Page 44 of Attractive Forces
“You’re a good friend.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean, giving up a night in a hotel with a hot girl, that’s good friendship.” Brewer is still nodding like one of those dogs you put in cars, and my alarm levels rise.
“You know what they say, bros before hos.” I’ve always hated that line, but I’d throw any kind of macho bullshit out there to stop the speculative gaze Brewer is giving me now.
“I don’t know if you made the right choice, man. The amount of aggression you just showed on the field indicates you definitely need to get laid.”
“Thanks for your medical diagnosis.”
He smirks.
I quicken my pace as I approach my car so I don’t have to endure any more of Brewer’s scrutiny.
When I get home,I drop my keys on the hook in the kitchen. Mum is there, loading the dishwasher.
“Hey, Mum.” I kiss the side of her cheek.
“Hey, honey.” She turns to look at me. “How was the ball?”
“It was good. I had fun.”
“That’s nice.” There’s a scraping noise as she tries to use a knife to dislodge something baked on a dish.
I wait for her to ask why I didn’t come home last night. After all, in the message I sent them, I’d been deliberately vague. But she doesn’t say anything.
“Your dad’s digging over the garden. He wants your help,” she says finally, her expression strangely blank.
“Oh. Okay.”
I grab a glass of water and down it before making my way outside.
Sure enough, Dad’s in the vegetable patch, pulling out the last of the potato plants. There’s a large pile of them stacked to one side, giving off a slightly pungent aroma.
“Hey, Dad. Mum said you wanted my help?”
“Grab a fork. You can help me turn the dirt over.” His tone is cool.
“Okay.”
I’m not exactly dressed for gardening, but I know better than to argue.
I grab a garden fork and start to dig over the clods of earth. Preparing for spring when the whole cycle will start again.
I know my dad has something to say to me. His throat is working, and every so often, he pauses to give me the side eye.
I try to keep my eyes on the soil, the way the fork prongs scrape through the dirt before emerging triumphant.
“You missed church this morning,” he says finally.
“I had rugby practice.”
“It didn’t start until twelve. You could have made the service.”
Shit. I didn’t realize my father knew Coach had pushed back practice. I sometimes think church functions more for spreading gossip than it does for saving people’s souls.
“Sorry. I slept in. It was a late night.”
