candy we make our way toward the rink.