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So much for keeping a low profile. That makes twice today.
Tonight’s match is against our main rival, and everyone’s eyes are glued to the mats. I’m up next. When I walk onto the mats toward Jeff Convoy, one of the best on the other team, I notice familiar blonde hair near the side of the bleachers. I turn my head slightly, and sure enough, my gaze zeros in on Lilly. She’s chewing on her thumbnail and lifts her other hand in a small wave, clearly trying not to draw attention. I do that all on my own.Again.
I stop mid-step and stare at her. What is she doing here? Is something wrong? She hasn’t been to a game or match since...since before. I try to compose myself, nod at her, and continue to my mark. I assure myself that if something were wrong, she would’ve texted me. Butwhyis she here?
Lilly watching gives me an adrenaline spurt like never before. All I can think of is that Ihaveto win. Yes, total caveman reaction, but what can I say?
Fortunately, I also have the advantage of years of private MMA lessons over most opponents. I’m good at anticipating the next move—very good, actually. Not to boast—well, maybe a little—but the match is over in no time.
Kat instantly getsup when I walk off the mats. She usually greets me with a big show—winning or losing, anything that gives her attention—but I don’t care for her theatrics tonight. Instead of heading toward her, I veer to the edge of the bleachers. Lilly’s eyes widen when I approach, and she takes a step back. She looks like she wants to hide under the bleachers. I briefly regret my decision, but she didn’t respond all afternoon. I need to make sure she is okay, not giving a fuck that all eyes are on us.
I stop right in front of her and keep my voice low. "Everything okay?"
She seems confused for a second. "Yes, why?"
"You didn’t text back."
I’ll take ‘Lovesick Moron’ for one hundred, Alex.
Realization hits her. "Oh! Yes, crap, I’m sorry. I wasn’t alone until I decided to come here."
"Why are you here?" Not that I’m complaining; I’m probably reading into it way too much.
Lilly glances over my shoulder and then shrugs as if she is not sure herself. Or she doesn’t want to answer my question. Before I can prod further, she remarks dryly, "You better go back before Katherine’s head explodes."
I’m sure she’s foaming at the mouth, but that doesn’t impact Lilly.
"She’ll get over it."I hope."See you later?"
When Lilly nods, I turn and head over to my usual spot. Sure enough, I can see Kat internally fuming.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I’m going to pay for that when we’re alone, but in front of everyone else, she throws herself into my arms and chokes me with her tongue.Really?I will never understand how tongue-fucking me in public is helping her image.
By the time I can disentangle myself from Kat and the catcalls have stopped, Lilly is gone. At least that seems to have distracted everyone frommy little sister, who I haven’t spoken to in years, showing up.
After gymnastics practice,Denielle meets her parents for dinner, but I can’t bring myself to go home after what I found today. Not that it is a major breakthrough; however, it’s the first true proof that Heather and Tristen have been lying to me all these years. The longer I let the feeling of betrayal fester, the tenser I grow. I’m close to the point of snapping. The little bit of rational thinking that’s left reasons to stay away from mypretendparents until I can think straight again.
I drive aroundand briefly consider going to grab food, but when I pass the school, I spontaneously pull into the already packed lot. I haven’t been to one of Rhys’s matches in years, and I’m too worked up to think about how it could be perceived.
As I push through the gym’s double doors, a guy named Matt, or Mark, or something like that is in the middle of his match. He’s holding his own from what I can see, and I scan the room for Rhys. He sits on the bottom row of the bleachers on the far end, talking to someone I recognize but don’t remember the name of. Wes is a few seats down and raises his eyebrows when he spots me.
Shit.
I should leave before I draw more attention, but somehow, being here calms me. Maybe there is more to my anchor theory than I thought? I remain at the edge of the bleachers and try to hide in the shadows, but Rhys immediately spots me on his way to his mark and falters mid-step. Before he can compose himself, Katherine’s eyes snap up and zero in on me. Her head slightly cocked to the side, she narrows her eyes.
Crappity crap.
I finally make my exit after Rhys openly approaches me after his win. What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn’t. Everyone knows that Rhys and Lilly McGuire don’t talk to each other.
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
And on top of that, I’ve started cursing like my best friend.
I avoidHeather and Tristen when I make it home. Back in my room, I’m waiting to show Rhys the copies I made earlier. I never thought I’d be so happy about Tristen’s insistence of us needing this massive fax/printer/scanner contraption that can basically do everything but make me dinner. Earlier, I copied both papers and stashed them back where I had found them.
Leaning against my headboard, laptop propped up in my lap, I type in the name of the nurse that signed the discharge papers in the search engine window: Madeline Cross. Nothing useful comes back—nothing of use to me, that is. I get a bunch of random entries for social media sites and other stuff, but nothing that can be tied back to a nurse in Santa Rosa ten years ago. Well, so much for that.
