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Haven hesitated but followed behind, not wanting to loiter in the water alone. They strolled over to the lounge chairs. She grabbed a towel while he plopped his wet body down.
“So, you guys really are in love? It’s not bullshit?”
“We are.”
Nicholas grabbed Tess’s purse. Haven watched in shock as he rooted around in it. He pulled out a pen and an old receipt, scribbling something on the back of it.
“Here’s my number,” he said, holding it out to her. “You call me if you ever need anything. I promise to say nothing bad about your boyfriend . . . not a lot, anyway.”
She took it and read the number. 555–0121. “Uh, okay.”
“It’s not a crime to have people to talk to,” he added, standing. “I’ll catch you later, Haven.”
* * *
Once again, at seven in the morning, Haven awoke to Dominic’s insistent pounding. She pulled herself out of bed and trudged over to the door, finding him in the hallway with a grin. “Hey, Twinkle Toes. I’m proud you remembered your pajamas this time.”
The week passed in a repetitious haze, mornings at the diner and afternoons with Dominic and Tess. Dia would occasionally stop by to play a game or watch television, and evenings were Haven’s to do as she pleased. She spent them in the library, reading under the moonlight. She studied relentlessly for the GED, doing practice tests Carmine had printed out for her.
Little cooking or cleaning got done, except for the occasional sandwich at dinner or a load of dishes. She felt bad slacking off on her duties, but whenever she attempted to clean, Dominic pulled her away. She was afraid of what Dr. DeMarco would think, but he didn’t seem to notice.
It was the afternoon of the sixth day when Haven sat in the family room with Dominic, staring at the clock on the wall. She counted the seconds as they ticked by, each one bringing her closer to Carmine’s return.
* * *
“Fuck!”
Pain shot through Carmine’s wrist as his fingers numbed. He shook his hand, trying to get rid of the tingling, as the coach bellowed, “Shake it off, DeMarco!”
Carmine groaned, flexing his fingers. What did it look like he was doing?
To say he had had a bad week would have been the understatement of the century. Carmine was out of shape, his wrist was sore, and half the team harbored resentment for him for one reason or another. All he wanted to do was play football and go back home, but karma had finally caught up with him.
And karma was a bigger bitch than Tess Harper.
The last day of camp had arrived, and Coach Woods had been railing on him since he stepped onto the field that morning. Carmine was close to giving them all the middle finger and strutting away, his irritation to the point of no return.
The whistle blew, and Carmine lined up to grab the ball. Taking a few steps back, he looked for the wide receiver and snapped the ball, grinning at the perfect spiral as it soared through the air.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, DeMarco,” Coach Woods said. “There’s no room for your ego on the field.”
Mistake after mistake was made in their scrimmage, balls fumbled and throws missed more times than Carmine could count. He got sacked more than once, pain radiating through his back as Coach Woods berated them for their incompetence. After the final whistle blew, signifying the end of camp, the coach called Carmine’s name and clapped him on the shoulder. “You played well today.”
Carmine just stood there. He hadn’t expected to hear those words.
“I’m hard on you because you have potential,” the coach said. “It might not be appropriate for me to say this, but the UNC coaches were watching and expressed some interest in you.”
His mouth dropped open. “No shit?”
Instead of chastising him for cursing, the coach laughed. “Yes, but they don’t like hotheads, DeMarco. No one does.”
* * *
It was late evening when Carmine reached Durante. He pulled up in front of the house and climbed out, stretching his sore back when the front door swung open. Haven came toward him, leaping off the porch. Their bodies collided, and Carmine stumbled as she buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her as she looked at him adoringly, a hint of worry in her eyes.
“Your face,” she said, running her fingers gently across a bruise on his cheek. “What happened?”
He smirked. “I fell.”
