Fake Skating(99)

“Just trust me,” I said, glancing over at Benji’s house. His car wasn’t there, thank God, and all the windows were dark. “It’s going to go your way this time, I just know it.”

“Is this more wisdom from the Harvard brain?”

“That’s right,” I said.

Our porch light flipped on, which made me smile in spite of everything.

“I think my grandpa is telling me to come in,” I said, but everything with my family rushed back at me as soon as I mentioned him. The only good thing about the nightmare at our spot was that it’d made me forget about the situation with my dad.

“Yeah, you should go,” he said. “Sorry I ruined the night.”

“Are you kidding me? We’re going to the tournament, and you’re my new boyfriend. You and Benji together couldn’t ruin that.”

That made him pull me closer by the front of my jersey.

“It was a pretty perfect night before, wasn’t it?” he said, leaning in and setting his forehead on mine.

“The perfectest,” I agreed, raising my mouth for a kiss.

“This has to be fast before Mick sees,” he said, lowering his mouth and giving me the deepest, most thorough three-second kiss that’d ever been delivered.

I got out of the car and walked up the driveway, and even though I was nervous for him, I had a feeling I could fix this. Benji was a jerk who liked showing off in front of his friends, but he’d always been decent enough when it was just the two of us.

Thank God I’ve always been nice to him.

So first thing in the morning—at like seven o’clock, before the police station was even open—I was going to visit my friend next door.

And beg like I’d never begged before.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO Alec




“Before you freak out—”

“Oh my God!” my mom said, her mouth dropping open as I walked into the kitchen the next morning.

“What the hell happened to your face?” asked my dad, looking up from the paper.

“It’s just a scratch,” I said, going over to the fridge, trying to act casual even though functioning at all was difficult because I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I thought of all the things I might’ve screwed up by hitting Ben.

“That’s not an answer,” my dad said. “What happened?”

I sighed and grabbed the OJ.

I didn’t want to tell them—God, I so don’t want to tell them—but this was big enough that I had to.

Damage control was probably impossible, but they needed to know.

“I got in a fight,” I said, closing the fridge. “With Ben Worthington.”

“What?” my mom yelled, her eyes huge.

“You gotta be kidding me,” my dad said, throwing the paper down on the table, his eyes narrowing. “Did that guy jump you?”

“What happened?” my mom asked, standing and coming over to get a closer look. “That gash looks terrible.”

I sat down at the table, wanting to puke from how shitty I felt.

I’m so sorry I might’ve destroyed everything.

“It was stupid,” I admitted, dragging a hand through my hair. “Worthington showed up and was mouthy to Dani.”

“You didn’t hit him, did you? Please tell me you didn’t—”

“I hit him,” I said, swallowing hard because my throat was so damn tight. “Broke his nose.”

“Oh no,” my mom said, closing her eyes and covering her mouth. “Not again.”

I saw the fear in her face and my gut churned.

I can’t believe I’m doing this to her again.

“Who threw the first punch?” my dad asked, his face scary serious.

“I did.”

My mom gasped.

“What the hell is so hard about this, kid?” my dad bellowed. “Punching is illegal—why can’t you remember that?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug, because I didn’t.

I wasn’t a hothead and didn’t get in fights (aside from hockey).

Only with Worthington, and only about Dani, apparently.

Fuck.

“So what do we need to know?” my dad asked, shaking his head and looking so fucking disappointed in me. “Because you know his ma’s gonna come unglued. Tell us everything.”

And I did.

I recounted the whole thing, wondering what could be worse than having to look into their disappointed eyes as I shared every detail. And I got emo as shit because I was fucking terrified.

If Ben went to the police, I could get suspended, which meant I wouldn’t be able to play in the tournament.

And everyone—scouts included—would know why.

“Don’t worry about the scouts,” my mom said. “You can’t control—”

“How do I not worry about the scouts?” I said, trying to keep it together, but it was all just fucking clawing at me. “Are you kidding? I spend half my life worrying about the scouts because they control our fut—”

“Alec,” my dad interrupted, shaking his head. “No. You gotta stop. You’re killing yourself with this.”

I scratched my forehead. Wished I could. “How, though?”