A tear slides down my cheek, and I sniffle. Fuck, I hate myself for making the sound because I know Dad heard me.
“Alexei—”
“So what does Mom want for her birthday?” I push out to change the subject.
Dad must know it’s a bullshit thing because her birthday isn’t until March.
“Have you seen that therapist again?” he asks, unwilling to go along with my redirect.
Fuck, no. Every time I chat with her, it feels like she’s manipulating me to accept the unacceptable. That he’s gone. Forever.
“Nah,” I force out. “But maybe I’ll shoot her an email and set up an appointment.”
Another lie. I’ve told so many fucking lies recently that I’m starting to think maybe a liar is all I am. I try to stifle my pain.
Dad says, “Well, your mom really wants a hot tub, so you might have that to look forward to when you get home.”
“Oh, really?”
“An inflatable one. We didn’t suddenly win the lottery. I’m sure a lot of your new friends have real ones.”
“Whatever. She’ll love that.” A smile tugs at my lips because it reminds me of how Dad was when I was growing up. How we always made do with what we had. But sadly, even that brings up more memories with Nick. During the holidays, opening one of our many Christmas presents—most likely purchased at garage sales and thrift stores, but we didn’t care or know any better. We were just excited to share them with each other. Funny how even an attempt to change the subject still leads me back to him. Feels like everything does. “Maybe there’s a hot-tub accessory I can grab for her,” I say, still fighting back the tears. Fuck, I’m about to lose it. “You know what, Dad, I have a bit of work to do. Kind of got behind by hanging with some friends over the weekend. You mind if I call you later?”
“Of course. I’m glad to hear you’re spending time with friends. Give me a call when you can. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
It’s the sort of thing we make sure to say because we never know when we might not see each other again.
After I hang up, I’m all teary-eyed, knotted up with tension. I grab my bag and head to the library.
I wasn’t lying to him when I said I needed to catch up on schoolwork. Between spying on the Sinners and my own mission with Matteo, I’m behind. But instead of working, I sit at a desk along the wall on the third floor for about an hour with my Brit Lit textbook open, my laptop screen with the images from the Saints’ notebook pulled up. My chat with Dad reminded me how important this is.
In my periphery, I notice someone moving toward me, and I quickly close my laptop.
“Relax, it’s just me.” Matteo stops beside me. He’s got a five-o’clock shadow and bags under his eyes. The guy can even make those bags look sexy. And the way he’s looking at me, I figure I’m the reason he’s got them. “Got a minute to talk?”
I turn back to my work. “I don’t know that we have anything to talk about.”
“Please, man.”
A part of me wishes he’d ignored me, as though I were some kind of weirdo. But another part is relieved we’re talking again. We head to a study room, where we’ll have more privacy. I set my bag in one of the chairs at the table that takes up most of the space. I stay on my feet as Matteo pulls out a chair and sits.
Not for the first time since we’ve known each other, an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air. Along with the facial hair and the bags under his eyes, his hair’s messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it.
“I like the scruffy look,” I tell him, since I must admit, it’s kinda sexy.
He glares at me, then looks away, so I ask the obvious question: “How did you know I’d be here?”
“I was already doing some research, and I’ve seen that’s your spot, so I checked to see if you were there.”
He noticed that’s my spot? That shouldn’t excite me, but for some reason it does. Probably because a part of me wishes we could be friends.
We’re back to uncomfortable silence, and I’d rather just talk through it, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “You gonna join us for the pickup game tomorrow?”
“Alexei, I’m trying to figure out how to deal with this. I don’t want to push or pry. I sure as fuck don’t know that I’m handling this the right way, but I’m really worried about you.”
“That a no for the game?”
