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His eyebrows rise so high that I think they might fly away, considering I just solidified what he’d thought was happening.
“How could you?”
I grab his arm. “It just happened. Believe me, neither of us meant to fall for each other.”
He pushes me off of him. “End it.”
I wrap my arms around myself in a hug as tearssting my eyes. “I don’t want to. I like him. I’m happy with him.”
“You’re happy, sneaking around, because you know our father will lose his shit?”
I reach for him again, but he quickly moves his arm away from me.
“You can’t tell him!”
“You’re right. I can’t. Because there’s nothing to tell. You”—he glares at me—“will end it with him.”
He stomps out of my room in the same way he entered. I plop down on my bed and cry for the first time since all of this started. I cry for my family, but I also cry for Dalton. I don’t want to lose him.
Five minutes later, Mom calls out that dinner is ready. Knowing I have to put on the show of my life, I get up and fix my face only to see my eyes are all puffy and red.
There’s no hiding this.
I do the best I can and head out of my bedroom to the kitchen table, where Thomas is sitting directly across from me, staring daggers into my soul. Dad pulls out his chair to sit, and the tension between Thomas and me is so intense that I feel like I could burst.
Mom places the last of the dishes on the table, and we all jump in.
“Sweetheart, how come your face is all red?” Mom asks.
Of course, she noticed. After learning of Dalton’s parents, I should be happy that she cares enough to ask, but right now, I really wish she hadn’t.
“It’s nothing.” I try to blow her off. “I was watching a show where the girl died, and it made me cry,” I lie, making myself feel even shittier.
Thomas lets out a huff, and I purposefully get up to get something to drink.
“Do you want something other than water, dear?” Mom asks, considering she already had a cup of water sitting in front of me.
“Yeah, if that’s okay?” I respond.
“Sure, get whatever you want.” She dismisses me, and I hide my head in the fridge, taking a few breaths to calm my nerves.
“Thomas, how was practice today?” Dad asks.
My chest tightens, and I close my eyes, praying he doesn’t say a word as I grab a Bubly sparkling water out of the fridge and head back to the table.
“I got to knock Dalton Wick on his ass, so that was fun,” he states.
“I hope that wasn’t intentional for any other reason but the game of football,” Mom states, surprising me.
We’ve never really talked about the Wicks this way. I shouldn’t be surprised though. Mom doesn’t want Thomas to physically hurt Dalton—she doesn’t want to hurt a fly—but hearing she has at least a little compassion for him gives me some hope.
Thomas lets out a hard laugh. “Yes, it was very intentional. And, no, it had nothing to do with football.”
“Thomas,” Mom sighs.
Thomas looks at Dad for help, and he just shrugs.
“I mean, as long as he didn’t get in trouble for doing so, I don’t see why a few blows to knock him over would hurt.”
