Page 151

“Bad time.” Cole doesn’t even look up from his phone. “He’s already in with the GM.”

“Since when?”

“Like forty-five minutes ago.”

My stomach drops straight through the floor.

I’m already on my feet when Jordan catches up with me near the locker room door.

“Maybe don’t kick the door down.” Jordan looks pointedly at my feet.

I follow his gaze and realize I have one skate on and one foot still in a sock.

“Fuck.”

I turn around, yank the skate off, shove my feet into my slides, and head back out.

Jordan follows me.

“The plan was for me to tell him,” I say as we walk. “Not for him to find out from some account with a fucking rat emoji as its profile picture.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing that part wasn’t in Quinn’s plan either.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

It’s Quinn.

Quinn:

Are you seeing this?

Quinn:

Wyatt?

Quinn:

My dad will see it if he hasn’t already.

Me:

I know. I’m handling it.

Quinn:

Handling it how?

My thumb hovers over the screen a second too long before Jordan practically hauls me forward by the elbow. I shove the phone back into my pocket instead of trying to explain.

What would I even say?

I decide to wing it. The whole speech I’d planned suddenly seems inadequate anyway.

I knock.

No answer.

I knock again, harder this time.