Chapter 25

Friday, October 25th

Finn

My head spins with equations and other math bullshit as I leave algebra on Friday. An electric vibe is in the air as everyone chatters about weekend plans and endless parties.

It’s a bye week for the football team, and everyone is raring to celebrate our undefeated streak. Sigma Tau is having a luau, Beta Kappa is doing an Olympic-themed vodka luge, and according to two of the girls in algebra, there’s a house party in one of the abandoned buildings just outside of campus.

My body rocks to the side in a violent push, and my hair ruffles while weight clings to my back. I stutter-step but catch my balance as Ace wraps himself around me like a spider monkey.

“What the hell, man?” I sigh, shrugging him off with a roll of my shoulders. He laughs, and my backpack slides off with him, landing in a heap and spilling some of its contents through the partially open zipper.

My dad’s stolen journal—the one I acquired three Sundays ago, right before taking two or three fists to the face when I got between my old man and Willow—is the only thing I can see.

Ace, fortunately, is preoccupied with his own agenda as he climbs to his feet, and I put the contents of my backpack back inside. “Come on, let’s go get dinner and figure out what we want to hit tonight.”

“I don’t know if I feel like going out,” I hedge, making him guffaw.

“Yeah, okay, buddy. Good one.”

“I’m serious.”

“Too bad. I need a wingman, and now that you’ve royally fucked things with Scottie, you’re the perfect candidate. I need you free to fondle the best friend of whomever I’m after anyway.”

“Ace.”

“Finn.”

I sigh, and he smiles. “See…you know how pointless it is to fight me on this, which means you know me. We’re soul mates. I would have totally gotten intimate with you if Ty let me.”

My jaw tightens at the mention of Professor Ty Winslow and our big group project. He makes it sound like Shakespeare is going to solve all our problems, but it’d be a lot more fucking helpful if he hadn’t grouped me with the girl I’m not good enough for and a ditsy, promiscuous sidekick.

“At least you’re not with Nadine.”

Ace laughs. “What? You don’t think her cast would feel good on your dick?”

I shake my head. “Fuck that.”

“Yeah, I guess that would make Scottie’s head spin. But you’re already in hot shit, so what’s the difference?”

“Ace.”

“What? I’m just trying to ascertain where we are, dude. Are we groveling? Revenge-fucking her enemies? It’s a broad spectrum, and I need all the info to be the best helper I can be.”

“We’re not doing anything. We’re leaving everything exactly where it is, which is for the best.”

He groans. “Well, that’s boring as shit.”

“I keep trying to tell you I’m a boring guy.”

He laughs so hard at that he nearly scrapes his face on the sidewalk as he walks because he’s bent over so far. “Right. The boring guy who’s almost gotten expelled, has a brood of wild siblings he’s seemingly in charge of, beat the shit out of a UFC fighter, and came very close to stealing the virgin cheerleader from her long-term boyfriend within the first two weeks of school.” He nods sarcastically. “Very boring.”

I sigh. “Dinner it is.”

Ace hollers and jumps on my back again, but I’m ready this time, so I take off at a run with him still clinging to me. “Ayyyy!” he yells, pulling the attention of a group of people standing in front of the Logan Center. By the looks of things, both football and cheerleading practice just let out for the night.

Scottie’s face is the first I notice, but I’m not surprised; it stands out in a crowd.

I avoid eye contact even though it’s hard, settling instead on Blake Boden as he takes off at a jog toward us.

“Hey, girls,” he says teasingly as he arrives to me pitching Ace off my back yet again. “Did you see the text we just got?”

“What text?” Ace asks, appropriately summing up my response too.

Blake looks around before answering like we’re in the CIA on a clandestine mission. “From my future wife, of course. It’s a time for the next Double C.”

Almost as if summoned, Ace’s phone chimes while mine vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to read it.

Unknown: 10:15. Gyger Tunnel. Don’t be late.

“I got the text before you guys. I bet she remembers me.”

Ace snorts. “Lexi Winslow definitely remembers you, but don’t flatter yourself. She remembers everything. Her brain is like a fucking sponge.”

My head whips up from my phone before I can read the other text I have from my older brother Reece. “Lexi is a Winslow? As in Ty Winslow?”

“Lexi is a Winslow, as in Winnie Winslow, Ty’s sister. Her dad, Wes Lancaster, is one of my dad’s best friends and owns the Mavericks.”

“The New York Mavericks, pro football team Mavericks? Are you fucking kidding me?” Blake questions emphatically. Ace nods and laughs. Blake holds both hands out to his sides before looking up to the sky. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

My mind reels as I work through the sheer number of connections to my dad’s other family I didn’t know I’d be making so quickly. I don’t know what my plan is or if it’s a good idea, but immediately, my mind is made up. After reading my dad’s journal for the past three weeks, looking for the perfect entry to pass along to Ty, I need to gather all the reconnaissance I can. Plus, maybe I can make some more money.

“Plans are set for tonight, Acer. It’s Double C all the way.”

“Fuck yes!” Blake yells, pumping a fist in the air while Ace shrugs.

“Works for me.”

Ace and Blake chatter and fuck around as we walk toward the dining hall, and I scroll down to the message from Reece I didn’t get to read before.

Reece: California is bullshit, as it turns out. I miss New York. Every time Jack or Trav texts me about some fucked-up thing they’re doing while I’m powerless to stop it, one of my fairy brain cells loses its wings. I’m transferring to Dickson next year, and you can’t change my mind. The paperwork is already filed.

Reece doesn’t know anything about my dad’s other kids—fucking middle-aged adult kids, as it were—none of my siblings do. But if he’s going to be here next year, I guess I better get busy bringing it all to light.

After all, what’s a fucked-up family reunion without the whole fucked-up family?