Willa stays behind too, keeping an eye on Rose since Em abandoned her post in favor of scrounging up food in the kitchen.
“How are you doing?” Willa asks my mom. “It’s good news, for sure, but it can’t be easy. You must have loved him, at least at some point.”
My mom shakes her head sadly. “I’m not sure love is the right word for it. My kids will tell you he’s not a lovable man; he is a controlling one, and I guess I just don’t know quite who I am, if I’m not taking orders from Grant. Being with him was easy, even though it was hard, if that makes sense?”
Willa just nods.
“But it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t fair to my children. And for that,” she looks at me, “I am so sorry.”
As if they can sense the flood gates opening, my sisters bounce back into the room. Fallon signs and Em interprets, “No tears, remember? No tears for one week. You’re on a three-day streak, Ma. You can’t break it now.”
And then my mother does the unthinkable. She laughs.
A piece of my fragmented life has fallen into place, and I’m grateful. I have a place to stay and tuition money if I choose to play another year of college hockey instead of heading to the minors. For a moment, I feel at peace. Then reality invades.
“What’s wrong, Booker? This is all good news,” Phoebe says, bringing me a smoothie.
“I know, and it is. It’s just that I miss Ian. It feels like he should be here with us, but nothing’s perfect, right?”
“I actually wanted to talk to you about Ian,” my mom tells me. “I hate to say this, but it’s only right that you know. According to my lawyer, Grant is planning to approach the university about Ian and allege misconduct on his part because of your relationship. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but maybe you can reach out to him. Let him know what’s going on?”
At my mom’s announcement, my vision blurs for a moment, and I can feel the blood rushing to my brain. God, can anyone be that spiteful? The answer is yes; my father can. And my mom’s right. The only fair thing to do is to warn Ian.
* * *
Ian
I fall into bed after a hellish day. Needing to take my mind off the shitstorm that is currently my life, I grab my phone and scroll mindlessly. I’ve been advised by the university not to post anything or report for classes during the investigation. Yep, that’s right. Booker’s father has accused me of misconduct, and the school is mandated to investigate. Fucking awesome. This is just what I need the week my thesis is due.
After a solid twenty minutes of watching mindless videos, I get a text notification. I want to delete it, to ignore it. But ignoring Booker is impossible, so I check my texts.
Booker: Just a heads up. My dad is going to try to make trouble for you at BU.
Ian: I know. Found out today.
Booker: Crap. I’m sorry, but he won’t get far. What did they say?
Ian: Just that there’s an investigation. I’m supposed to lay low for a few days.
Booker: I won’t let anything happen
Ian: It’s not up to you. I acted on my own volition.
Those three little bubbles appear and then disappear. I wonder if that’s it, if that’s the end of the conversation. But the bubbles appear again before a message comes through.
Booker: Whit said to get off the cross. We need the wood.
I can’t help it; I laugh and send back a GIF of a middle finger.
Ian: That’s for Whit
Booker: Like I was saying, I won’t let anything happen to you or your job. And it isn’t just because I love you. It’s because you did nothing wrong. We did nothing wrong. By the time I got up the courage to kiss you, I was no longer your student. You shouldn’t lose your job or your future just because you dated me. Don’t get me wrong—I’m ticked as heck at you, and I wish you crappy luck at life. I hope the drive-thru always gets your order wrong. I hope your tea is always too hot or too cold, and I hope you lose your keys at least once a week. But lose the career you’ve worked so hard for? No.
Ian: Christ. You’re even the perfect ex-boyfriend.
Booker: That’s me, overachieving at losing.
I put the phone down because if I don’t, I’ll call him just to hear his voice. I’ll tell him I’m sorry and that I love him too. I’ll beg—fucking beg—him to forgive me. But that’s not what he needs. I’m not what he needs.
