The Hard Count(69)

My dad pushes a finger in his open ear and holds the phone tight to his head, turning slightly away from me and my brother.

“Right…I see. Yes…I’ll be right there,” my dad responds, ending the call and staring at his phone screen, his body rigid, and his eyes not blinking.

“Dad? What is it?” I ask.

“Your mom,” he says, and my pulse picks up as the blood leaves my head. I feel faint. My dad’s eyes flit to me. “She drove the car through the garage…into the house.”

“Oh my God!” I shout, holding my hand to my chest.

“Linda heard the noise and ran next door. She says Mom’s high off her ass on marijuana. Where the hell would she get that?”

My dad looks back at his phone, as if it’s going to give him any answers. My eyes grow wide, and I feel the earth pull me down as my blood rushes back through my body. My mouth is frozen open and dry as hell. I tell myself repeatedly not to say a word, when my brother falls on the sword that’s been waiting for him for weeks…probably months.

“Fuuuuuccckkk,” he breathes, his eyes closing and his head tilting to the sky.

Noah Prescott may as well get used to those crutches, because in less than an hour, I’m pretty sure our father is going to break his other leg.





16





“So, let me get this straight,” Izzy says, her phone cutting in and out while she moves around her house. “Your brother…has to pee in a cup.”

“Yep.”

When Noah and I got home from practice last night, chaos does not even begin to describe the scene we walked into. It seems the good ladies of the social committee for the Cornwall boosters decided to organize a coup—meeting at Jimmy O’Donahue’s house with his wife, Tori. After an hour, Tori had sold the other women on her idea: Lauren Prescott was not the best fit for the new direction The Tradition social committee needed to go in. According to Travis’s mom Linda, the women were concerned that my mom had too much on her plate with Noah’s injury and “recent challenges.” What they meant was my brother was becoming a slacker, druggie *, and it was a convenient excuse to push my mom out.

Linda got to my mom first, just after quitting the committee herself. She told us my mom was quiet, but seemed to take the news all right, saying that it was almost a relief, and that it would give her time to maybe focus on her own health. Then, when Linda went home, my mom tore into Noah’s pot and smoked herself into a fit of paranoia. She drove through the garage thinking the car was in reverse. When Linda found her, she was giggling hysterically.

“How’s your mom?” Izzy asks.

I tuck my phone in the crook of my neck so I can slip my Vans on my feet.

“She’s…okay, I guess. I haven’t really talked to her. She’s still sleeping, and Dad left already. I mean, I guess it’s like nothing happened really, only…there’s a big-ass hole in our house covered up with plywood and plastic, and my brother isn’t allowed to have a door. I mean, for real—Dad removed it,” I say, grabbing my bags and looking over my shoulder at the gaping doorway that leads to Noah’s room.

He went to school early with my dad—another thing he’ll be doing until my dad decides to let him off the extremely-short leash.

“I can’t believe no one got arrested,” Izzy says.

“I know, but really, it was more about the insurance claim and fixing the garage,” I say, stopping outside our front door to slip my key in and lock up. When I turn around, I startle to see Nico leaning against a car, parked at the curb in front of my house. “Hey, Izz. I gotta go.”

I don’t even bother to wait for her goodbye. I hang up, slip my phone in my pocket and walk up to my boyfriend. He waits for me to get close before pushing off the brown, four-door, boxy contraption he drove here in. There’s a dent in the back side-passenger door, and a bungie cord wrapped around the front bumper, holding it up.

“Whatcha got here?” I ask, my heart fluttering—actually fluttering—when he reaches down and grabs my hand in his without hesitation. He pulls it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, grinning against them.

“It’s just a loaner…for now. My uncle says if I can fix it up enough, I can keep it. He got a new car, and this one’s not really worth enough to sell,” Nico says, turning to nudge the tire with his toe. “This sucker’s twenty-seven years old, two-hundred-thousand miles and counting.”

“Wow, I don’t think we’ve ever had a car hit six digits,” I say.

“Anything will last if you give it enough love,” he says, shooting me a quick, crooked smile.

“You’re corny,” I say.

Nico swings the passenger door open, then steps close enough to me that his lips find my neck. I get a peek at the smirk on his face as he slides his mouth closer, eventually dusting my skin with a soft kiss while he tucks my hair out of the way.

“Just this once,” he says.

He pulls back, and our eyes meet, my arms dotted with goosebumps and my neck and chest warm from his touch.

“I wanted to take you to school. If that’s all right,” he says.

I peer over his shoulder and squint, studying the seat, then bring my hand to my chin, as if I’m considering my options. He tilts his head to the side and sighs, so I give in.