Make It Count (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

A
LEC YAWNED AND
rubbed his eyes as he walked out of his mock trial midterm. He and Danica had argued the fuck out of the case. As predicted, the defense tried to blame the foreman, which made Alec seethe, claiming the site was improperly marked. But he was prepared with documentation that it had been. In the end, the jury—Professor Grim—had declared the prosecution the winner. Danica had jumped up and down and yelled “suck it!” at the defense.

Alec wasn’t as excited as he thought he was going to be. He was happy for the good grade, but he didn’t feel vindicated at all, like he should have been. The case had been personal, but when it was over, even if it was all fictional, there was no winner. There was a dead foreman and a woman with two teenagers sentenced to probably seven years in prison.

The part of him that wanted justice was vindicated. The personal side of him didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore. Not at drunk drivers and not at Sam MacEnroe. It was a feeling he never thought he’d have, the bitterness that had clung to his heart like a barnacle now cut off. With a Kat-hot knife.

He heard voices around the corner of the building in a shaded area but didn’t take notice until he heard that familiar voice say, “Max, please.”

His feet stopped of their own accord and his skin prickled. He closed his eyes as his best friend answered in a low deep tone, then Alec slowly turned his head and opened his eyes.

Carrie leaned with her back against the wall of the classroom building, while Max loomed over her, his forearm pressed to the faded brick above her head. Their heads were close, too fucking close, and Alec blinked, concerned in his sleep-deprived state that he was seeing a mirage.

But he wasn’t dehydrated, and this wasn’t a desert.

Nope, he was definitely witnessing some type of intimate contact between his ex-girlfriend and his
best fucking friend
.

“I can’t, Carrie. I’m sorry,” Max was saying in that soothing voice. Carrie’s face was blotchy and tear-streaked. When she raised her hand and cupped Max’s cheek, Alec felt the echo of the touch on his own skin.

And then he lost it.

“Please. Please, tell me there’s a really good explanation for this.” Alec stepped closer to them and waved his hand in their general direction.

Max leapt back from Carrie, his face white and his eyes wide. “Um . . .” he stammered while Carrie said, “Oh no.”

Alec wanted to roll his eyes, because she wasn’t even trying to find an excuse.

She wiped her eyes and stepped closer. “Alec, I’m sorry—”

He sliced his hand in the air, cutting her off. “No offense, Carrie. Actually, no, I take that back. I do mean offense and frankly, I don’t care what you have to say. This isn’t about you.”

As the words were out of his mouth, he realized they were true. As his bitterness over Sam MacEnroe had faded, so had his bitterness to Carrie. He was over her and being cheated on. It was time to grow up.

Dismissing her and ignoring her gasp of outrage, he turned to Max. Because what Max was doing? No, that could not be forgiven.

“What the fuck, Max?” Alec took another step closer.

Max swallowed and licked his lips. “Alec . . .”

Alec waited. And waited some more. Max gaped like a fish but no sound came out.

“Are you kidding me? You gave me all that shit about Kat, meanwhile you are clearly doing
something
with my ex-girlfriend?”

An odd shadow passed over Max’s face and his eyes shifted behind Alec’s shoulder, where Carrie stood.

And that look was like a kick in the balls and a punch to the temple at the same time. Knockout. But he didn’t land on a mat or grass, he landed in quicksand that was slowly pulling him under, suffocating him.

“Oh my God.” He took a step back, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his elbows to hide his face. Bent at the waist, he gasped for air. “Oh my God.” He dropped his hands to his knees and looked up at Max. “It was you.”

Max’s face had gone beyond pale and was now one step away from corpse. And he was frozen like a corpse, all rigor mortis. But his eyes, they were alive, bugged out and red.

“I’m sorry.” Max’s voice was a croaked whisper.

Alec stood, one hand wrapped around his stomach because he was sure his aching, sick guts would fall out if he didn’t. “You’re sorry?” he whispered. “You’re sorry?” He took a deep breath and shouted, “You’re fucking sorry!”

Alec heard sobbing and wiped his eyes, thinking it was him breaking down like a crazy person in the middle of campus. But when his fingers came away dry, he realized it was Carrie.

“This got so fucked up, Zuk,” Max said, hands on top of his head like he’d run a marathon. “It just—”

“If you say ‘it just happened,’ so help me, I will scream the fucking campus down right now.”

Max snapped his mouth shut. “It was one night, at a party. You weren’t there . . .” he dropped his arms and settled his hands on his hips, letting his head sag between slumped shoulders.

“Then what was this now?”

“Carrie was . . . uh . . . asking me to hang out. I said no.”

“Hang out? You mean
fuck
.” Alec’s voice sounded foreign to his ears.

Max flinched but didn’t answer.

In one long stride, Alec was in Max’s face, their matching heights giving them the opportunity to look in each other’s eyes. “How could you do that to me? You know how much she meant to me and how I felt about her.”

Max’s jaw clenched, but he shook his head.

“And then you pull this macho bullshit with Kat? You don’t even understand . . .” Alec took a deep breath. “I chose you over her. I chose you, my best friend since first grade, who I thought had my back, over Kat Caruso, the first girl I actually loved.”

Max sucked in a breath. “What?”

“Fuck you, Max. You lost the right to know anything about me or my life. Fuck. You.”

Alec wanted to punch him, do something to get this aggression out because he thought he was going to combust, but he wasn’t a violent guy and that was what Max wanted. For Alec to hit him and then they’d make up and everything would be okay.

But it wasn’t okay. And Alec wasn’t going to hit him. Instead, he turned around and walked away. He didn’t look back to see Max’s face, even when he heard his name in Max’s broken voice and Carrie’s tearful one.

As Alec walked, his swift strides quickly turned to jogging, which turned into all out sprinting by the time he reached the edge of campus.

He kept running all the way back to his town house, wishing he wore his running shoes instead of his beat up Converse. The cold air burned in his lungs, but the thump of his feet on the pavement, the familiar movement of his arms and legs and rhythm of his breath cleared his head.

Max had been acting odd since the summer. Alec had chalked it up to his strained relationship with his dad. He never thought it had something to do with
him
, and with Carrie.

But the betrayal was only one source of the sick feeling in his gut. He kept picturing Kat’s face when he denied everything in front of Max. He had seen the flash of hope in her eyes. That no matter how mad she had been at him, she’d still wanted him to claim her as his.

By the time he walked in his front door, he knew there was one place he could go to clear his head. Twenty minutes later, he had a bag packed and was starting up his clunker of a car.

It’d been a while since Alec had been home, even though he lived less than an hour from campus. When he first enrolled at Bowler, he’d thought about commuting from home, but his mom insisted he get the “full experience” of college life.

His house was a ranch in an older community of smaller homes. The down payment was provided by his father’s life-insurance policy, the rest put in an account that paid what tuition wasn’t covered by his scholarship. Alec walked up the steps to his front porch, the third stair creaking no matter how many times he fixed it.

He opened the door, taking his shoulder to it when it stuck because the wood always swelled in the winter. He’d meant to plane it last summer.

His mom was in the small galley kitchen, washing dishes. She glanced over her shoulder. “Alec? Why are you home?”

He sank into a chair and put his head in his hands, the sound of her voice like a sigh of relief. She knew him well enough to walk to the refrigerator, pour him a glass of chocolate milk, and plunk it down in front of him.

But this time, he glared at it, because all he could think about was Kat telling him it was cute. He stood up and poured it down the sink.

His mom stared at him, her fingers frozen in the middle of drying them on a kitchen towel.

He collapsed back into his chair.

“The chocolate milk not to your liking? Wrong brand maybe?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t want any.”

“Can you please tell me why you’re pouting and sulky?”

He haltingly began his Max and Kat Saga, eventually gaining speed until he was spilling his guts and cursing Max to hell and back.

His mom’s face was lined with concern. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry about Max. I can’t believe he’d do something like that. Well, I can believe it, since he admitted it. But I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t want to believe it either.”

His mom held up a cereal bar between two fingers and waggled it. He nodded and took it from her, unwrapped it and began to eat. “I don’t understand why. I’ll ask him one day, when I don’t feel the urgent desire to strangle the life out of him. And to think I didn’t go after Kat out of guilt.” He scoffed at himself.

“What are you going to do about her?”

“I don’t know. I want to blame her, I want to blame Max, hell I want to blame Carrie for all of this, but I screwed up a lot of decisions with Kat. I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t want me?”

The wrinkles around his mom’s mouth tightened. “Not every girl is like Carrie—”

“I’m not comparing her to Carrie, Mom.”

She bit her lip. “Okay, but—”

“Can we talk about something else?” He cut her off again.

She sighed loudly and leaned a hip on the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sure, if you stop interrupting me.”

He looked down at their scarred butcher-block countertop and traced a long gash he made one time while trying to chop an onion. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, feeling like a five-year-old for getting scolded.

His mom lashed out the kitchen towel she was holding and snapped him on the side of the head. “Ow!” he protested.

She grinned and went back to washing the dishes. He took the towel from her and began drying the dishes she placed in the rack.

His phone buzzed at his hip and he pulled it out, holding out hope it was Kat. But nope, it was Max. Alec purposefully declined the call, sending Max right to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message.

When they finished drying the dishes, Alec turned to head to his room.

“Alec?”

He turned around to see his mom fidgeting with the kitchen towel, wringing it through her hands. “Yeah, Mom?”

“You really care about her?”

“She’s . . . yeah, I really care about her.”
I think I might be in love with her.

His mom folded the kitchen towel and carefully placed it on the counter, smoothing it flat. “Your father was . . . a little wild when he was younger.” Alec remained motionless as she talked, her eyes still on the towel. She rarely opened up much about his father. “I turned him down every time he asked me out. But he was persistent. So stubborn.” She huffed out a laugh and raised her eyes to look at Alec. “He wore me down. He showed me how much he cared about me and how much I could trust him. After two years, I finally agreed to go out with him. He kissed me on our first date and I was his ever since. I look back now and I wish I could get those two years back.”

“Mom—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “If he were here today, he’d tell you not to give up. I know it. So, if you really want her, go after her. Show her the kind of man you are. The kind of man I know you are. Your father’s son.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. His eyes burned behind his lids and his chest felt tight, like his heart was pumping too much blood.

But he had a plan. He could work with a plan. And he wouldn’t give up. He strode to his mom and gathered her in a hug, running his hands up and down her back. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.”

She sniffed loudly and he chuckled. When he pulled back, she took his face in both of her hands. Looking into her eyes, hearing her talk about her husband, his father, with love rather than grief was enough for him to know he needed to move on.

“I’m not going to write to the parole board,” he said abruptly.

Her smile faded and her eyes darted over his face. “What?”

He shook his head to dislodge her hands. “It’s time to move on, Mom. MacEnroe is almost seventy years old now. I don’t forgive him, but I don’t have room in my head and in my heart to hate him anymore. I don’t have the energy for this all-consuming bitterness. I just . . . need to let it go. If he gets paroled, he gets paroled. If not, he can die in prison. I can’t care anymore. And I finally realized it’s not traitorous to Dad’s legacy to feel like that. From what I remember of Dad, and what you’ve told me about him, he wouldn’t want me to be this angry all the time. He’d want me to move on, fill myself with love and not all this anger.” He took a deep breath. “So that’s it. That’s my decision.”

Tears streamed down her face, incongruous with the openmouthed smile. “Oh Alec.” Her thumbs swiped his cheekbones. “You really are a man.”

“Mom . . .”

She blew out a laugh. “My father used to say that you didn’t really grow up until after your parents passed. You were always an old soul, such a serious baby. And when your father died, you were such a little man, at five years old. You used to lie in bed with me and stroke my hair while I cried . . .” She hitched sobbing breath.

“Mom—” he murmured.

“You are a man, Alec. You are a wise, loving man and if your father could see you now . . . Oh!” She gasped another breath, her shoulders shaking now with renewed sobs.