Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(76)

“Son—”

“No, screw that.” I stride to the door. “I don’t know why you can’t just accept that he has problems. It’s not like he’s an axe murderer.”

“I never said that.”

“But you implied it. You’re refusing to help him—”

“You don’t know what I’ve done for my brother.” He takes a step closer. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“I know enough. You’re the one who drove him away to California. Don’t you want him back?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “I want my brother back in my life. But you’re my son, and my responsibility, and until I figure things out, if he tries to get in touch, you’re going to tell me right away.”

I bite back the harsh words I want to hurl in his direction and pull open the door, making sure it slams behind me. I’ve slammed this door so many times, I feel like a seventeen-year-old again, done being shouted at for sneaking out, for buying my truck without Dad’s permission, for getting suspended from school because of a fight, for dozens of reasons. Before today, the last time I slammed it, we’d just finished arguing about whether I’d enter the draft. I’m the one who always breaks first, the one who slams the door shut. He always gets his way. He always wins.

I pull out my phone, not to text Penny—although I have one waiting from her—but to call my uncle.

I’m an adult. If he’s back in town, Dad can’t stop me from seeing him. And after that, I’m sure as hell not going to tell him we’re in touch. If he has his way, he’ll send him to another continent this time, and then I’d never see him again.

The number goes to voicemail. I push past the disappointment and start talking the second the record button beeps. “Hey, Uncle Blake. It’s Cooper. I heard that you’re back in town. I’m still at McKee. If you want to meet up or anything, just call me back. Thanks.”





45





PENNY





“All right, Ms. Ryder. You’re all set.”

I smile at Nicole, one of the women who works at the registrar’s office at McKee. She’s about the age my mother would have been now, her bleach-blonde hair pulled back into a bun. Her blouse is a seriously bright shade of pink, and her long nails match. I’m not sure how she types with them, but she was way faster than I am on my laptop. “Thanks so much.”

“Congratulations. It’s a big deal, declaring your major. And you should have enough time to make up everything you need even without getting those credits from last semester, but if not, we can always discuss options for continuation. It’s always easier to work on the one you declared from the start instead of switching.”

I nod, holding the sheet of paper—official approval of a major in English—close to my chest.

“Hockey fan?” She gestures to the sweater I’m wearing, giving me a smile.

It’s a good thing it’s January, because all I want to do is wear Cooper’s hockey sweater. Lately, whenever I’m wearing it at The Purple Kettle or one of the other communal spaces on campus, a girl who must have the hots for Cooper gives me a dirty look. The best times are when we’re together and he kisses me; I can’t deny I get satisfaction out of setting the record straight. He might’ve been one of the biggest players on campus, but now he’s mine.

“It’s my boyfriend’s.” My heart skips a beat at my own words. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of calling Cooper that. “He’s on the team.”

“I should have recognized the last name,” she says. “You’re Coach Ryder’s daughter.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Yep.”

“My husband loves hockey. He plays in a beer league in Pine Ridge.” She laughs a little, leaning over the desk. “He’s terrible, but I go to see him anyway. Good luck with everything, hon. Let me know if you need help.”

On the way out of the building, freezing air smacks me in the face, but I don’t care. I fold the piece of paper, carefully tuck it in my bag, and text Dad that I’m all squared away. Admitting to him I failed two of my classes—despite trying my best, which is the especially depressing part—was awful, but he ended up being supportive. Maybe he’s just relieved that I’m trying hard not to keep anything important from him, but he’s even been excited, if bemused, about the romance novel I’m kind-of-sort-of writing. Aside from him, Cooper and Mia are the only ones who know, and I intend to keep it that way until it’s finished.

I send Cooper a text as well. He’s in a nonfiction seminar all afternoon, but judging by his recap of the first meeting last week, it’s fall-asleep-on-the-desk boring, so I’m sure he’s checking his phone from time to time. I’m right; before I make it to the building for American Literature I, he sends back a row of exclamation marks.

Cooper



!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!





I’m really excited





I mean, I have no idea what to do with an English degree





But right now I don’t care





I know what you’re going to do. You’re going to be a kick-ass author