Call It What You Want(76)

Mom’s in the kitchen, laughing lightly. It must be one of her new friends.

I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.

She never said what kinds of things.

“Trevor Casternan took your attacker position,” says Connor, interrupting my thoughts.

“Good for him,” I say.

“He’s pretty good with the stick, but he’s slow—”

“What are you doing?”

“Talking.” He scoops up some mashed potatoes. “Like I was saying, he’s slow. We got killed by those guys at Carroll High. Coach was pissed.”

I’m tense, pushing food around my plate now. I remember Trevor, and I remember the team from Carroll, so it’s not tough to envision how that would go. My brain is snapping into autopilot, wanting to hear more details so we can pick apart the game.

Connor speaks into the silence. “We all had to run laps after the game. I heard him tell Trevor he wasn’t going to be able to play attacker in the spring if he can’t—”

“Why didn’t you call me?” I say. My fork is clutched in my hand so tightly that it’s all but vibrating against the plate.

Across the table, Connor goes still. His mismatched eyes are fixed on mine. He swallows, his throat working like it hurts.

He knows what I’m asking.

He clears his throat. Looks away. “Rob—”

“Forget it. Leave.”

He doesn’t move, so I stand up. “Fine. If you won’t leave, I will.”

I’m in the dining room doorway when he says, “My dad wouldn’t let me call.”

I go still. It doesn’t undo anything, but this is a scenario I’ve never considered.

Connor continues, “I got your message and I didn’t … you were … I don’t know. It was awful. I’ve never—I’ve never heard you like that. I panicked.” His voice breaks, but he catches it. “I asked Dad what to do. I thought he’d drive us over. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. He wouldn’t let me call you.”

I turn back and look at him. “Why?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” His face has paled a shade.

“Bullshit.”

“What do you want me to say?” he demands. “He wouldn’t let me call you. He wouldn’t let me come over here. And then when they all said you were in on it—”

“Go to hell, Connor.” I turn around and walk out of the dining room. This is somehow worse.

He comes after me. “Rob. Stop. I’m trying to talk to you.”

I don’t stop.

“Please,” he says, and for the first time, desperation enters his tone.

My brain flashes on that moment in the woods, when his arm was broken and his ankle was sprained and I had to drag him out. I don’t want this image, not right now, but my thoughts don’t care what I want. I stop on the stairs.

“He was the one to turn your dad in,” says Connor, his voice coming in a rush like he expects me to cut him off again. “I thought—I thought he knew you were in on it. I thought it was all true. I thought you’d been lying to me the whole time. You and your dad were so—you were so close—”

“Stop. Connor. Stop.” My throat tightens. I don’t want to think about my father or how close we were. I don’t want to think about Bill’s turning my best friend against me on the worst night of my life.

He stops.

I draw a long breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Rob—”

“I wasn’t helping him.” I look at him. “I wasn’t. You could have just asked me.”

“I know.” He swallows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know everything was like this.”

“So what?” I make a disgusted noise. “God, do you know what you sound like? Dad wouldn’t let me call you. You’re not ten.”

That pops his pity balloon. He sets his jaw and glares at me.

I set mine and glare back.

“What’s going on?” says Mom. I didn’t even see her appear at the bottom of the staircase.

“Connor was just leaving,” I say.

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

Okay, whatever. I don’t care. I turn and head for my room. I try to close the door in his face, but he catches it and wrestles for control.

He never used to be stronger than me, but he is now. He muscles his way inside.

I expect him to throw a punch, but he doesn’t. He closes the door and sits down in front of it. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Fine. Sit there.” I go into my bathroom and brush my teeth even though it’s only seven o’clock. Then I lose my jeans, climb into bed, and click the light off.

Connor doesn’t move.

I’m barely tired, but I stare at the ceiling, listening to his breathing.

I have an endless supply of patience. I can outlast him for sure.

At midnight, he’s still sitting there. Well, he might be lying in front of the door. I’m not entirely sure, but I heard him change position.

By two a.m., I’m still awake. I don’t know how to fix anything with Maegan. I have no idea whether I’m doing the right thing with Owen. I hate Connor—but I miss him, too.