Page 80 of Play Book

“You rent half of a duplex?” she asks, her voice laced with disdain. “Didn’t you used to be a Baywatch actress or something?”

I try not to react. “Actually, I own the duplex. I live on one side and rent out the other. And Baywatch started before I was born, so no, I was never on that show.”

“Whatever.” She gets out and we walk to the front door.

The smell of paint hits us as we walk in, and she wrinkles her nose. “Do you paint at home?”

“I do. I’ll open all the windows to air the place out. I’ve been trying to create some new pieces for the gallery, so I’ve been working all week. I guess I’m oblivious to the smell.”

“Right.” She drops her backpack on the floor and looks around. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You could get a head start on your homework,” I suggest. “That way you have less to do when Canyon gets back.”

“He’s probably going to spend the weekend with you anyway,” she mutters.

“The team has a game tomorrow night,” I reply. “So probably not. He’ll need to get a good night’s sleep and then he’ll be at the arena fairly early. Do you want to go? We can probably sit in the owner’s box.”

She looks momentarily intrigued but then seems to catch herself.

“Nah. I’d rather sit with Stevie.”

Except Stevie usually sits in the owner’s box.

Well, it’s not my job to burst her bubble.

She’ll find out on her own.

TWENTY-FOUR

Canyon

The next couple of weeks are a struggle.

A struggle to keep up with everything Ally needs.

A struggle to spend time with Saylor.

A huge struggle to focus on hockey.

I’m drowning in stress, and I don’t have time for either of the two things that normally help: sex and partying with my friends.

Instead of things getting easier, they seem to be getting harder, and no matter what I do, Ally is pissed off.

We started therapy last week and she sat there sullenly, refusing to talk, merely saying there’s nothing wrong with her and she doesn’t need a shrink. There’s no doubt in my mind she heard that from her mother at some point, and for the first time since her death, I’m furious with Carly.

What the hell has she been doing all these years?

Yes, she’d developed a drug problem, but why hadn’t she reached out for help? Did she really believe that living with her broke, drug-addicted mother was the best choice for Ally?

I really wish my mother was still alive.

“Can we stop at Ulta?” Ally asks on the way home from school. “There’s a new gloss I want that’s supposed to be really good for your lips. And there’s barely any color, it’s super light.”

So far, I haven’t told her no for anything she’s asked for, but the therapist said I need to set boundaries.

“I think we should discuss an allowance,” I say. “I’ll buy food, school supplies, and all the basics, but for these kinds of extras, you’ll have to learn to budget.”

“How much of an allowance?”

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