Unspoken (The Woodlands) (28 page)

Finn laughed and took a long draught of the vodka. “Yeah, I have thought of it.”

It took me a minute to track back and remember what question Finn was answering. “And?”

“My mother.”

“Dude, what?” I choked on my ice cube. I had kind of asked the question half-facetiously so Finn could tell me I was fucked up and that I belonged a thousand feet away from AM at all times. Finn fell firmly in the decent guy category, but he was just as fit as Noah or me. His muscles were developed from hard work rather than the gym. He carted around boards and pulled down walls. A blow from his fist would probably level a woman.

“She cheated on my dad with my dad’s brother.” He took another drink. “Worst part, my dad and uncle are in business together and still are. Which is why I flip houses instead of build them with my dad like we’d always planned.”

“That’s…” I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t a story I’d ever heard before. It was like something you’d see on a daytime drama and that you’d think was all made up and shit.

“Unbelievable? Incredible? Disgusting?”

I just nodded.

“When my mom finally confessed, my dad looked devastated, and I wanted to hit her. Make her feel even a portion of the pain she’d caused us.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. I went outside and chopped a tree down in our backyard. It was her favorite. Took me an hour.” Another sip and an evil grin appeared. “Damn, that felt good.” He rolled his shoulders as if remembering the pain of the effort and appreciating it.

“She cry?” Finn might have hated his mom about as much as I hated my dad.

“Her little lower lip trembled, but she heroically kept her tears in,” Finn said grimly.

“Damn. But I hear you.”

“So you’re worried that you’re going to hit AnnMarie?”

“Or someone,” I admitted and tossed back half my glass. There wasn’t enough liquor to smooth the passage of my story so I just vomited it out. “My dad beat the shit out of my mom all the time while I was growing up. I begged her to leave, but she just refused. Said that she was married to him and she wouldn’t leave him. That I didn’t understand.” I drank the rest and slammed the glass on the table. “I didn’t understand. Still don’t.

“But I want to fight sometimes. I enjoy the violence, the danger. I like my fist driving into someone’s face, hearing the crack of the bone, feeling the flesh give way. I like imagining it’s my dad’s face each and every time.”

“You’ve got issues,” Finn said.

“I know,” I replied glumly.

“You should talk to Lana.”

“What?” Lana was Grace’s cousin and a psychology major. I guess talking to her was better than not seeing AM ever again.

“That girl’s scary. Hot but scary,” Finn went on.

“What makes you say that?”

“Last party we had? I said something about how those ‘your momma’ jokes are like a documentary of my life, and Lana leaned over and said ‘Oedipus, huh?’ I had to look it up.”

“And.”

“He’s the original mother-fucker.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m hoping there’s another Greek character I can be patterned after.”

“Ask Noah. He’s read
The Odyssey
.”

After we’d sanded the patch smooth, Finn pulled out a jar of white paint that I applied over the patch. When we were done it didn’t look half bad. I swept up all the debris until the place looked like we’d never been there. Could it be as easy fixing things with AM? I doubted it, but because I was a dumb impulsive ass, I left a Post-it note on the mirror in the front hall.

AM

Sorry about the hole in the wall. And everything else.

BO

Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Four

AM

B
O
SKIPPED
M
ONDAY
CLASS
. I
kept his note in my backpack the entire time. I didn’t know what to make of it. The minute I had read it, I texted him back that I was sorry, too, but silence was the only response.

Instead, I had to take the one phone call I was dreading. At 6 in the evening on Monday, my phone rang and the caller ID showed an unknown source with the Chicago area code. It could only be Roger.

I swallowed hard and answered it. “AnnMarie here.”

“AnnMarie, it’s Roger. Roger Price.” I rolled my eyes. How many Rogers did he think I knew?

“This is a surprise, Roger.” I enunciated his name carefully so that he was clear that I knew exactly to whom I was speaking.

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve received a disturbing phone call from an old Central College classmate of mine.”

I decided to go on the offensive because at this point, what did I really have to lose? “Clay Howard’s calling his dad to spread rumors about me now? I knew he took my brush-off hard, but this is kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?”

“Hmmph,” he said. I held my breath as Roger processed this. “Is this some kind of bad prank?” he finally asked.

“Like a fraternity prank? I’m not Greek, Roger.” I emphasized his name again petulantly. “But if it is a prank, it’s in really poor taste.”

“I think we both agree on that,” Roger said. “AnnMarie, are you trying to act out to get my attention? As I explained to your mother, I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together at the holidays but my, ah, other obligations were pressing. I’d like to take the two of you to Italy during your spring break this year.”

Unbelievable. Roger, the narcissist, thought it was all about him. I wasn’t even sure that he cared if I was the college slut. He only cared whether I was engaged in some post-teen rebellion that might reflect badly on him. I didn’t know what my mother saw in him.

“Do you love Mom, really love her?” I asked.

The question must have caught him off guard because he didn’t have an immediate response. When he answered, his words were measured, his voice cautious. “Our situation may be unconventional, but yes, I do care for your mother deeply.”

Just not enough to leave your wife
, I thought. Not wanting to antagonize Roger more, I simply replied, “I hope so.”

“Well, then, thank you for taking my call, AnnMarie. I’ll be sure to tell Clay Howard just exactly what I think of his son making up stories simply because he was rejected. Very ugly flaw in his character. I hope everything else is going well?” Roger’s voice turned formal again.

“Swimmingly, Roger, just swimmingly,” I said.

“You’ll call if you need anything? You can reach me by this number,” Roger offered, ignoring my sarcasm.

This time the pause was on my end. Roger had never offered me anything before.

“I thought you preferred not to receive my requests?” It was more question than statement.

“And I, AnnMarie, thought that your frequent avoidance of me meant that you preferred that I didn’t exist,” Roger replied bluntly.

“Huh, I guess we were both wrong,” I sighed. Roger made me repeat the phone number to him before he hung up.

I stared at the phone in my hand with disbelief. Was it possible that Clay’s threat was actually going to mend a rift between my father and me? It’s not like we were immediately going to fall into a father-daughter relationship, but perhaps we could actually sit in the same room together without being overwhelmed with animosity.

Speaking of animosity, Ellie sat in the living room staring blindly at the TV. She’d fought with Ryan, but over what I wasn’t sure. What was it that she expected him to do? It was almost comical how it had all gone south so quickly. One night you’re watching naked men together and the next no one was talking to each other.

Maybe I couldn’t fix Bo and me tonight, but I could help Ellie. Ellie didn’t even move as I walked over to the coffee table and picked up her phone. “I need to text myself from your phone. I’m worried my texts aren’t going through. Bo hasn’t responded at all.”

All true, but that wasn’t why I was using her phone. I was stealing Ryan’s number so I could meet up with him. And I was going to do it on campus. Maybe even in the library, and if Clay was there, all the better.

You still care about Ellie? – AM

My phone pinged immediately.

YES! I screwed up again but not sure how.

Meet me in 15 at the library?

Library?!? U sure? Sat. night was rough. Sorry! We can meet elsewhere.

Am fine. Don’t care about what ppl are saying. CU soon.

OK.

Before I left, though, I threw Clay’s notes away. They had no hold over me now.

“Ellie,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m going out. My phone works now.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

R
YAN
WAS
SITTING
ON
THE
third floor near the O-P-Q section of the fiction books in the library. Perhaps he’d had some hope that Ellie would be with me because when he saw it was just me, a half-hopeful smile turned crestfallen.

“That’s a sad look,” I teased weakly.

Ryan snorted and then put his head in both hands. “God, what happened Saturday night?”

“That’s what I want to know,” I replied. “I didn’t even see you.”

“I got a text from Ellie that she was going to the party house with you guys. I told her I’d meet her there. I came in at the point when everyone was rushing out,” Ryan declared. “I didn’t know what had happened until like a half hour later.”

“What did happen after we left?” I’d been so caught up in the drama playing out in my apartment that I hadn’t given a thought to what had gone on back on campus.

“The party kind of broke up. I don’t know if people left because they thought someone was going to call the cops or what,” Ryan said. “A couple of my teammates and I carried Clay home.”

“Is he going to press charges?” I worried that Bo would get in trouble for this.

“Nah, we talked him out of it. Told him it would make him look like a pussy,” Ryan said and then grimaced. “No offense.”

“Whatever.” I couldn’t care less about his pejorative use of gendered words right now. “Why is Ellie moping around?”

“She saw me as she ran out and thought I was standing around, just listening.” Ryan looked down guiltily. “And I guess I was. I mean, I knew since the incident at the QC Café that Clay was behind those rumors. You aren’t the only one, you know.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Yeah, the lacrosse club has a book of girls that they want get back at. It’s like revenge porn, I guess, but instead of putting up nudes of their exes—which they totally do by the way—they spread rumors about the girls that turn them down. It’s their way of taking the girls down a peg or two,” Ryan confessed.

“And you knew this for how long?” I frowned at Ryan. Maybe he wasn’t the good guy I thought he was.

“Just last night. After we brought Clay home and dumped him in his room, I asked what the hell was going on. One of the younger guys caved and confessed. It’d bothered the shit out of him, but he’d been reluctant to confront Clay about it.” Ryan huffed a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, seemingly relieved to get it all out. “After all, what could he have done?”

“Who are the girls?” Were they freshmen? Could I have done something to put an end to this? The shame I’d tried hard to disperse was creeping back in.

“Not sure. My friend said some of the girls transferred or graduated.” Ryan grimaced. “I think you were their new pet project.”

I shuddered. “Great.”

This wasn’t what I was expecting when I’d asked Ryan to meet up with me. Pushing that aside for a moment, I said, “You need to just be persistent and tell Ellie the truth. But not about the revenge rumors. Okay?”

“She won’t answer her phone. How am I supposed to be persistent?”

I handed him my keys. I owed Ellie one. “Don’t make me regret this. Go now and sweep her off her feet.”

Ryan snatched the keys up and was out of the library before I could even stand up from the table. One problem down. A million more to face. I laid my head on the table and wished I could start over.

BO

A
S
I
STARED
AT
THE
HEAVY
brass knocker of Lana Sullivan’s door, I wondered exactly what I was doing here. Lana was a second-year psych major with an eating disorder. What possible help could she give me?

I shifted my weight restlessly from side to side and turned to leave, but before I got even halfway down the steps, I heard the door open and her voice call out, “Running away already?”

Christ. Hot but scary.

I turned back and leaned against the wall of the stairwell, not yet committing to returning to Lana’s pop-up psychology tent. “No, just wondering why the world doesn’t make sense for me.”

“Age-old question. Existentialism. Do I make sense in a fucked-up world?” Lana pushed open the door and walked away, not even waiting for an answer.

I followed. Damn, maybe she knew what she was doing. Closing the door behind me, I noticed she was making herself a drink. Fizzy pink lemonade went into a glass followed by a generous dose of vodka.

“I’ll take one without the fruit.”

“Vodka on the rocks, coming up.”