The Score (Off-Campus #3)(97)
Having breakfast at the diner.
OMG—your first word was ‘booby’? Why does this not surprise me??
Taking S to the salon. She wants a mani.
You’re scared of tattoo needles?? S just told me u almost got a tat when u were 18 but had to leave b/c u were scared. Bwahahahahaha.
I f*cking hate my sister.
My phone stays in the visiting team’s locker room during the game, and not even O’Shea’s cold glares and snarled criticism can bring me down today, because we skate off the ice after third period with an actual W under our belts.
My good mood follows me out of the arena and onto the bus, and I settle in for the long ride, relieved by the latest batch of messages I find.
Driving 2 Boston for lunch. S wants to do some shopping.
Awesome lunch. Heading home now.
Oooh it’s snowing! S and I are taking a walk.
Home. Chilling and girl talk. Tell Tuck his tomato soup is da bomb.
Saw on twitter u won the game! FUCK YEAH!
Movie marathon. Putting phone on silent. See u when u get back.
The last message came in around eight o’clock. Good. I hope that means Allie and Summer are tucked under a blanket in the living room watching a movie and not out causing trouble.
Huh. And Allie was right. It is snowing. Once the bus crosses the state line into Massachusetts, there are suddenly white flakes dancing outside my window. I love winter, so I wholly approve of the sight.
It’s close to midnight when we arrive at our own arena. I ride home in the Beemer with Tuck, while Garrett and Logan head for the dorms to spend the night with their girlfriends.
Ten minutes later, I pull into our driveway. Not a single light flickers in any of the windows, but I catch flashes from the television flickering behind the living room curtains.
The front hall is pitch-black when we step inside. I walk ahead of Tucker, kicking off my shoes as I fumble for the light switch.
I don’t get the chance to flick it, because a bloodcurdling shriek suddenly slices through the silence.
Before I can react, I’m showered from head to toe with what feels like a tidal wave of lukewarm liquid. Another scream shatters my eardrums, and I’m still struggling to figure out what the f*ck is going on when something hard connects with my left temple.
Crack.
Pain swims in my head, and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
28
Dean
Fact #1: the Hastings police department has about eight officers on staff.
Fact #2: I think every single one of them is at my f*cking house right now.
“Do you want to press charges?” The officer in charge hovers over Allie like a protective bear, a sneer on his face as he glares accusingly in my direction.
From my perch on the bottom step of the staircase, I glare right back at him. The EMT who’s examining my temple makes a reprimanding sound when I swivel my head in the opposite direction, but I ignore him. Because what’s happening right now is goddamn ludicrous.
“If anyone should be pressing charges, it’s me,” I say in disbelief.
The cop holds up a hand to silence me. “We’re speaking to Miss Hayes, sir.”
Oh yes. Miss Hayes. The crazy maniac who happens to be my girlfriend. The kung-fu master who knocked me out with a Wayne Gretzky paperweight.
But hey, at least the lights are on. This way everyone and their f*cking mothers can witness my disgrace.
“You’re speaking to the wrong person,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I’m the one who was attacked.”
One of the female deputies narrows her eyes at me. “From what we can see, sir, the young ladies are the victims here.” She waves her hand at the floor. “We walked in to find you lying in a pool of blood—”
“It was soup! Tomato soup!”
“—and shouting obscenities at Miss Hayes and Miss Di Laurentis.”
“Because they knocked me out.”
“Clearly they felt you were a threat if they took measures to incapacitate you,” another officer says coolly. He purses his lips, and the sexual predator mustache he’s rocking bushes up.
Oh my f*cking God. I’m going to strangle them. The moment these cops leave, I’m going to f*cking strangle them.
“Sir, we’re conducting an interview,” the lead officer snaps. “Please refrain from speaking unless addressed.”
Tucker, who’s leaning against the wall a few feet away, looks like he’s about to pee his pants laughing. His laughter is of the silent variety, vibrating in his broad shoulders and staining his cheeks bright red.
At least Allie has the decency to look sheepish. Summer just looks bored.
“I overreacted,” Allie confesses.
“Talk us through what happened,” the lady cop urges gently.
I grind my molars as Allie takes a breath. Meanwhile, the paramedic at my side is groping the back of my head like he’s trying to get me off.
“I just finished heating up a bowl of soup in the kitchen. Well, it wasn’t too hot, because I prefer my soup to be lukewarm, otherwise it burns the roof of my mouth and I hate it when that happens.” She sighs. “Sorry, irrelevant. Anyway, I was on my way to the living room. All the lights were off because we were watching a movie. I heard footsteps outside the front door and suddenly someone just walked in like they live here—”