The Risk

by Elle Kennedy

  “It’s fine, Jake. I get it.”

  He falters. “You do?”

  “Hockey comes first,” I echo with a shrug. “And it should. This is what you’ve worked for your entire life. I don’t expect you to throw it away for a relationship that was going to end anyway.”

  A slight frown touches his lips. “You really believe that?”

  “Yes,” I lie. “I told you this once before—this can’t go anywhere. You’re moving to Edmonton. I have another year of college left. It would be stupid to even try.” I rise from the couch. “I’m sure my dad will be fine with me moving back. And if he’s not, then I’ll stay with Summer. My landlords said the basement will be ready any day now. Who knows, maybe it’s ready now and they haven’t had a chance to call me yet.”

  His fingers slide through his hair for the millionth time. “Brenna…” He doesn’t continue. His remorse is unmistakable.

  “It’s all good, Jakey. Let’s not drag this out. We had some fun, and now it’s time to move on. No biggie, right?”

  Pretending I don’t care is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. And I must be doing a convincing job of it, because Jake nods sadly.

  “Anyway, I’m going to go grab all my stuff now, make it easier. It’s only one drawer so…” My voice breaks. He gave me a drawer and now he’s taking it away. It feels like someone took a rusty blade and stabbed it into my heart a hundred times.

  In Jake’s bedroom, I quickly empty the contents of the drawer and dump everything in my suitcase. Then I duck into the hall bathroom and sweep up my toiletries. I’m sure I’ve forgotten something, but if Jake contacts me about it later, I’m going to tell him to throw it out. Even though I’m alone, I force myself not to reveal a sliver of emotion. One slip-up and I’ll be crying. And I’m not allowed to shed a single tear inside this apartment.

  Rolling my suitcase behind me, I return to the living room. I saunter over to Jake, squeezing his arm. Touching him makes me want to die.

  He stiffens for beat, and then he raises his hand and touches my cheek. His thumb brushes lightly over my bottom lip. It comes away with a faint crimson smudge.

  “Rocking the red lips this early in the day, eh?” he says roughly.

  “It’s my trademark.” It’s my armor, I think silently.

  Right now that armor is the only thing keeping me from breaking down in tears at his feet.

  36

  Brenna

  Jake dumped me.

  Those three miserable words run through my mind during the train and bus rides to Hastings. I still haven’t cried. I thought I would, but I guess when I buried my emotions during the goodbye with Jake, I did too good of a job. Now I feel nothing. Nothing at all. I’m numb. My eyes are dry and my heart is stone.

  Dad’s Jeep is in the driveway when I walk up to the front door dragging my carry-on behind me. I hope he doesn’t kick me out again. On the bright side, if he does tell me I can’t stay, I’ll only need to find a place to crash for one night. Wendy called when I was on the train, giving me the news that I can move back in tomorrow morning. She and Mark are even going to IKEA this evening to pick up some basic pieces of furniture. I told them they didn’t have to do that, but apparently the insurance claim still hasn’t gone through, so they’re insisting on at least getting me a bed.

  I find Dad in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher. He’s turned away from me, and for a moment I’m startled. He’s tall and broad, built like a hockey player, and from the back he almost resembles Jake, only Dad’s dark hair is shorter. Strength radiates from him, and it reminds me that I need to be strong, too. I always have to be strong in front of my father.

  I take a breath. “Hey.”

  He turns, offering a brisk “hey” in response.

  There’s a brief silence. Our gazes lock. Suddenly I feel so very tired. I already dealt with one emotional confrontation today, and it’s only one p.m. I wonder how many more devastating exchanges are in store for me.

  “Can we go sit in the living room?” I suggest.

  He nods.

  When we’re seated on opposite ends of the couch, I inhale slowly, then release my breath in a long, measured puff. “I know you appreciate it when people get right down to the point, so that’s what I’m going to do.” I clasp both hands in my lap. “I’m sorry.”

  Dad gives a slight smile. “You’ll have to be more specific. There are a few things you could be apologizing for.”

  I don’t smile back, because I resent the jab. “No, actually, there aren’t. I’m not going to apologize for dating Jake, or having friends, or partying every now and then. I’m not going to apologize for any of that, because I’ve been doing it all responsibly.” I exhale in a rush. “I’m apologizing for getting pregnant.”

  There’s a sharp intake of breath. “What?”

  It’s rare to catch my father off-guard, but he looks beyond stunned. I play with the beads on my wrist and—Crap, Jake’s bracelet. I’m still wearing it. That means I’ll need to find a way to get it back to him before his game on Saturday.

  Right now, however, it’s fueling me in a strange sort of way. I don’t know if it’s bringing me luck exactly, but it’s definitely giving me courage, which I usually lack around my dad.

  “I’m sorry I got pregnant,” I repeat. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. For what it’s worth, it really was an accident. Eric and I were always careful, always.” I shake my head bitterly. “And then one fluke time a stupid condom breaks, and now my father hates me.”

  His eyes widen. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

  “I know I disappointed you, and I also know that I—what’s that phrase they use in old-timey movies? I brought shame upon our house?”

  Dad barks out a laugh. “Jesus, Brenna—”

  I interrupt again. “I know you’re ashamed of me. Trust me, I’m ashamed of myself for the way I behaved. I should’ve told you I was pregnant and I absolutely should’ve told you I was bleeding that day. Instead, I was so scared of how you would react and I let Eric convince me that it wasn’t a big deal. I was a stupid kid, but I’m not stupid anymore. I promise.”

  My throat closes up, which is probably a good thing because a sob was about to fly out. I blink repeatedly, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. I know that when they finally come, it’s going to be epic waterworks.

  “I’m asking you to give me another chance,” I tell him.

  “Brenna—”

  “Please,” I beg. “I know I’m always disappointing you, but I want to try to fix that. So please just tell me how”—to make you love me again—“to fix this. I can’t live with you being ashamed of me anymore, so I need you to tell me how I can make it better and how to—”

  My father starts to cry.

  Shock slams into me. My mouth is still open, but I’m no longer talking. For a moment I think I’m imagining his tears. I’ve never seen my father cry, so this is a completely foreign sight to me. But…those are tears, all right.

  “Dad?” I say uncertainly.

  He drags his knuckles over his face to try to scrub the moisture away. “Is that what you think?” Shame glimmers through his tears, only it’s not directed at me. I think he’s ashamed of himself. “Is that really what I’ve led you to believe? That I hate you? I’m ashamed of you?”

  I bite hard on my bottom lip. If he keeps crying, I’ll cry too, and one of us needs to maintain a level head right now. “You’re not?”

  “Christ, of course not.” His voice is beyond hoarse. “And I never once blamed you for getting pregnant, Peaches.”

  There is absolutely no stopping the tears this time. They flood out and spill down my cheeks, the salty flavor touching my lips.

  “I was young once,” Dad mutters. “I know the stupid things we do when hormones are involved and I know that accidents happen. I wasn’t thrilled it happened, but I didn’t blame you for it.” He rubs his eyes again.

  “You wouldn’t even look a
t me afterward.”

  “Because every time I looked at you I remembered finding you on the bathroom floor in a puddle of blood.” His breathing goes shallow. “Jesus, I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. And you were white as a ghost. Your lips were blue. I thought you were dead. I walked in and actually thought you were dead.” He drops his face in his hands, his broad shoulders trembling.

  A part of me wants to move closer and wrap my arms around him, but our relationship has been so strained for so long. Hugging has been missing from it for a long time, and I feel awkward doing it now. So I sit there and watch my father cry, while tears stream down my own cheeks.

  “I thought you were dead.” He lifts his head, revealing a ravaged expression. “It was like your mother all over again. When I got the phone call about the accident and had to go identify her body in the morgue.”

  A gasp cuts off my airways. This is the first time I’m hearing of this.

  I knew my mother died when her car hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road.

  I didn’t know my father had to identify her body.

  “You know how your aunt Sheryl is always saying you look exactly like your mother? Well, you do. You’re the spitting image of her.” He groans. “And when I found you in the bathroom, you were the spitting image of her corpse.”

  I’m so nauseous I’m afraid I might vomit. I can’t even imagine how he must have felt in that moment.

  “I couldn’t look at you after because I was scared. I almost lost you, and you’re the only thing I have in the world that I give a damn about.”

  “What about hockey?” I joke weakly.

  “Hockey is a game. You’re my life.”

  Hoo-boy. The waterworks start up again. I have a feeling I’m ugly-crying like crazy, but I can’t keep my eyes from watering or my nose from running. Dad doesn’t pull me in for a hug, either. We’re not there yet. This is brand-new territory for us…or rather, it’s old ground that needs to be replanted.

  “I almost lost you, and I didn’t know how to make things better for you,” he admits gruffly. “If your mom had been there, she would’ve known exactly what to do. When you were crying in the hospital, and then all those months that you were at home. I was out of my element. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and every time I looked at you, I pictured you bleeding on the floor.” He shudders. “I’ll never forget that image. I’ll remember it until my dying day.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry I made you think I was ashamed.” He lets out a ragged breath. “But I won’t apologize for the shit that happened afterward. Grounding you, enforcing the curfew. You were out of control.”

  “I know.” I hang my head in regret. “But I turned everything around. I grew up and went to college. I’m not acting out to get your attention anymore. You were right to be overprotective back then, but I’m a different person now. I wish you could see that.”

  His somber gaze sweeps over me. “I think I’m starting to.”

  “Good. Because that’s the only way we’ll ever be able to move forward.” I eye him hopefully. “Do you think we can clean-slate this? Forget about the past and get to know each other as adults?”

  His head jerks in a quick nod. “I think we could do that.” He nods again, slowly this time, as if his brain is working something over. “In fact…I think that’s an excellent idea.”

  37

  Brenna

  The following evening I go over to Summer’s house, because that’s how desperate I am to not think about Jake. I’m willing to walk into the lion’s den, be around Hollis and Hunter and maybe even Nate, who all think I betrayed them by sleeping with the enemy. I’m willing to deal with whatever angry words they hurl my way, because it beats obsessing and agonizing over the fact that Jake doesn’t want to be with me.

  Ironically, I would have been perfectly content hanging out with my dad tonight. After years of avoiding being in the same room as him, I’m finally excited for us to spend time together. But he had a meeting tonight. The dean of Briar is apparently interested in discussing the prospect of extending my father’s contract with the university, which he totally deserves. But that meant if I stayed home, I’d be alone. With my own thoughts.

  To my surprise, I’m not tarred and feathered the moment I walk through Summer’s door. In fact, when I poke my head into the living room, Hollis looks up from the couch and offers a preoccupied, “Hey, Jensen.”

  “That’s it? I expected a lot more yelling.”

  “Why would I yell?”

  I’m dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me? The last time we spoke, you called me a traitor.”

  “Oh. Right.” I’ve never heard him sound so blasé and uninterested. And it takes a second to realize he’s not even watching TV. He’s staring at a black screen, and his cell phone sits untouched on the coffee table.

  “What’s going on?” I demand. “Are you okay? Where are Summer and Fitz? Upstairs?”

  “No, they went to pick up the pizza. Summer refuses to get it delivered ever since the delivery kid bitched at her for giving him a five-dollar tip.”

  “Isn’t five dollars a decent tip?” If not, then I’ve been tipping pizza delivery boys wrong for years.

  “Not according to Mr. Money Bags over there.”

  I unzip my jacket and duck into the hall to hang it up before joining Hollis on the couch. His vacant stare is alarming, to say the least. “All right. What’s going on with you?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing much. Studying for finals. Rupi dumped me, but no biggie.”

  “Wait, what?” I’m genuinely shocked to hear that. “Seriously? Why did she dump you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Who cares, right?” He hops to his feet. “I’m grabbing a beer. You want one?”

  “Sure. But this conversation isn’t over.”

  “Nah, it is.”

  When he comes back and hands me a Bud Light, I’m reminded of my bowling date with Jake and how we had to choke down that watery beer. Also, it doesn’t surprise me that it’s Hollis’s beer of choice. He’s totally a Bud Light kind of guy.

  “I’m calling bullshit,” I say.

  “Bullshit on what?”

  “Bullshit on the bullshit you’re trying to feed me about not caring about Rupi. You do care. You liked her.”

  “I did not. She’s so annoying.”

  “Really? So why did you keep hanging out with her?”

  “Because I was trying to get in her pants, Brenna. Come on. Keep up.”

  “Uh-huh. So you were just trying to get laid?”

  “I was. And now I don’t have to work for it anymore. I’ve got a dozen other chicks lining up to bang me. So, good riddance.” His tone holds zero conviction.

  “Admit it, Hollis, you like her. You like her shrill voice and her bossiness and her endless chattering.”

  “I don’t,” he insists. “She’s not even my type.”

  “She’s not,” I agree. “She’s not a puck bunny with a centerfold body, or one of those plastic girls I see you hitting on at Malone’s. She’s weird and tiny and has an inexplicable amount of self-confidence.” I grin at him. “And you like her. Admit. It.”

  The tips of his ears turn red. He rakes both hands through his hair, and then glumly sticks out his chin. “She was growing on me,” he finally confesses.

  “Ha!” I say victoriously. “I knew it. So now give her a call and tell her that.”

  “No way. She dumped me.” He gazes at me in challenge. “If your little Harvard boyfriend dumped you, would you go chasing after him?”

  Laughter spills out, bordering on hysterical. But I can’t stop it. I rest my head on Hollis’s shoulder and giggle uncontrollably.

  “What’s going on right now?” he asks in confusion. “Are you high, Jensen?”

  “No. It’s just…” I giggle some more. “He did dump me.”

  Hollis straightens up in shock, bumping my head off his shoulder. His blue eyes are wide with amaz
ement. “Are you serious? Was he high?”

  “He wasn’t high, and, yes, I’m serious. He broke it off yesterday. Said he needed to focus on the tournament and his team and I was too much of a distraction, blah blah blah.”

  “That’s horseshit. I always knew Harvard men were dumbasses, but this is a whole new level of dumbassery. Has he seen you? You’re the hottest girl on the planet.”

  Even though the compliment is coming from Mike Hollis, I’m still genuinely flattered. “Thanks, Hollis.”

  He swings his arm around me. “This just confirmed everything I already knew. Harvard sucks and Connelly sucks harder.”

  “I second that,” drawls Hunter, who enters the living room with a beer in hand. He’s drinking a Founders All Day IPA—wait, why didn’t I get that option?

  I wince when I notice the cast on his left wrist. At least it’s not his right one, so he still has use of his dominant hand. And his season is over, so it’s not like he’ll be missing any games. Nevertheless, the cast triggers a rush of sympathy.

  “Hey,” I say carefully. “How’s the wrist?”

  “What? You can’t tell?” He raises his arm. “It’s broken.” But he doesn’t sound pissed. Just resigned.

  “Can I sign it?” I tease.

  “Sorry, but Hollis kind of ruined that for everyone,” Hunter answers in a dry tone. He approaches the couch to give me a better view of the cast.

  In a black Sharpie, someone drew a dick and balls.

  I sigh. “Real mature, Hollis. Also, you used a surprising amount of detail for the balls.”

  He shrugs. “Well, you know what they say.”

  I wrinkle my forehead. “No, what do they say?”

  Hunter settles in the armchair. “I’m also curious to know.”

  “For fuck’s sake. Seriously? I don’t actually have anything to add to that,” Hollis grumbles in aggravation. “Most people don’t question you when you say, ‘You know what they say.’”

  I would love to spend one day in Hollis’s brain. Just one, though. Any more than that and I’d probably get trapped in the Upside Down. “All right. You’ve dodged this enough. Why did Rupi end it?”