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It occurs to me that she’s slept with Knox. The thought turns my stomach, and I almost hang up. I’m not petty, but that’s a lot. Especially since the asshole refuses to sleep withme.
She laughs. “It’s okay. We’re playing the Titans on Tuesday in Denver. I don’t suppose I’ll see you there? Jacob got us all a suite, and you’re welcome to join.”
“That would be…” I have a damn lump in my throat. Whether or not she slept with Knox is irrelevant. “That would be really nice. Thank you.”
“Great. I’ll snag your number from Miles’ phone and text you at a reasonable hour tomorrow!”
“Cool. Thanks, Willow.”
The line goes dead, and I cover my mouth. Of all the ways I thought that would go, ending up with a girl-date for the Tuesday game is not at all how I pictured it.
Instead of going back to bed, I sit at my desk in the spare room. He has a twin bed shoved in the corner for visitors or something—but the rest is a similar mock up to my old office.
I run my hands over the shiny typewriter, vowing to replace it with something more similar to the one I used to own. I have a lot of conflicting emotions. About Knox and Willow, and about people touching all my stuff, and him taking over my life to move me up here, and… Well, let’s just say that sleep is the last thing on my mind.
So I try to write about all the ugly things Knox and I have done to each other. But what ends up coming out is a bit nicer than that.
27
MANUSCRIPT
CHAPTER 3
We’re drowning.
I’m not sure when I realized it. Maybe when Mom got another job in the evenings, and Dad started working overtime so much he was barely home. The Whiteshaws had me over for dinner more often than not, since I was left home alone after school.
Not that I minded.
Miles, Knox’s brother, teaches me how to play video games. They only have two controllers, so Knox watches. Or ignores us completely, depending on his mood. Sometimes, if I’m persistent enough, we go into the basement and take shots at the goal. They converted part of the mostly empty basement for hockey practice. Sometimes, if we all beg hard enough, in the winter our dads get together and make an ice rink for us in the flat part of our backyards.
Either option is better than their summer outdoor setup.
They only let me take a shot or two before I’m forced to sit aside. My lungs ache anyway, and my breathing comes harshand shallow after any amount of exercise. It’s the recent surgery, the healing incision, my heart getting used to a new device inside it.
I hate all of it.
They watch me like I’m going to collapse, even when I wave them off. Even as I dream of playing in the Olympics, knowing now that it’s impossible.
But I’m getting closer to the Whiteshaw boys. I was already close to them, but now Knox takes me for drives in his car, going out for ice cream or around the block with all the windows rolled down just to get some fresh air. When we return, our hair is windswept and our smiles are huge.
He’s going to college soon. While my parents seem to never be home, I sit with his parents at the high school games. I’m with them when Knox opens his acceptance letter to Crown Point University. And then a personal letter from the hockey coach, Roake, arrives. He’s ‘thrilled’ to welcome Knox to the team.
Miles watches with envy, leaning forward over the dinner table like he wants to take the letter and read it for himself.
Meanwhile, I sit and stew, grateful that Knox has been given an opportunity to continue hockey and insanely jealous that I can’t. The girls on my juniors team faded away as soon as my dad told them I was no longer able to play.
The ones I thought were my friends vanished, leaving me with just Beth. Her interest in hockey is nonexistent, though. We only get together outside of school or our houses if I want to do girly things, like wander the mall or get our nails done. Which is rare.
I’m not sure what the tipping point is for my family, though. One night, waiting for Dad to get back from a business trip and Mom to return from her shift at the local restaurant, my heart seems to beat extra hard.
Worry pricks at me, and I go downstairs to the phone on the wall.
My hand hovers over it, wondering who to call.
Mom?
Dad?
