Grey’s eyes spring open, too, but rather than freak, he rubs his thumb across my lower lip one last time and winks.
“See you in eight hours, Liv Rodinsky.”
That smile doesn’t leave my lips during my ride home. Thank God I only live around the corner and a boomerang block back up, because I seriously don’t recall a single thing about that short ride. It’s like the type of runner’s high you get where you black out until you hit the front stoop and just then realize you’re finished.
The past week has been an F5 tornado, with the last few hours the most dizzying part of the ride.
I kissed Grey.
I kissed Grey hours after scoring my first-ever touchdown. I kissed Grey and scored a touchdown without knowing either was a possibility just over a week ago.
I am in every way a different girl than the one who was running at the Northland track, earbuds canceling out everything other than my own pitiful thoughts.
I exit Helena with my eyes on the trees lining Grey’s backyard. There’s a light on in the back, spilling through a window on the second floor of the house and winking through the trees. It’s got to be his room. A small voice tells me it probably smells of boy soap and just-washed basketball shorts.
A shadow catches my eye, interrupting my thoughts. I glance up the drive and my heart plummets.
Dad.
Eddy Rodinsky has a finger to his wristwatch, tapping at a ticked-off rhythm. The porch light backlights his dark hair, perfectly placed silver sparkling at the temples. I’m in deep shit. My dad prefers a tight ship, even if he’s not around to steer it.
I’ve barely seen him since last Sunday’s dinner, thanks to the case he’s been working, so it’d be just my luck that he’d be home and awake the first time I’ve missed my curfew in six months. Awesome.
“I’m late, I’m sorry,” I say—though a confession never works with Cop Dad. He’s heard too many. “I was out with Addie—”
“And the team?”
My breath catches and the blood in my veins slows. The silvery patches at his temples blur.
“Dad—I—”
“You were going to tell me, I know.” He crosses his arms over his starched button-up, dark eyes reading me. I don’t know if it’s learned or a parental instinct, but Dad always seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. And right this moment, I’m thinking about what he’d most hate about this situation—my deception.
“I didn’t lie.” It’s the truth, and I hope he can hear it in my voice. I made Ryan lie, but I never lied.
“You did. You told Danielle you went out for cross-country.”
Oh, shit.
“And before you ask, Ryan didn’t snitch. The boy spilled his guts an hour ago, but I already knew. He didn’t tell me.”
I gape at him. If Ry didn’t tell, then who? Addie?
Dad knows a stumped face when he sees one. “Sarge’s grandkid plays for Rural. Better believe he was pissed that I hadn’t told him about your new position. Called me up as he was filing out of the stadium to congratulate me—to congratulate you.”
The way he makes it sound, the lilt of his voice, gives me hope that he thinks it’s cool. That I did something smart and grown-up and he won’t decapitate me for repeatedly sticking my hands an inch from Topps’s junk all week.
But the taint of disapproval sits heavily in his body language. So I wait.
Dad rolls his shoulders and sighs, his eyes never leaving mine. “Would you like to explain why you lied to Danielle and neglected to tell your parents about your latest athletic endeavor?”
I know this is a kindness. Dad giving me a chance to share my story rather than weather his questions. My dad is strict, but that doesn’t mean he’s not fair.
“Ryan didn’t tell you?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
I keep my voice low, trying to prove I can be an adult and not throw a hissy fit just because he thinks I will. I canbe calm. I can be better than the girl who lost her cool and punched Stacey. Or threw her helmet at Jake. I can be more.
