He lets out half of a laugh. “Yeah. But poor Trent. His last play, possibly ever, and he handed the ball over in a do-or-die situation.”
“Sucks,” I agree, surprised to find myself feeling a bad for the guy. “But at least he can blame the ref.”
“Yeah.” Finn rolls his eyes. “Eighty years from now, he'll be sitting in a nursing home talking about how he was robbed.”
It occurs to me that Finn really doesn't appear all that upset for someone who just lost a game, especially someone who just lost a very important one due in no small part to atrocious officiating. This is the end of his high school career. Is his head already on college ball?
“And you?” I ask. “You don't seem too bothered.”
“What am I supposed to do? Rant and curse? Break some windows?” He gives me a direct look. “It's over. I'm no longer a starting quarterback.”
“Until next fall.”
He snorts. “I'm not going to be starting at Blue Ridge.”
“Not how I heard it.”
“You believe everything you hear?” His mouth quirks a little.
“Whatever.” I could argue. I could point out that Blue Ridge State's current starter is graduating, that his backup took a career-ending hit two weeks ago, and that because they have absolutely no one in training Finn actually does have a good shot at starting for them even as a true freshman. But doing that would prove I know this crap. Which might imply I care. Which I don't.
We trade a glance and I get the distinct feeling he sees more than he lets on.
“Did you cheer?” he asks.
“Every sack.”
He grins. “At least you were paying attention.”
When we get to his house, his truck's still alone in the driveway. “Your mom still at the field?” I ask.
“Nah, she never goes to the games.” With a shrug he starts up the driveway. “It's not a lack of support. She just can't handle seeing me get hit.”
He goes into the house and turns on the light in the den, but heads straight for the stairs as soon as the switch is flipped. “I'm hitting the shower,” he says.
“Please don't tell me I have to wait with the teddy bears. They're freaky.”
Something passes across his features. Something I recognize, although I never would have thought to see it on Cooper Finnegan's face. Not directed toward me.
My heart races but he doesn't invite me to join him in the shower. “You can wait in my room.”
“Okay,” I squeak.
“Just try not to freak out my girlfriend,” he adds.
My feet stop on the steps. Girlfriend? Why does that thought make me feel ill?
“Or her brother,” he goes on, continuing up. “He's easy to freak out.”
“Squeamish in-laws?” I trudge behind him as he turns down a hallway. “Bummer.”
He opens a door and then heads up another flight of stairs. Above us, there's a lot of scratching and what sounds like clucking.
“Oh, speak again, bright angel,” Finn says in a sing-song voice. “For thou art as glorious to this night, being over my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven.”
Shakespeare? Is Cooper Finnegan quoting Shakespeare? To a chicken?
There's a night light illuminating a room that would be a lot less cramped were it not for the large amount of real-estate dedicated to a mansion of a ferret cage.
Finn turns the overhead light on. “It is the east and Juliet is the sun.”
He goes straight to the cage, opening the door for a mass of fur desperate to be let out. It scurries up his arm and he cuddles it against his chest. “Missed you too, Juliet.”
He clears his throat and looks over the squirming bundle of ferret to me. “This is Juliet. The less spastic one's Romeo.”
Romeo's still in the cage, although he's come to the door. He looks at me with what I take to be distrust. Not that I'm an expert on the expressions of weasels.
“My sister named them,” Finn says, distancing himself from responsibility on that score. “Just before she decided she didn't want ferrets after all and gave them to me.”
“Poor critters,” I mumble, staring back at Romeo.
He crawls from the cage, walks calmly up to me, and bats at my boot lace.
“Wow. He usually doesn't take to strangers.”
Usually doesn't take to strangers? I move my stare to Finn. “He's touching me.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “That's weird too.”
I don't know if I want to hit him or just cry.
“I'm going to take a shower.” Finn bends to put Juliet down. “Don't pick Romeo up, he's scared of heights.”
“Scared of heights?” I repeat numbly.
“But not ghosts.” Finn shrugs again. “Go figure.”
He goes to the dresser and starts to pull some things out.
“You're not at all curious as to why your pets can touch me?” I shriek. I don't mean to shriek, it just happens that way.
“Of course I am,” he responds with truly annoying calm. “But talking about it won't help. And meanwhile, I'm dirty and in a lot of pain. I want a shower. A very long and very hot one.”
“Pain?” I latch on to. “From what?”
He looks somewhat hurt by the question. “I thought you were watching the game.”
I roll my eyes and smother the memory of the terror I felt after that hit we heard in the stands, when he was lying motionless on the field. “You were knocked around. So what? You were wearing a ton of padding.”
He just stares for a few seconds, then tosses his clean clothes up onto the bed and grabs the edge of his shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal a smorgesboard of burgeoning bruises. “The pads lessen impact. They don't take it away.”
Okay. Maybe he wasn't just being whiny.
“Why do you do that?” I have to ask, my hand drifting toward him.
His eyes tighten on my motion. “I love it.”
“You're a masochist,” I conclude.
“Tell me something I don't know.”
My fingers brush across his chest, even though I don't remember walking closer to him. I go still, my hand against his flesh. He's completely motionless, not even breathing, but his heart beat is strong, alive.
He moves back. “Don't do that.”
My eyes are on his chest. On the hand print on his chest. On the one patch of completely unmarred skin.
“Finn-”
“Don't,” he snaps.
“Don't what? Don't heal your frigging injuries?”
His eyes narrow. “Don't touch me.”
“What?”
“I don't want you to touch me,” he growls.
“Fine!” I give him a disgusted look. “It's not like I want to touch you anyway, you conceited asshole.”
I stomp down the stairs and pass through the attic door. Apparently it's not as old as the rest of the house.
For some reason, I expect Finn to come after me. But he doesn't. At least not before I fling open the front door, slam it shut again, and storm up the street.
Chapter Eleven
I stop a block up, may eyes widening. I opened the door. And shut it again. Apparently, I don't need to concentrate on doing these things if I'm angry. Cooper Finnegan's lucky I didn't bust any of his windows.
I'm glad I didn't hurt the ferrets though.
More sedate, I walk toward downtown, though I don't get far before lethargy presses itself down on my body. My feet drag and I have to give up well before I get anywhere. I creep into a stranger's house and collapse on the couch.
I need to stop doing this. I need a home. I'm too tired to cry or I would.
I fall asleep and the next thing I know, my sister is sitting on me, talking to a friend of hers. Great, of all the houses in Pine Ridge I had to pick one belonging to a cheerleader.
One of the interchangeable blondes nods sympathetically. “Boys are idiots.”
“Amen and hallelujah.” I move so Bobbi's not in the middle of my stomach. Sh
e's trembling but I'm not sure it's from my chill. Her eyes are rimmed with red. Her cheeks are mottled and puffy. Her hair's sloppily tied into a loose ponytail. She doesn't have a hint of makeup on. And I'm pretty sure she's wearing one of her sleep shirts, sans bra. What could shake her up enough to make her leave the house like this?
“He wouldn't even talk to me,” she whispers. “Said he didn't want anything to do with any of my family.”
“Freak sister strikes again, huh?”
Bobbi's eyes narrow at the blonde, a lethal look I haven't seen since Rain decided all the Barbies in the house, even Bobbi's, needed makeovers and dyed their hair purple. Her friend holds up her hands in surrender. “Sorry. You're the only one who can call her that.”
“Darn skippy.” Bobbi takes a shaky breath while I stare at her. That came close to defending me.
“Still...” the friend trails.
“Yeah.” Shaking her head, Bobbi draws her knees up to her chest, hugging them. “Drew did something.”
“Won't admit what?” the friend hazards.
“Of course not.” Bobbi gives a little smile, one I'd describe as fond if I didn't know any better. “Claimed she'd never do anything to come between me and Finn because we deserve each other.”
Her friend brightens. “Well, you do.”
Bobbi gives her a funny look. “She didn't mean it in a good way.”
The blonde seems confused. Probably happens a lot. “Oh?”
“I shouldn't have gone over there.” Bobbi lays her cheek on her knee. “I just wanted to cheer him up. I thought he wasn't at the party because he was depressed about the game. I didn't think he was just trying to avoid me.”
New tears slide from her eyes. The trails from the last ones haven't had time to vanish yet.
“Don't cry over him,” I tell her gently. “He's not worth it.”
“He wasn't trying to avoid you,” Bobbi's friend says, leaning over to place a hand on Bobbi's shoe. The sneaker's perfectly white, immaculate, but the precisely threaded laces are tied in messy loops that are on the verge of completely unraveling. Just like Bobbi. “He was upset about the game and lashed out, that's all.”
The sniffle of response is possibly the ugliest sound my middle sister has ever made.
“Come on.” The friend stands up. “We'll go to Smokies. Nothing like a double chocolate malt and a cheeseburger to sooth an aching heart.”
Bobbi tries to laugh. “I look like crap.”
“No, sweetie. You look tragic. Guys go for tragic.”
I snort. Although, truthfully, on Bobbi tragic probably does work. Boys will flock to her, trying to soothe her hurts and protect her fragile emotions.
“Can I borrow some eyeliner?” Bobbi asks. Which kind of cheers me up because her heart can't be too broken if she's worried about eyeliner.
Folding my arms, I look out the cheerleader's window while I wait for her and Bobbi to come back downstairs. Cooper Finnegan made my baby sister cry. And I'm upset about it? Shouldn't I be cheering him on? I'm getting sentimental in my death.
When Bobbi gets back, she's wearing more than borrowed eyeliner. Drowning under foundation and blush and eyeshadow, she looks almost clownish. She looked better before, red eyes and all, but she'd never believe me.
I follow the girls to Smokies, the local hangout. It's not the only place in town for burgers, we also have a McDonald's and a Burger King, but it's the only place for video games and pool. The place is too crowded for morning, so I must have slept all the way to lunch. Bobbi spies some of her other friends and rushes over to direct the conversation toward her tragic status. If she has to be depressed, she's going to milk it for all it's worth.
I'm about to leave when I realize Bobbi isn't the only McKinney here. The other me's in a corner. With Cris. Did he cancel on the other girl or has he just not left yet? I slide into the booth next to him to try to find out.
“I see your sister hasn't died of heartbreak,” Cris says, jerking his chin toward Bobbi's table. He's clearly been briefed on some of what happened last night.
TOM looks over her shoulder and makes a disgusted sound. “Why mope alone at home when you can have an audience?” She takes a bite out of a massive bacon cheeseburger while I eye the sandwich with longing. Not getting hungry, I don't think of food too much. But when I do, I miss it.
“Is she really upset?” Cris frowns across the room.
TOM shrugs. “Who knows?” she mumbles with her mouth full.
“And why do you care?” I mutter, knowing the answer and hating it.
Cris doesn't say anything as he runs a fry ever so slowly through a pool of ketchup, his gaze still on Bobbi. I wave my hand over his eyes, even though it's pointless. “Snap out of it, you dumb hick.”
The other me curses. “And speak of the frigging devil. I swear he's stalking me. Doesn't want anything to do with my family, my ass.”
Cooper Finnegan stands at the entrance, looking right at us. His stance is tense, his eyes pinched. He looks pissed. An answering anger swells inside of me. Turning sharply, he slams out the doors.
With long, aggressive strides I go after him, catching up by his truck, a large but aging blue Ford with a toolbox in back and Blue Ridge State mud flaps over the wheels. He's waiting for me, his arms folded and his face filled with fury. “I was worried about you, Drew.”
“I'm fine.” I stop few feet shy of him and echo his pose.
“I can see that.”
“My sister, on the other hand...” My hands bunch into fists. “You stood Bobbi up and then yelled at her when she was worried about you?”
“Stood her-” He cuts off when he realizes he's yelling and lowers his voice to a hiss. “I did not stand her up.”
“Didn't you? So you did go to that party last night?”
“No, I was too busy looking for you.”
I stare. He was looking for me? “I fell asleep.”
“Convenient.”
Convenient? Not a word I'd use. Passing out all the bloody time is the opposite of convenient. But I'm not going to be distracted by that. “You were mad at me, so you decided to hurt Bobbi?”
He glares at me for several moments, then sighs. “I didn't mean to hurt Bobbi.”
“Well, you did.”
“Well, I'm sorry!”
My eyes squeeze shut and I count to ten.
“It's not like I had a date with her,” Finn says calmly. “I didn't stand her up.”
“You're talking semantics, Finn. I woke up this morning on her friend's couch listening to my baby sister sobbing. Because of you.” I open my eyes to see him leaning against his truck, watching me, his expression softer than before.
“I didn't mean to hurt her,” he repeats.
I nod, believing him. He just wasn't thinking. Bobbi's friend was right, boys are idiots.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks.
I look back at him. The green in his eyes stands out more than usual, almost drowning the browns and golds. Is he one of those people whose eyes change with their moods? What mood is this? “Apologize for yelling at her? She didn't deserve that.”
His gaze drops to the asphalt.
“She didn't.” Though when he still doesn't answer, I start to wonder, “Did she?”
Pushing off the truck, he starts back inside the restaurant.
“Finn?” He doesn't stop, but he does glance back toward me. “Am I missing something?” I ask, pretty sure I am.
“No. I'm a sadistic ass with no explanations for anything I do.” That's the sort of statement I should agree with, but my gut twists. Finn sighs, his shoulders falling limp. “I'm going to apologize for yelling at Bobbi.”
“Okay...” I follow him in, a few steps back. “I'll just give you some space...”
Although why I'm giving him space when her friends crowd closer to Bobbi when they notice his approach, I don't know. I drift over to the other me, who notices Finn approaching the pity party. And notices the glance he gives me just b
efore he gets to Bobbi. And completely misinterprets it, thinking he's looking at her and Cris.
Next to Cris, I watch my one-time nemesis shuffle before my sister. He says something that makes her rise from her seat and prance over to a less populated section. He looks at me again, his expression guarded.
“I swear, he's been like this all week!” The other me sends a sneer of disgust Finn's way.
“And you haven't done anything to deserve it?”
TOM snorts. “Like what? Send him love letters? No, I haven't.”
“You want me to do something about it?” Cris subjects another fry to his pool of ketchup while keeping his eyes across the room.
“Like what?” I ask, alarmed. I reach to grab Cris's arm, forgetting for a second that I can't. My fingers pass through his flesh and I'm the one who shivers.
TOM slumps a little. “All he's doing is looking at me.”
“Can't hold that against him.” Cris gives her a long leer.
I don't laugh with TOM.
Finn meets my eyes across the room, looking at me over Bobbi's head as she talks. Something in his expression makes me shiver again. Finn's gaze moves down to my sister and my breath catches when his hand goes to her chin, tipping her head up.
I'm completely certain he's going to kiss her, but he doesn't. He just talks to her while I stare at them. Then, after an eternity, he lets go of her face and walks around her. He gives her a wide, charming, smile that fades the second he's past her.
Sporting a goofy grin, Bobbi bounces back to her friends, who shriek at whatever she tells them.
Finn's eyes focus on me before he turns for the door. He's far enough away that I can't be certain, but I think they've gone almost entirely brown.
I run after him. He's not waiting for me this time, but unlocking his truck door as I rush up. “What was that?”
“I was nice to your sister.” He opens the door.
“Were you?” Somehow, I really don't think he was.
He raises his eyebrows as he climbs into the truck. “She seemed to think so.”
I glower. “Stringing her along isn't a kindness.”
For a few seconds, he just looks at me. Then he grins in a way that's neither kind nor nice. “Who says I'm stringing her along?”
I'd Rather Not Be Dead Page 8
