We watch him leave, and I’m glad for the interruption because it takes the focus off me long enough to collect myself. “How did things go?”
The few people in the lab watch him as he grabs the chair to the empty station next to me, turns it backwards, and straddles it, oblivious to his audience. “Good. I think. They pretty much said a space in next year’s class is mine.”
My jaw drops. “Good? That’s awesome! Are you kidding me? This calls for celebration, Eric. You’re going to law school!”
He nods in a distracted sort of way.
“You don’t look excited.”
He smiles. “I am. I just wanted to tell you. I’ve got to tell my dad. He’ll be happy.”
“Happier than you?”
He holds my gaze. “Yeah.”
It all lines up.
This isn’t for him. It’s for his father.
I know something about family obligation.
He motions with his chin to the computer. “What’s this about?”
I’m thankful I tucked away most of the photos of him. “I was just putting together my portfolio. You know, for that job.”
“You’re applying? That’s good news.”
I nod.
He jiggles the mouse and brings up the photo of himself. “Damn. That’ll get you the job, right there.”
I nudge him. “Are you sure? I thought this one was good.” I pick out a photo that has him making a face like he’s sucked lemons. It’s one of the rare ones where he looks really goofy.
He laughs, then sobers when his phone pings with a text. “That’s my dad.”
“You guys can celebrate this weekend at the game.”
He gives me a confused look. “With my father? My father doesn’t give a shit about hockey.”
“Really, with you playing—”
“No.” He rubs the back of his neck, tugging on his collar, the first indication that the suit isn’t nearly the second skin it looks to be.
I always took it for granted that because Eric had every luxury, he must’ve had perfect parents who were so proud of him. I mean, I grew up with nothing, but I had a mother who believed in me.
He mumbles something about going outside to talk to his dad, and I watch him go.
His shoulders twitch as he starts to talk on his cell.
I frown. Wondering about the relationship between them.
I pick up my phone and open a group text to Poppy and Taylor.
Hockey game with me on Saturday?
18
Eric
The doorbell rings and I open it up to greet Boone’s parents, Will and Sylvia, and his younger brother, Mike.
Boone hit the jackpot when it comes to families. They aren’t wealthy, but they have a nice apartment near the auto shop that Mr. O’Brien owns. At night, they drink beer, cook a big meal together, and talk about sports. They play dominoes and tease each other. They’re the type of people who enjoy being together. I’m lucky by association—I’ve spent a couple weekends at their place in Chicago.
“Eric,” Mrs. O’Brien exclaims, giving me a lipstick kiss on the cheek and hugging me tight. With short dark hair and a plump figure, she’s the kind of woman that you immediately feel at home with. “How’s my second favorite hockey player?”
“I’m good.” I laugh as I give his little brother a high-five. “You guys ready for the game?”
“More importantly, are you?” Mr. O’Brien says, giving me a couple of fake punches in greeting. With graying hair, he’s shorter than Boone, his frame solid and thick.
“I’m pumped,” I say, smiling. In fact, things have been damn good. I’m going to law school. The Lions are kicking ass. Julia and I grow closer each day.
Sylvia looks up the staircase. “Where is our boy, anyway?”
“He’s not here, but, um, let me check and see where he is.” I’d been wondering the same thing myself. I dig my hand into the pockets of my jeans and pull out my phone. Reece has already left for the stadium to get some extra work in, and I plan on leaving in the next few minutes. Usually Boone is back from the Kappa house by now.
Where r u, I send, but he doesn’t reply.
Worry niggles at me.
I haven’t seen him since last night when he went to the Kappa house, but I don’t want to rat him out to his parents. Sometimes he stays over at the house with a girl in one of the extra rooms.
I glance at his parents. “Maybe he’s already at the stadium.” It’s a possibility, but his duffle is sitting in the kitchen.
His father nods. “Always nose to the grindstone, shooting for perfection. He’s a good boy.”
Shit. Yeah. I nod to them as I motion out the door. “Should we go? I’ll drive you all if you’d like.”
Mr. O’Brien shakes his head. “We’ll head over ourselves. We’re going to stop and grab something to eat first. See you there.”
I watch them as they pile into their minivan and head out in the direction of the arena.