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“You will speak to and about her with respect. Got it?”
“It’s all right,” Mom murmurs in her best martyr voice. “He’s upset. I know it’s nothing personal.”
“Hayes.” His dad lowers his voice, no longer shouting. “You’re so close to a full scholarship to any school you choose.”
“I don’t even need a scholarship. Maybe a poor kid should get it. Ever think about that?”
“You think I’d pay for your college education from my pocket if you got kicked off the team for being a bullying asshole?” Mr. Ambrose is downright nasty when he laughs. Now I know where his son gets it from. “Try again. I’m not about to reward you for bad behavior. If you lose this opportunity through your own shitty decision-making, you’re on your own. Take out loans. That’s what the poor kids you’re suddenly so interested in have to do.”
“Are you fucking serious? You weren’t even there at the meet. You’re never there. But you’re taking his word for it?”
“Yes, I’m taking your coach’s word for it because he’s an adult, and you’re behaving like a spoiled brat who doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. News flash: you push somebody while standing on a wet surface, and you could kill them. What if he’d struck his head?”
“Can we not be so dramatic? I shoved him gently. I hardly touched him.”
“There’s no such thing as gentle shoving,” Mr. Ambrose growls. “Stop bullshitting me. Here’s the way it stands. You fuck up again, you’re off the team. So you’d better think of some way to get on Coach Greg’s good side, or you’re on your own once your graduation ceremony is over.”
“Are you saying you want me to kiss this guy’s ass for the rest of the year?” Hayes’s voice grows in volume until he’s almost screaming by the time he finishes the question. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”
Hearing him like this is almost enough to break my heart. Now I’m more convinced than ever that it’s his coach who’s abusing him—and his dad wants him to play nice, which could mean any number of things that are obviously making him crazy. I hear his feet pounding the floor as he marches back and forth. “You have no fucking idea,” Hayes mutters. His teeth are clenched so tight I can barely make out what he’s saying.
“Then, by all means, quit the team. It’s up to you. You’re a legal adult now.” Mr. Ambrose’s voice gets a little louder and I realize almost too late he’s leaving the room. “Honey, let’s go. You’ve already wasted enough of your day on this.”
I duck into the closet next to the study with barely a second to lose.
Mom’s voice is low and comforting, or at least that’s how I’m sure she wants to sound. “He’ll come around,” she murmurs as she and her fiancé pass the closet.
I wait until the front door opens and closes before easing myself out into the hall. I should go back to the media room, grab my book, and run upstairs before Hayes hears me.
So why do I turn toward the study, instead? Maybe it’s because I’ve already spent my whole life tiptoeing around Mom’s moods. Making sure I don’t wake her up—or her boyfriend of the moment. Always having to read the signs to know what kind of day it’s going to be and doing everything I could not to make things worse if I could tell it was going to be a bad one.
I’m tired of that.
And I can’t forget the pain in Hayes’s voice. Maybe his dad couldn’t hear it. I’m sure Mom couldn’t. To me, it was obvious.
That must be why I take my life in my hands and peer into the study instead of hiding. I hear him opening one of his dad’s liquor bottles before I see him, his back to me as he pours something into a glass.
“I know you’re there,” he mutters before slamming back the contents of the glass and pouring more.
Goose bumps race over my arms. “How did you know?”
“You’re always there.” He drinks again before snorting. “Like a rotting tooth I can’t pull.”
“You weren’t being quiet, you know.”
“I guess that’s my fault, too, right?” He shoots me a filthy look over his shoulder.
I creep into the room, ready to run if I have to. “Did you guys get into a fight last night at the party, after I left?”
“You’re not going to start in on me, too, are you?” He takes another drink before answering his question. “Of course you are. What am I saying? It’s all you ever do. You can’t help me. So don’t bother trying.”
I can practically feel his pain. Nobody ever told me how much it would hurt, seeing somebody else hurting and wanting so much to help but having them push me away.
