“The blade on his skate was bent. By a machine. I just got word.” Gregg’s dad shifts his feet, and I can feel how restless he is.
“This is crazy,” I say. “Why would anyone do that to Gregg?”
“Probably because he’s the best.” Alec says. “Maybe Hamilton wanted to guarantee a win.”
“That’s beyond messed up,” Gregg says.
“We’ll see what the Division Board and the police find out.” Mr. Slicer is all authority. “We’ll know more soon, I’m sure. For now, Gregg should rest.” Today is the first time in years I’ve heard Gregg’s parents call him by his first name, which cements the gravity of this situation. “Alec, would you let your teammates know he’ll be fine in no time? Most of them are downstairs, clogging up the waiting room. You can send Coach up. And Zephyr, thank you for coming. Tell your mom and d—” He lets the word hang.
“I will.” I move to Gregg and kiss him on the head, in that place where Rachel Slicer always kisses me.
On my way home, Alec holds my hand as I call Mom and fill her in on Finn and Gregg. Just bringing her up to speed propels me into a new exhaustion, but I’m glad the news for both of them is ultimately good. At home, Alec holds me for a long time before I get out of his car. “Everything will be all right,” he tells me. And I want to believe him. I find Finn in my bed and snuggle him so tight our bodies warm one another.
My fingers play with my phone, my thumb hovering over Dad’s number. I want to make good on my promise to Mr. Slicer. I want to share the news that Gregg will be okay. And I want Dad to know about our scare with Finn.
And I would call him if we could only talk about Finn and Gregg. But I can’t make room for the other stuff we need to talk about.
When Finn falls asleep, I go to my closet and pull out the Box of Dad. Inside, there’s a handful of Classic Car magazines and his acrylic paintbrushes. And the picture of me he kept on his desk, the one where I’m on a slide and Dad’s shadow stretches out in the photo so I know he was the one ready to catch six-year-old me. I gathered these things when he left because I didn’t want to lose all of him. Then. And still.
When the phone rings I reconnect with Alec and his comfort. His safety.
Chapter 21
Alec drives the familiar roads of Sudbury but it’s a secret as to where he’s taking me. We stayed up too late on the phone last night, unable to break our bond after a day twisting in our combined worry over Finn and Gregg. But there’s no room in the simmer of my excitement to feel tired now.
Alec turns onto a wooded dirt road, his lights catch on a giant white sign: FUTURE HOME OF APPLE BLOSSOM LUXURY VILLAGE. He drives carefully over the rutted road. “I’m not buying a condo, in case you’re wondering.”
I chuckle. “Good to know.”
He leans closer to his windshield, peers out. “Construction stopped out here a while ago. My mother’s the developer and she put things on hold because of the economy.”
“You come here a lot?”
“It was my secret place before I met you.”
“What’s your secret place now?”
His eyes flicker. “Don’t laugh?”
“What?” I say, too much laughter in the word.
“Nice,” he mocks.
I straighten my face, my posture. “Okay, try again. I’ll be good.”
“You,” he says.
“Me what?”
“You’re kind of my secret place now.”
I stare at him. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
We drive in silence down the narrowing dirt path until we are face-to-face with an abandoned front loader. It waits against the tree line, its headlights and front bucket looking like a giant yellow smile. But when Alec cuts the engine, the machine disappears and darkness drapes over us like a villain’s cloak.
“We’re here.”
“We are?” There is no here here.
Alec rotates to face me, raises his hand to my cheek, caresses my jaw line. I feel his calluses, rough and bumpy against my smooth skin. He turns on the cabin light, casting away the darkness of this secluded place. “I’m glad it’s just you and me tonight. No more drama. Everyone’s going to be okay and we can just be. Here together.”
“I’m glad too.”
“Good. Because I hate sharing you.”
“I know what you mean.” My voice is low now, the tone made for Alec. It’s my voice, but filled with steam, a low, bubbling heat that syrup-coats my words.
Alec smoothes the run of my collarbone with his thumb, rubs the length of it, his eyes fixed on its confident rise. “Even though I see you every day it’s not enough.”