Page 64 of I Blame the Club

My mother huffs, “What a ridiculous question. Your sister and I have already discussed what outfits to wear. The face paint is still in debate because it was so messy last time.”

“The ridiculous question is why a mother and her teenage daughter would wear face paint in public.”

She laughs, “Now we have to wear it.”

Shaking my head with a smile, I walk over to the tiny desk pushed against the far wall and sit on the edge. Silence stretches between us and I feel the uncomfortable truth start to make its way to the surface.

“Mom, I think I might be-

“I’m taking your sister to New York.”

My mouth snaps shut as my brain registers the shift in her tone.

“What?”

She sighs, “Your sister is not doing well. I didn’t want to tell you before the big game next weekend but she’s been struggling with school and that boyfriend of hers is causing unnecessary drama.”

My jaw clenches, “I thought you said things were good.”

“They are good, just not with Stella.” She pauses as though sensing my darkening mood, “We are going to have a little getaway, buy some fabulous clothes, and things will be right as rain.”

Protectiveness surges through me, “I can fly home.”

“As much as I would love to see you, I have to say no. Stella and I are flying out tomorrow and you need to focus on this upcoming tournament. You don’t want all that training and hard work to go to waste.”

I bite my cheek, smothering the urge to argue, “Fine.”

“I can’t wait to see you next weekend.” She sighs, “Stella isn’t the only one who has missed you.”

“I miss you too.”

My mother blows me a kiss through the phone, “I better let you go. Take care of yourself and I’ll see you next weekend. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Hanging up, I shake my head and look at the black screen of my phone in disgust.

Jonathan was right. I’m not strong enough.

1 week later…

“Did you hear some of the guys are calling you Mighty Mo?” Brett grins, pulling his lacrosse jersey over his head, “Something about your popularity with the lacrosse bunnies.”

Grabbing my helmet from the locker, I turn to him with a smirk, “And what do the guys call you?”

“Fuck you.”

Brett grabs his water bottle and sprays me, making me jump back with a laugh. We have an hour to kill before warm-up starts and most of my teammates are buzzing with nerves. I’m feeling excited but in control, the perfect combination of adrenalin and anticipation flowing through my veins.

My ringtone goes off and I frown, reaching into my locker to grab my phone. I always silence it before games to ensure my distractions are kept to a minimum.

Reading the name flashing on my screen, I bite back a groan.

“Father, I can’t talk right now.” There’s a heavy silence on the other end, and for the first time today, I feel my body start to tense.

“Father?”

Brett shoots me a questioning glance, but I turn away.

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