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She got back to separating the paperwork. She opted to work at the house while Jack rested upstairs.
The door opened wide and slammed shut. She jerked her head to the door and watched Trevor storm in with a red face and obvious anger.
“Where’s my dad?”
She raised her brows. “He went over to Ghosttown with Drake. Something about parts at the junk yard.”
She barely finished her sentence, and he was stomping up the stairs. This was not like him. She debated on whether she should go up and check on him. While they had gotten closer and she knew Trevor liked her, this may have been Caden’s territory and not her place. She bit her lip and stared at the steps.
She uncrossed her legs and slowly walked up the stairs and made a right. His door was closed, but she could hear the rumbling from the other side. She knocked softly and waited. A loud crash and a sharp curse from his room had her stepping back. Maybe she should let Caden handle it.
Against her better judgment, she knocked again. The door flew open, and Trevor stood at full height with his brows furrowed. He looked so much like Caden when he was angry.
“You okay?”
“No.” His answer was curt.
She drew in a breath. “Can I help?”
“Fuck!” he shouted and stalked back into his room, leaving the door open. She took it as an invitation and stepped just inside the door. She had passed his room a few times but never ventured in. Personal space was important. Clothes were strewn around the room and floor. She scanned the walls. He had mainly posters of bands she’d never heard of and scantily clad women on various cars and motorcycles. Not a décor she’d find on Pinterest.
“Won’t be needing this shit anymore.” He threw his gym bag across the room, landing next to his chair in a loud thump. The bag had been part of his uniform since she met him. His football bag.
“Did you quit the team?”
He turned and snarled. “No, I got fucking benched.” His eyes darkened. “For the rest of the season.” He folded his arms, and his temple pulsed. She was right, she’d never seen him this angry.
“What happened?”
“Got a D on my English paper. She fucking reported me to the coach.”
Seeing his frustration and anger, Marissa decided to let the f-bomb slide. “I’m not following.”
He dropped his hands, and his tone swiftly changed to irritation. “Riss, I can’t play unless I got a B average. That D dropped me to a C, and until I get it up, I can’t play. She’s had it out for me since I walked in her class.” He paced his room. “You know what this means. I can’t play the homecoming game or Thanksgiving.” His lips twisted. “Fuck!” He shouted so loud she winced.
His head dropped, and his shoulders sagged. This was a defeated boy.
“Did you talk to her? Maybe you can do extra credit or something.”
He remained silent, his posture completely deflated.
“If you have a C, then you just need an A to get it up to a B.”
He glanced up. “She won’t.”
“Did you ask?”
“No,” he snapped and seemed to realize he was doing it. He sighed. “Sorry.” He fell against his bed and rested his elbows on his knees. She walked over and took a seat next to him and rubbed his back.
“I think you should just ask, Trev.”
He shook his head. “She’ll say no. Shit!”
“But how do you know until you ask?”
He turned his head, and his cheeks reddened. “’Cause on the first day of school when I was in the hall, Nick was talking about her, and I said,” He dragged his hands down his face. “I said I’d tap that ass if she promised not to fucking talk ’cause her voice gives me limp dick.”
Marissa’s hand halted on his back, and her bottom lip dropped. Oh my God. “Trevor.”
