Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(45)

“College feels like a scam, sometimes,” I admit.

She eyes me over the script she’s holding. “It’s definitely a scam. But it’s a necessary one. I mean, look at Meghan’s desk, it’s just covered in University of Dayton gear.”

“My friend’s dad is the same way. You’d think he just graduated from OSU last year with how much he talks about it.”

She laughs but doesn’t offer much more to the conversation. I stand again to go grab some breakfast, then give her a rundown of the senator’s schedule and let her know that Meghan’s out for the next few days.

She still doesn’t make eye contact, but she nods.

“Sure thing, boss.”

? ? ?

The day seems to last forever. I’m running on my fourth cup of coffee, and it’s starting to make me a little jittery. But I’ve gotten so much done.

“Hey, Sal, I think we’re going to head out,” Josh says. “Are you … coming? It’s past five.”

“Yeah, even Pasquale left,” April adds. “And he gets paid a lot more than us.”

“He’s still working,” I say after clicking to my calendar app and into Pasquale’s schedule. “He’s got a meeting with Senator Halwell’s chief of staff at Showtime Lounge.”

Josh laughs, then puts a palm on my shoulder. “That’s a dive bar, Sal. He may call it a meeting, but it’s happy hour. And you could use one.”

“We found this Mexican restaurant in Adams Morgan that doesn’t ID, so we’re going to try to get some margaritas. Do you want to come?”

I know networking is a really important part of working on the Hill, but something about leaving all this work undone makes me hesitate.

“I can’t. I’m still on hold trying to upgrade Wright’s flight tomorrow, and Megan just forwarded me like six more emails.” I sigh. “Next time, I promise.”

April and Josh make eye contact, and I hate feeling like I’ll be the topic of their happy-hour conversation, but they don’t understand what it’s like. They don’t understand how I have to make this work. Meghan needs me. The senator needs me.

And I need this.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

HEATH

“And here’s your room.”

Dad finishes his virtual tour of our new apartment by opening the door to a decently sized, surprisingly bright room. I look at the blank space—just white walls and beige carpet—and try to really imagine myself here. Where will my bed go? Where will my desk go? Will I keep the baseball trophies on my dresser, or should I change things up?

I guess Dad gets to decide that, and I can change things once I’m back.

“It’s nice,” I say. This whole time we’ve both been trying to keep our spirits up, but I really just want to say how much this sucks. I don’t want to move.

“Good,” he says. “I was hoping you’d like it. This room seems to get a lot of light, which is nice.”

“It looks bigger than yours,” I say.

He pauses. “I mean, it is. A little. I thought you’d like this one better. I don’t need much room, and you’ll be hanging out with your friends, so it makes more sense for you to have the big room.”

I try really hard not to think about the fact that he might one day need more space, because then I’d have to come to terms with the fact that he might one day be dating again. But as tempting as it is, it’s not fair for me to take the room.

“I don’t want the big room, Dad. I don’t need the space, or the light, or whatever. I’ll be fine wherever, you know that.”

“I know,” he says. “But I feel bad. First we make you sit by as we sort out our whole divorce, then we make you move away for the summer. It only seems right to give you the best room.”

“I want the smaller room. Please? I would feel bad taking it. I’ve got eight billion extracurriculars, so I’m never home as it is. Not to mention—”

“I’ll be an empty nester soon enough?”

I laugh. “I wasn’t going to put it in those words, but yeah. Seriously, take the big room.”

He agrees, after some hesitation, and I feel a little bit of relief when we finish the call. Diana, who sits next to me, nudges me with her elbow.

“That was very big of you,” she says. “I know we’ve got a three-bedroom, but whew, the things I’d do for a bigger room. Not that any of us are ever home anyway.”

“He was just being nice,” I say with a shrug. “It’s really the first time either of them have admitted they’re putting me through something shitty, so I kind of have to give him credit for that. But once I get back, I only have a year or less left.”

“Until you’re at Vanderbilt?”

“That’s the idea.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m not as pure and kind as you, or whatever, but whenever Jeanie feels bad for working too much or making me pick up extra shifts, I milk that guilt for all it’s worth. It’s gotten me so many doughnuts over the years,” she says. “Anyway, beach time. I’m going to run by the arcade to harass Jeanie a bit before her shift, but you can go straight to our spot. Cole should be there.”

Before Diana and I part ways, I give a wave at Jeanie, and I feel oddly grateful for what I’ve got. Maybe I won’t ever have a huge family. Maybe I won’t ever be able to go into the house where I grew up again. But I like what I do have. And I hope I can hold on to that.