Page 13 of Romancing the Grump
“Not yet,” Gracie says as she ladles out another bowl and sets it on the counter. “Summer is on her way over, and I promised her soup.”
I jerk at the sound of Summer’s name and knock over my water glass, sending it sloshing across the table.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” Alec says as he picks up his bowl and scoots back. He’s sitting closest to me and would have gotten a lap full of water had he not moved when he did.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I take the dish towel Felix offers me. He eyes me knowingly, but he’s too good a friend to say anything out loud.
Which is just as well because whatever he thinks he knows, he doesn’t. Although, based on how I acted at practice today, I understand why Felix might assume.
I’m not saying Dominik hasn’t been an idiot—he’s not playing like an Appie or behaving like one when he’s off the ice. But once I saw Summer up in the stands, something came over me, and I stopped thinking about anything but wanting to impressher. I laid into him too hard, then acted like some kind of hotshot center, leaving my zone and scoring just to show her that I could.
It had to be a momentary lapse in judgment.
Summerdoestalk too much, and I’mnotinterested in her. In fact, I’m so not interested that as soon as I finish this ridiculously good soup, I should probably take off and head home.
Once the mess is cleaned up, I pursue my food with renewed determination, scarfing down the last few spoonfuls with record speed. I’m seconds away from standing up when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out, frowning at a couple of new texts from my little brother.
Blake
Just met with the attorney. He’s saying I should plead guilty?
I don’t know what’s happening. I didn’t do anything, Nate. I swear. Why should I plead guilty if I didn’t even go inside the house?
I sink back in my chair, hating that I’m so far away from my family. I don’t fully understand the trouble my sixteen-year-old brother has gotten himself into, but I know he’s a solid kid. He’s playing hockey at a prep school in Boston, on scholarship—we are definitely not a prep school kind of family—and I thought he was doing pretty well. But then a few weeks ago, Mom called and was completely beside herself, saying Blake had been arrested and she had no idea what she was supposed to do.
I’ve tried my best to piece together the details, but unfortunately, Blake’s version of what happened is woefully lacking, and Mom’s version sounds a little too much like a bad movie plot for me to think she’s getting everything right. I’m guessing the truth is somewhere in the middle. So far, I haven’t been able to find it.
Because I’m not there.
Ican’tbe there, and the public defender who has been working with Blake keeps dodging my phone calls, responding with curt texts that say I’m not Blake’s legal guardian and thus not entitled to the details of his case.
Which sounds to me like he just doesn’t want another person hounding him—especially one who isn’t signing his paychecks.
My mom lives with my sister, Cassie, who is also trying to help, but she has two young daughters, one with special needs, and a husband who travels for work. She doesn’t have the time or bandwidth to drive to Boston to track down a dodgy defender.
I’ve thought about trying to hire Blake a private attorney,but short of just randomly picking one off the internet—there are about a million in the Boston area, I looked—I don’t know how I would even begin to try.
But I might have to try now. If Blake’s attorney is telling him to plead guilty even if he’s not, what good is he actually doing him?
I type back a quick reply to Blake.
Nathan
Can you talk? I want to hear about your conversation.
Blake
Can’t. About to start practice.
Nathan
They’re letting you play?
Blake
Not in games. But for practice, yeah.
