Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (73 page)

“Either you'll move back in here and say goodbye to Florian or we're done.”

“You'd give up on me?” I asked. “Just for that?”

“I gave your mother the same choice when she started drinking again, and she chose alcohol over you. Don't make the same mistake, Abigail.”

“This is different,” I said, but I could see the look in his eyes. It was going to take something big, huge, to change his mind. He truly believed this was the same, that Flor was a drug. At times, he'd felt like one, but I was in love with him. I wasn't giving him up.

“Dad,” I started again, but he cut me off, moving across the kitchen and getting too close for comfort.

“Do you want people to look at you differently for the rest of your life? Do you want to be judged? Ridiculed? You won't be accepted if you do this. It isn't right.”

“Honestly, Art,” Addi said, moving into the room and taking my hand in hers. “If we all lived our lives in fear of that, we'd still be building houses out of mud and thatch. Patrick and I wouldn't be together right now, and Theo and Yuu,” she glanced over at me as my dad cringed, “wouldn't be out looking fabulous. I know you love your daughter and want what's best for her, but really, and you know I don't say this lightly, I think the best might be Flor.”

Addi exhaled and shook her hands out, like the words had physically pained her. She wasn't big on speeches and even less so on 'mushy, heartfelt crap', but she was here and she supported me, so I considered myself lucky.

My dad didn't look impressed.

“I appreciate the fact that you want to support your friend, Addison, but I'm sorry. A few well chosen words aren't going to change my mind on the matter.” He paused when his phone rang and frowned at the caller ID before answering. “Art Sharp speaking.”

I watched the change in his face, watched it morph from bad to worse.

His stricken expression made me feel dizzy.
What now?
As if the situation wasn't bad enough already.

That big thing, that huge one, that I needed to make him see, it had just happened.

Too bad it was impossible for me to be happy about it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I found Flor waiting in the parking lot of the hospital, sitting on the hood of the silver Mazda he'd had since he was eighteen. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, but it was hard for me to appreciate them given the circumstances. When he glanced up at me, I looked down, staring into the blue eyes of the vampire girl on his right forearm; it was easier to stare at her than to try and decipher the expression on his face.

“She won't see me?” he asked, and I shook my head. My stepmom, always slender and chic and put together, had been a wreck, lying in that hospital bed with a faraway look that made it easy to forgive her for the things she'd said about me earlier today.
This is not just Florian's fault. Maybe your daughter seduced him? Did you ever think of that?
The family fight of the century felt like it'd taken place weeks ago, not hours.

“She started to cry when I went in,” I said, trying not to feel hurt by her rejection. I swallowed hard against the emotions. Today had been so full of angst and frustration and yes, an overwhelming sense of love for Florian. He hadn't backed down, not even against his mother or the wild flying fists of my father. He'd declared his love for me blatantly and without apology. I would've smiled, but the situation didn't really allow for it. The air was humid and heavy, yet somehow it was still freezing cold outside. I guess winter really was on its way. “My dad literally told me to get the fuck out.”

My head snapped up as Flor's boots scraped across the pavement and he came over to stand next to me, putting his hands on my upper arms. I shivered at the sudden rush of warmth and finally gathered the courage to look up into those beautiful eyes of his. They had this oh so subtle slant to them that made me wonder where Flor's father had been from. He definitely hadn't gotten those from Gram Gram's Germanic heritage.

“No more little sister?” he asked softly and this time, I knew he wasn't talking about me.

I shook my head.

“No more little sister,” I said, wondering if he'd be angry with me. River's miscarriage was not our fault. I knew that because I'd been standing there when the doctor said it, when he'd assured my dad that the stress of today wasn't to blame. According to him, women over forty have a one in two chance of late term miscarriage. Unfortunately, my dad didn't seem to see it that way. When he'd told me to leave, his voice laced with heartache, I'd seen it in his eyes. I was terrified of seeing that same look in Flor's.

I watched him closely as he brushed a loose strand of hair over my shoulder. In those emerald eyes, I saw guilt and frustration and maybe a little bit of shame, but I didn't see anger.
He doesn't blame me.
I licked my lips nervously.

“Flor, I'm sorry,” I said, but he was already shaking his head, bracketing my face between his warm hands. His scent washed over me, mixing with the damp smell of rain and storm that was clinging to the air around us. Flor leaned down and looked me straight in the face.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Abi.” I tried to nod, but Flor held me firmly in place. “Abigail, don't. Don't blame yourself for what happened today.” Flor sighed and released me, running his hands down my upper arms, just like he'd done that night three years ago, outside of a party I never should've been at. “Even if my mom hadn't found us out, she still would've lost the baby, and this fight would've happened anyway, down the line somewhere.”

“I know,” I said, leaning into him, relishing the warmth of Flor's body, “but the hope is gone, Flor. My dad will never forgive me for this. Never.”

“If your dad's too stubborn to realize that this wasn't our fault, that you're so worth loving even my presence shouldn't be able to diminish his affections for you, then he's an idiot.” Flor touched my chin and made me look at him again. “And Abi, now that we're together, you have to know, the hope … it's always there.”

Flor pressed his lips to mine, softly, sweetly, gently.

He was right, of course, but only time would tell if my father could see it that way.

I squinted at the test tube in front of me, filled with wheat germ, warm water, and dish soap. The top layer was entirely alcohol, drawing up little white strands of DNA that were supposed to be put on a slide and inserted into the microscope at my elbow. Don't ask what wheat germ DNA has to do with forensic science; it's a mystery to me, too.

I was paired up with Camo Girl again, doing my best to ignore her mumbling and her ridiculously over the top flirting with our instructor. He was kind of a jerk anyway, but I wasn't sure if I'd wish this girl on anyone. In the last thirty minutes, she'd already managed to break two glass beakers and come
this close
to spilling boiling hot water on my bare arm.

I finished the sketch in my lab book and took a step back, watching as she inserted a pipette and sucked up some of the liquid. I wasn't surprised when she splashed the majority of it on the countertop instead of the slide. I took the opportunity to check my phone while she fumbled around, and saw that there was a text from Flor.

And also one from my dad.

Holy crap.

It'd been two weeks since we'd been outed. And two weeks since my stepmother's miscarriage.

In that entire time, neither River nor my father had contacted either of us. Flor had tried to see her, but she'd refused to see him; she wouldn't even let him into the house. I tried to tell Flor that it wasn't his fault, that she just wasn't ready to see anyone, but I knew it was killing him inside. And my dad? Well, his stress response usually went like this: rage, silence, acceptance. I kept thinking I could wait him out, that eventually he'd at least agree to see me, but I too was being shunned. I'd even gone so far as to make an appointment at his office, but his secretary had called an hour later to tell me it was cancelled.

It wasn't fair, but it was my life. And Flor was worth it. Just
being
with him made me happy.

Please come to the house tonight around five.

That's all I had from my dad, no explanation. Truth be told, the words terrified me.
This is it. He's cutting me off. No more apartment, no more tuition money, no more car.

No more Dad.

Flor's text confirmed my fears.

Mom says we need to talk. 6 tonite. Meet @ the shop after schl?

I told him I'd be there and put the phone back in my pocket.

I'd be there, but first I needed to survive another hour with my lab partner.

On Bent Wings was busy, as usual, crowded with girls lounging on the couches and flipping through the artists' portfolios like they were actually considering getting something. From past experience, I knew most of them were just there to flirt or find someone to fuck, but I didn't care anymore. As soon as I walked in that door, Flor only had eyes for me. That, and he was tattooing a very large, very hairy older man. Pretty sure there was no chance of that going anywhere.

The buzz of needles greeted me as I moved up to the counter and let Flor's warm smile wash over me. The black latex of his gloves clashed beautifully with the brightness of the tattoos on his arms, making me feel all lightheaded and giddy. He'd worn those gloves once, touched me with them in places low.
Crap, I think I just flooded my basement,
as Theo might say.

“You got a text, too, didn't you?” he asked, barely looking up from the unicorn tattoo he was inking on the man's thigh. It was certainly … an odd piece, even though Flor's art style did it justice.

“Yep,” I said, feeling the eyes of the other girls crawling all over me. As soon as Max walked in though, their attention shifted. I smiled at him and he smiled back. It was still a little tight between us, but Flor was (mostly) staying at his own place (oftentimes with me) and Max was still dating Rhonda. We'd even managed to have dinner together at Plank Town, the four of us with Addi and Patrick. Things were looking up in that department at least. It takes strong freaking friendships to withstand shit like this.

“Dinner at the family abode,” Max said with a shake of his head as paused next to Flor and leaned in to assess his work. “I don't envy you that.”

“As long as Art doesn't hit me again, I think I can deal,” Flor said, trying to keep his voice light. But there was, somewhere deep down in there, an undercurrent of hope and desperation. He wanted his mom back; I wanted my dad back. I prayed to whatever gods would listen that tonight was the night. Couldn't quite imagine my dad smiling over the dinner table at me and Flor, but I prayed anyway.

“Do you think this is … do you think they're going to forgive us?”

Flor shrugged slightly but kept his attention focused on his work, wiping at the tattoo and starting in on the unicorn's horn.

“There's nothing to forgive, Abi,” he said, but he didn't entirely sound like he believed that.

I sighed and turned around, leaning against the counter and trying not to daydream about Flor and me doing it right here, in this shop. Not the best time for dirty thoughts, not with family stuff clogging up the radar. At least Gram Gram was cool with our being together. She'd actually sent us both a check for thirty-nine bucks, the sum of our ages. Oh, and the memo line had read
great grandchild please.

My lips quirked a little, but the expression died quickly. If this conversation went south, like the other one had, then I was potentially homeless. And so were Addi and Patrick. And I wouldn't have enough money to stay in school. Flor could support us okay, but I wanted an education. I wanted to stay in my apartment.

I wanted our family back.