Page 41 of Enemy Crush
“No, I, I did...” Mason brushed away more tears.
“No,I opened it,” Dad interjected. “I was the one who opened it, Miller. I showed Mase the card.” And then his words were deliberately slow and precise. “And he gave it back to me.”
My heart thumped, a sickening swell of shame stealing the air from my lungs. I’d presumed Mason had taken the card, presumed he’d been disloyal. I owed my brother an apology but words stuck in my mouth and I stammered, “I...I...thought...”
Dad blew out a heavy sigh as he sat down on the chair between us, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t like you being harsh on your mother.” His voice rattled with tension. “She’s your mother, she’ll always be your mother. She’s made some mistakes and she has her issues.”
“I don’t care about her issues,” I butted in, adrenaline flowing through me like a raging river.
Dad extended his hand in a ‘calm down’ gesture. “But you could give her some grace. She’s trying, Miller. She keeps sending cards, even though she knows you don’t want them. And she’s been putting money into a college fund for you two boys. That’s something.”
My chest seized, shocked by that news, and I blurted out, “I’m not going to college.”
“College, trade school, whatever, it’s there for you.”
I nearly said, “I don’t want her money,” but who was I kidding? Free money was a no-brainer. Pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford, especially when there was a Mustang to restore.
“Now eat that pizza before it gets cold,” Dad said.
“What about you?” Mason asked.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna change out of this,” Dad said, acting as if his button-down shirt was about to choke him. He picked up a red bag from a clothing store and disappeared to his room.
I grabbed a slice of pepperoni, took a bite and, with my mouth full, said, “Sorry.”
“I needed a bookmark,” Mason said, picking up a slice.
“And I wished you’d told me about the bullying.”
Mason shrugged, taking a tiny nibble. We ate in silence, my mind churning with a 101 questions, but I didn’t want to sound too eager. I finished my second slice, chugged on some water and said in a hushed voice so Dad wouldn’t hear me, “Why did you give Quinn a ride home? Where was she?”
“At the bus stop,” Mason said, still taking minuscule bites of the pizza.
“The bus stop? What was she doing there?”
“Waiting for the bus,” he said like I’d asked the stupidest question.
“Dad just stopped and picked her up?”
Mason nodded, carefully flipping over his books, examining the front, then the back cover. “She didn’t know the buses stop early on Saturday.”
“I saw her go out with Ronan King earlier,” I said, hoping he could give me more info about the date. Maybe it had been a disaster and she’d stormed out on him. I loved that—for me, but I didn’t love it for Quinn. What had Ronan done that made her have to take the bus home? “She hugged you.” The words slipped out with absolutely no context, just a random observation.
“Oh.” Mason bent down and picked up the paper bag. “I forgot I got a bookmark for her too.” He waved around a thin delicate marker with a tassel on it. “She likes reading. She’s got the whole Silver Dragons series.”
I was struck with a wave of jealousy—that Mason knew more about Quinn than I did. He knew she liked scented candles, that she read books, that she owned books. I had a sudden wish that I’d read a book that wasn’t assigned school reading, that I was into dragons and wizards and Harry Potter.
“Do you want me to take it to her?” It’s like I was possessed by someone else, those words coming from my mouth butsomehow not from me. Why would I be offering to go to Quinn’s house? It’s not like I wanted to see her or anything.
“I’ll give it to her on the bus,” Mason said, not mentioning my heated cheeks or manic eyes, if in fact, he noticed them. He held up a second, silver bookmark. “I got one for me too.” His voice dipped to a whisper. “Miller, I don’t want anything from her.”
Our eyes connected, his shiny from the tears. He’d been so young when she left. Perhaps it wasn’t right that I denied him the chance to get to know her. Like Dad said, she was our mother, would always be our mother.
I gave him a chin lift, but didn’t say anything. All I could hope was that he wouldn’t wonder why I volunteered to take Quinn the bookmark. I reached for another slice of pizza, stuffed it in my mouth, looking up to see Dad standing against the doorframe wearing an old black tank, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
Chapter 15
MILLER
