I’ll have to keep an eye on them.
For now, I gather my books, rise to my feet, and leave the sanctity of the library.Dad isn’t able to get off work to come and get me for fall break, so Zack gives me a ride home in his orange McLaren. We sit in silence for a good portion of the drive which I actually like. When I’m around Zack Brooks, I don’t feel like I have to force anything. The quiet between us is companionable and easygoing, not strained or awkward.
“I can’t believe you’re still hanging around me,” I tell him, glancing up from my phone screen to look at his face. All I’m doing is trolling gossip sites anyway. Every single freaking article is about this prince guy, this Windsor York. He sounds like a total a-hole to me. He’d be right at home at Burberry Prep. According to the online gab rags, he sleeps with every celebrity, model, or billionaire heiress he can get his hands on. Reminds me of a certain someone, but at least his smile in all the pictures is nice.
Still … another manwhore, gross. No thank you.
I shut my phone off.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Zack asks, his voice unbelievably soft. I notice he does that around me now, softens all of his hard edges. It almost … makes him likable. Almost. But not quite. He’s taken up track now, and he’s stupid good at it. I imagine he’ll be earning himself another letterman jacket next year. Really, I should take him down another peg. But am I going to? We’ll see. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him which, considering how muscular and tall he is, would not be all that far. “I told you how I feel about you.”
My nostrils flare, and my throat closes up. Oh god. Now the silence really does feel awkward.
I stare out at the road and focus on the yellow lines.
Zack doesn’t love me. That’s weird. He’s a freaking psycho bully. Remember how he treated Ileana during tryouts? He’s a monster inside; he can’t be trusted.
And yet, I’m so relaxed around him that I fall asleep and drool all over his expensive sports car. The next thing I know, he’s carrying me into my bedroom at the Train Car, and tucking me in. Pretty sure I imagine it, but I think he kisses my forehead before I pass out again.
In the morning, I’m woken up by the scent of dad’s famous vanilla waffles and I’ve forgotten all about the almost-possible-maybe-didn’t-happen kiss.
“Good morning,” I say, giving him a huge hug. He looks good, actually, much better than I’d feared. “How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful, actually,” he says, handing me a plate. I smear peanut butter all over my waffles and douse them in real maple syrup. Don’t ask: it’s a Reed thing. As I sit down on the couch in the living room, I’m overwhelmed by emotion and have to choke back tears. I will not think negatively about my father or his prospects. What good would that do him? “The Du Pont Medical Center is incredible.”
My mouth purses into a thin line, and I have to resist the urge to voice my fears. Why, exactly, Harper is helping my father out, I don’t know. To hold it over my head? I can only imagine the whole situation is going to end poorly. If she messes with my father’s heath however … god help her.
“Also, I wanted to talk to you about your mother …”
“Please don’t make me see her,” I blurt. I’m not ready for that. Jennifer and I have a strained relationship at best. Being home means taking care of dad and getting a break from the rat race that is Burberry Preparatory Academy. If I have to spend any forced afternoons with her, I’ll collapse.
“I won’t,” Dad says, surprising me. I put my fork down and lean back into the cushions, playing with Grandma Reed’s charm bracelet. I don’t dare take it to school with me. Can you imagine what those Blueblood psychos would do if they got a hold of it? “It was wrong of me to try to force a relationship.” He swallows hard and glances away, like he’s ashamed about something. I narrow my eyes.
“You didn’t buy a chicken instead of a turkey again this year?” I ask, already thinking ahead to Thanksgiving dinner. Charlie chuckles and glances back at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
“Wow, you know me too well,” he says, laughing. But it feels so … forced. That was not what he was going to say. I narrow my eyes, but Dad’s already standing up and moving into the kitchen to fry up some eggs. I’m already stuffed, but I don’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides, I just like watching him cook, smelling the smells, sinking into the ratty old couch.
