Page 96 of Beautiful Collide

Am I hallucinating? Did someone replace Molly with her nicer, less terrifying twin?

My mom lets out a little sigh of what can only be described as pure happiness. It’s over. I’m fucked. Mom might adopt Molly on the spot. Then I’ll hit the news headlines with a new scandal. The hockey player who screwed his sister.

Molly reaches across the table and squeezes Mom’s hand. Mom hasn’t paid a lick of attention to either Dad or Anna. She must’ve had a hard time choosing her seat—sit next to Molly and bask in her “greatness” up close or sit across from Molly and see her in all her glory.

Molly merely tilts her head, all innocence.

What is this girl up to?

I narrow my eyes slightly, doubt settling.

“Um. Are we talking about Hudson?” Anna chimes in.

Great, now I havebothof them ganging up on me. It’s two against one, and I’m a goalie without pads. Fantastic.

“Yup.” Molly casts a glance my way. “Hudson.”

I don’t understand what’s happening. Anna gave Molly a way to attack me, but she didn’t. No one here knows about the bet. It would be the perfect moment for her to take me down without her brother or anyone on the team ever knowing.

I’m waiting for the punchline, but it’s not coming. This is uncharted territory.

It’s unsettling. Like catching Coach Robert smile.

Lost in my thoughts, I only pick up bits and pieces of the conversation taking place. From what Idomanage to hear, Molly is basically making me sound like the next Gretzky. I feel like a deer staring down a hunter. Any second now, she’ll pull the trigger.

My dad beams at her words. “We’re so proud of him. He’s worked so hard to get here.”

“Absolutely,” Molly agrees, smiling warmly.

She’s never nice to me. Never. Is this reverse psychology? Am I supposed to insult her back?

It feels like I’m in a fever dream. Like I’ve wandered into an alternate reality where Molly Sinclair is my biggest fan. Or maybe I’m on a hidden camera show where everyone’s in on the joke except me.

The whole meal is a blur. She spends appetizers raving about my playing style, the main course ranting about how the Saints need to bump up my salary ASAP, and dessert bellowing about the media’s antics.

If this is Molly’s way of catching me off guard, it’s working.

I’m officially off-balance.

It can’t possibly be real, but when my parents get up to leave, I hang back, needing to know why. Why she’s doing this. Whythe Molly I know—the one who could slice me in two with her words—has suddenly turned into my biggest cheerleader.

As soon as my family is out of earshot, I block her path to the exit, my voice low. “All right, Hex. What’s your game here?”

Molly tilts her head, her smile softening into something I can’t quite read. “Maybe I just wanted to be nice for a change.”

I snort. “You? Nice? Forgive me if I’m not buying it.”

Her smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow just a fraction. “Maybe you should try it sometime. Being nice might actually suit you.”

And there it is.

A spark of the Molly I know. The Molly who doesn’t just push my buttons but installs new ones just to press them.

I sit back, crossing my arms. “If this is you being nice, I think I liked you better when you were mean.”

I don’t mean it, though. I’m just . . . uncomfortable. Like I’m stuck in limbo, unsure how to process the past ninety minutes. I feel like I’ve missed some pivotal moment when Molly decided she doesn’t actually hate me.

And if I’m really being honest, I want to know how—so I can do it again. Over and over.

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