“Who was it?” I asked before thinking.
Abby shifted her weight, readjusting her backpack. It was overflowing with books, the zipper barely containing the contents. It must have been heavy. I slipped it off her shoulder.
“Mare’s imagining things,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Abby! You big fat liar! It was Parker Hayes, and he was being so obvious. The guy was practically drooling.”
My face twisted. “Parker Hayes?”
Shepley pulled on America’s hand. “We’re headed to lunch. Will you be enjoying the fine cafeteria cuisine this afternoon?”
America kissed him again in answer, and Abby followed behind, prompting me to do the same. We walked together in silence. She was going to find out about the boilers, they would move back to Morgan, and Parker would ask her out.
Parker Hayes was a cream puff, but I could see Abby being interested in him. His parents were stupid rich, he was going to med school, and on the surface he was a nice guy. She was going to end up with him. The rest of her life with him played out in my head, and it was all I could do to calm down. The mental image of tackling my temper and shoving it into a box helped.
Abby placed her tray between America and Finch. An empty chair a few seats down was a better choice for me than attempting to carry on a conversation like I hadn’t just lost her. This was going to suck, and I didn’t know what to do. So much time had been wasted playing games. Abby didn’t have a chance to even get to know me. Hell, even if she had, she was probably better off with someone like Parker.
“Are you okay, Trav?” Abby asked.
“Me? Fine, why?” I asked, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling that settled in every muscle of my face.
“You’ve just been quiet.”
Several members of the football team approached the table and sat down, laughing loudly. Just the sounds of their voices made me want to punch a wall.
Chris Jenks tossed a French fry onto my plate. “What’s up, Trav? I heard you bagged Tina Martin. She’s been raking your name through the mud today.”
“Shut up, Jenks,” I said, keeping my eyes on my food. If I looked up at his ridiculous fucking face, I might have knocked him out of his chair.
Abby leaned forward. “Knock it off, Chris.”
I looked up at Abby, and for a reason I couldn’t explain, became instantly angry. What the fuck was she defending me for? The second she found out about Morgan, she was going to leave me. She’d never talk to me again. Even though it was crazy, I felt betrayed. “I can take care of myself, Abby.”
“I’m sorry, I . . .”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I don’t want you to be anything,” I snapped. Her expression was the final straw. Of course she didn’t want to be around me. I was an infantile asshole that had the emotional control of a three-year-old. I shoved away from the table and pushed through the door, not stopping until I was sitting on my bike.
The rubber grips on the handlebars whined under my palms as I twisted my hands back and forth. The engine snarled, and I kicked back the kickstand before taking off like a bat out of hell into the street.
I rode around for an hour, feeling no better than before. The streets were leading to one place, though, and even though it took me that long to give in and just go, I finally pulled into my father’s driveway.
Dad walked out of the front door and stood on the porch, giving a short wave.
I took both of the porch stairs at once and stopped just short of where he stood. He didn’t hesitate to pull me against his soft, rounded side, before escorting me inside.
“I was just thinking it was about time for a visit,” he said with a tired smile. His eyelids hung over his lashes a bit, and the skin beneath his eyes was puffy, matching the rest of his round face.
Dad checked out for a few years after Mom died. Thomas took on a lot more responsibilities than a kid his age should have, but we made do, and finally Dad snapped out of it. He never talked about it, but he never missed a chance to make it up to us.
Even though he was sad and angry for most of my formative years, I wouldn’t consider him a bad father, he was just lost without his wife. I knew how he felt, now. I felt maybe a fraction for Pidge what Dad felt for Mom, and the thought of being without her made me feel sick.
He sat on the couch and gestured to the worn-out recliner. “Well? Have a seat, would ya?”
I sat, fidgeting while trying to figure out what I would say.
He watched me for a while before taking a breath. “Something wrong, son?”
“There’s a girl, Dad.”
He smiled a bit. “A girl.”
“She kinda hates me, and I kinda . . .”
“Love her?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I mean . . . how do you know?”
His smile grew wider. “When you’re talking about her with your old dad because you don’t know what else to do.”
I sighed. “I just met her. Well, a month ago. I don’t think it’s love.”
“Okay.”