“Yeah, they’re hoping to sell before the bank takes it,” he said.
Double fuck. I was no realtor, but even I knew hardly anyone was buying houses around Christmas. Especially in the midst of an economic recession.
“Can they get out of default before the deadline?” I asked. “Do they have anyone they can hit up for the cash?”
Derek sighed, avoiding my eyes. “Probably not. But they won’t take your charity, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”
“Would they take an interest-free loan?”
“Doubt it,” he said.
Did he actually doubt it, or did he just not want the help to come from me?
“They could pay me back once the house sells.”
Assuming it did sell and assuming they could afford to pay me back once it did. Hopefully, they weren’t underwater too. But I wouldn’t offer anything I wasn’t willing to part with permanently.
He looked at me warily, studying me with eyes that were a darker, duller version of Bailey’s—more brown, less green. Then he shook his head slightly, like he was ruling it out.
“To be clear,” I said, “unlike your dick friend Morrison, my help won’t come with strings. I don’t want Bailey to have to worry about this. And I definitely don’t want her parents to lose their home at Christmas.”
Derek’s jaw tensed, probably because of the Morrison jab.
I wanted to ask him whether he was aware of the texts that fucker was sending his sister. Or the millions of other terrible things he’d done to Bailey. But covering that would take all night—and those were just the things she’d told me about. They were the tip of the hockey stick.
“B would be pissed at you for going behind her back about this,” he said.
He was right, but the alternative was worse. I hoped Bailey would agree, at least once she forgave me. She’d never been really mad at me before; it was hard to say.
“Let me worry about that,” I said. “How much is the mortgage, do you know?”
“Around three thousand a month.”
“Do you think fifteen grand would help?”
His eyes widened. “You’re going to cut a check for fifteen grand like it’s nothing?”
Why did everyone think Morrison was the only person in the world with any cash? Because he rubbed it in their faces constantly? We weren’t all tacky assholes. And fifteen thousand dollars wasn’t that much money. It was well spent in this case, anyway.
“Would it help or not?” If it did, maybe they could hang on and sell the house in the new year. “Or do you need more?”
“I mean, yeah. Fifteen would help.” Derek shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of accepting it.
“Okay,” I said. “See if you can get them to take it.”
“Where am I supposed to pretend I got it from?”
“Say you borrowed it from a friend. Or hit it big at the casino.” I shrugged. “Tell them you won a fucking beauty pageant. I don’t care. That’s for you to figure out.”
He actually had the nerve to glare at me. I glared back. Why were we having a pissing match over this?
“What’s the alternative here?” I gestured with one hand. “Come on.”
In the end, he might shoot me down, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.
“If you’re going to help, I think you should tell Bailey,” he said. “It’s only right.”
Irritation sparked within me, and I clamped down on the urge to argue with Derek about what was right—like standing up for one’s sister to a monster. Right now, my priority was the money. Arguing with Derek over Morrison wouldn’t help get him on my side.
“Why? So she can say no?” I raised my eyebrows, waiting, but he didn’t have a comeback to offer.
There was a weighty pause.
“Look,” I said. “I’m going to lend you some money. Between us. Whatever you do with it after that is your business. Pay me back whenever you can. No rush.”
His light brown eyebrows went wide. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. I can send you a transfer later today.”
“Fine.” Derek sighed, looking away briefly. “But this doesn’t mean we’re good. I’m doing it for my sister.”
“And so am I. Give me your email address and banking information.” I unlocked my phone and handed it to him over the table. He took it from my hands, tapping at the screen and handing it back to me with a sour look on his face.
“I’ll send it when I get home.”
“Thanks,” he said.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER 45
OceanofPDF.com
THE DIRTIEST
Chase
What a bullshit call.
Eleven minutes into the second period against the Coastal U Sharks, I stepped into the penalty box. Serving two minutes in the sin bin. For what? Nothing. Gardiner hooked me on a breakaway, and somehow, I ended up with the penalty. Fuck that decision, and I not so politely told the refs as much. Then Miller reamed me out for beaking off to the officials.
Whatever.
Near the end of the third period, Gardiner got a hold of the puck again and sped straight for Ty. We were winning by two, but that didn’t mean we could afford to give up our lead. Our defense was out to lunch, literally looking the other way, so I dug into the ice and barreled straight for him.
Seconds later, I crashed into him, shoulder to shoulder, freeing the puck while he flew into the boards. It was a perfectly clean—if brutal—hit.
Okay, fine. There may have been a slight element of retribution for the hooking.
Gardiner shook himself off, spun around, and skated after me. We raced for the puck, but when he caught up, he grabbed my jersey and yanked me toward him. He wasn’t usually that aggressive on the ice, so it caught me off guard, and before I could react, he clocked me square in the face.
He landed that initial hit.
But I landed more.
Despite that, by the time the refs intervened, I had a nasty gash on my left eyebrow. The bleeding didn’t last long, but I could feel it swelling with each second.
By the time the final buzzer sounded, I had blood on my jersey that wasn’t mine and had set a season record for both penalties taken and drawn in one game. Maybe a career record.
Without getting a look at myself in a mirror, I could tell that my jaw was bruised too. That was probably going to hurt like a bitch when I kissed James later. And when I found myself between her legs, which was the plan.
For once, I was kind of glad she was at school trying to meet a deadline instead of watching in the stands. It wasn’t my finest game. I’d gotten a goal and an assist, but I gave up the puck far more than I should have and botched a few basic passes.
Miller said my performance was uneven, and he was right.
After hitting the showers, I was a little more emotionally stable. But I still had this pervasive low-level irritation buried deep within me, like there was a tiny pebble in my shoe. Or in my skate, rather. Somehow, it made all the pressure I was constantly under a lot less tolerable.
I got dressed silently, mind swirling with a category five hurricane of thoughts and worries. Bailey, hockey, school, Coach Miller, our upcoming game with Callingwood, Bailey again, Los Angeles. Bailey and Los Angeles—fuck. Hadn’t even begun to think about that.
“What’s going on, Carter? Your fuse is way shorter than usual tonight.” Dallas slipped into his charcoal suit pants and scanned my face with those glacial blue eyes. “You have for a while now. Things all good with Bailey?”
I dropped my gaze, buttoning my white dress shirt. “Things are fine. They’re great, I mean. Guess I have some pent-up aggression after that shit Morrison pulled with her.”
And by some, I meant a metric fuckton. Much as I tried to let it go, I couldn’t. What Morrison did had been weighing on my mind since Bailey told me. That he got away with pulling that without any form of immediate consequence was making me insane.