Page 96 of Lovesick
The Mustangs are all lined up on an elevated catwalk, talking amongst themselves about the upcoming game this weekend. This will hopefully be a good distraction from the fact that I haven’t told my dad about Crew yet. I’m glad my mom and I are on the same page. I don’t know what I’d do without her support.
I glance down at the list of names in order by jerseynumber. “Knox Mulligan, please walk to the edge of the catwalk,” I announce.
Nothing. No movement. The line-turned-clump of hockey players are too enthralled in their own side conversations to pay any attention to me. Their voices are raucous, superimposed, resounding off the fieldstone walls.
I clear my throat, trying not to let my impatience shine through. “Knox? Can you step forward?”
It’s like I’m not even here. We’ve only just started, and we have a lot of players to get through. If this is the pace we move at, we won’t be anywhere near ready for the real thing. And I refuse to be a part of another school-wide disaster that’ll eventually go viral.
When I’m about to raise my voice, a louder one intercepts my feeble attempt, stealing their attention—the absolute apotheosis of frustration.
“Hey, asshats! There’s a lovely woman trying to talk to you, and if you don’t start listening to every word she says, you’re all going to be doing lightning drills across the ice until someone pukes.”
I’d know that voice anywhere. Easy on the ears, a dulcet tone dipped in fine granules of sugar that tickles the folds of my brain.
Crew, who towers over a majority of his teammates, seems to be the only one keeping the integrity of the initial line, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. The guys go dead silent, and one poor dude even apologizes. I’d be lying if I said that my heart wasn’t chugging like crazy in my chest—I’d also be lying if I said that I wasn’t totally turned on by Crew’s authority.
The coiffed-haired delinquent whom I’m assuming is Knox saunters down the runway, exuding an arrogance that’s even more insufferable than Crew’s, and that’s saying something. Hehas an award-winning grin that’s going to rake in some high offers.
“Okay, you’re going to stand on the X and pose while the audience is bidding,” I instruct, gesturing to the giant tape monstrosity at the end of the catwalk.
Knox steps on the mark, then immediately sticks his tongue out.
I grimace. “That’s…nice.”
After we cycle through a few more players, Irelyn decides to take over while I check in with the other departments. Mostly because she still has the patience.
As I’m surveying our inventory for the giveaway, I feel a body come up behind me, displacing the air. I turn around to find Crew with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
God, I wish we could display our affection in public. All I want to do is melt into his embrace like a fly caught in the chiffon web of a spider.
He cudgels any pleasantries, a frown christening his lips. “Um, your dad didn’t act any differently when I was at practice today. He didn’t even bring me into his office to confront me about my relationship with you.”
Shit. I should’ve told him that I haven’t talked to my dad yet.
His presence is usually cathartic, but guilt still puppets me like I’m a marionette on broken strings. At this point, my dad isn’t the only one I’m lying to. I’m lying to Crew with all my empty promises, and if I were him, I’d stop giving out second chances.
“About that—I spoke to my mom first to get some insight. I haven’t found the right time to confront my dad.”
An incensed growl curdles in his throat. “Right.”
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize, a glut of emotions swarming me like hornets when one of their nestmates dies, and my stomachcramps with this primal urge to jettison the stupid façade I’ve put on for everyone around me.
“There’s always an excuse with you, Merit. I appreciate you coming clean to your mom, but your dad deserves to know too. You keep avoiding the truth.”
“That’s not my intention at all. I just wanted my mom to soften the blow before I spoke to him. My dad isn’t a forgiving man. I don’t want to be the one responsible for destroying your relationship with him. I’m not worth all this trouble.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” he snaps, the look in his eyes harrowing enough to make tears pebble on my lower lash lines.
A migraine badgers the inside of my skull, and nausea puts my brain through the ringer. I don’t even register that we’re having a very public fight right now. “You don’t understand, I?—”
Crew’s body eclipses mine—anger metastasizing inside him like a cancer—and he bares his teeth at me. His hands clench into fists as the muscles in his arms flicker. “No,youdon’t understand. You don’t understand how much this hurts me. Would you rather us just go back to being friends? To spare you from all ‘this trouble’?”
I want to reach out and touch him; I want to reassure him. But I can’t do any of those things because I forfeited my rights the minute I delayed talking to my father. I unknowingly made a choice then and there to keep the peace instead of pursuing a relationship with Crew.
