Page 21 of We're All Liars
Her amused expression watches me. “What?”
“What about the girl?”
“Willing. And happy to do it. My mom isn’t the only one he’s played. And unlike me, this girl didn’t want her parents to split. So this was her way of getting back at Thatcher and her mom in one move.”
“If you ask me, she got the shitty end of that deal. Having to fuck Thatcher.” Ava makes a gagging sound.
Why hasn’t anyone turned it off yet?We leave the café, and everyone is still in an uproar as we walk through the corridor towards the office. The secretary is beating on the entrance, which explains why it’s still playing—the intercom controls are behind a locked door.
Thatcher appears, running down the hallway. He’s fumbling with keys, trying to open the door, but he drops them several times and keeps putting the wrong key in the lock each time.
“Still having trouble finding the right hole?” Morgan laughs, leaning back against the wall. Thatcher is in too much of a panic to even acknowledge her.
“Get the fuck out of the way.” I hear the booming voice and know it’s Coach before I see him. His face is burning red as he rushes down the hallway, shouting for someone to shut it off.
He’s yelling at Thatcher who has resorted to hitting his fists against the glass windows. Coach glances around the hallway, then darts for a chair. He picks it up, walks over to one of the oversized windows, and slams it several times against the glass until it finally shatters. Thatcher climbs through the window as Coach continues yelling at him, then turns his shouts on the students gathered around. “Get to your classes. Now.”
That’s when his furious gawk lands on me before aiming for his daughter beside me. He frantically surges forward, gets right in her face, and hollers, “I know this was you! Why the fuck would you do this today of all days? Do you know what you’ve done?”
“What I’ve done?” Morgan asks calmly, almost amused as she points to herself. “Sounds like your colleague was fucking a minor. Maybe speak with him about the cost of decisions.”
I’m already on edge, so I see it before he can consider it further—his arm tenses and it’s enough to make me say, “Don’t you fucking touch her.”
His turns in disbelief to me. “Did you help her? Did you know she was going to do this?”
“She didn’t do shit. But right now, you should worry about your next move because if you touch her, all bets are off.”
“Stupid fucking moron.” Coach shakes his head. “Giving it up for some little bitch. But remember, if you don’t show at the game tonight, or if this little stunt causes the game to be canceled, I will make sure both of you pay.”
In a move I’m sure is meant to provoke him, Morgan asks, “Cash or credit? I’m sure those hotel rooms you’ve been staying in are getting pricey.”
He steps closer to her as I try to shift between them, but she holds her hand up. “It’s okay.” There’re plenty eyes still watching us as she loudly says, “He’d never hit me here, not when his fan club is watching.”
There’re a few hushed whispers and chatter as Coach and Morgan stay in their tense stance. Neither look ready to back down.
“Morgan.” I gently grip her bicep and recite our rehearsed script, meant to make him believe we’re still concerned. “Just leave it alone. We all have stuff to lose. Don’t make it worse. Four more games, then we’re free. Right, Coach?”
“Can you keep your bitch in line for that long?”
God, it takes everything I have not to punch the motherfucker in the mouth and just end this now. But Morgan only laughs and adds, “You’re just bitter because the King women will ultimately always be better than you, wealthier than you, and not willing to be controlled.”
It’s no secret that the King family’s wealth doesn’t run on Coach’s side; no, the fortune is from Morgan’s mom’s inheritance from her Pawpaw Benoit. And it’s clear that her statement struck a nerve. Because her dad’s face is as twisted and angry as ever.
This was supposed to be her getting Thatcher back for his plotting with her dad. But it seems to have gotten to Coach more than anyone. I don’t know how we’re going to make it through the day much less four more games.
21
MORGAN
When I hear the heavy metal door creak open, I already know it’s Cade. And it really pisses me off that he thought to look up here for me.
“Wow”—he glances around the rooftop of Saint Juliet—“I haven’t been up here since…”
“Since we were together. Blah, blah, blah.” I don’t want a stroll down memory lane. I have another annoying topic to address. “I really need you to stop trying to save the day, fix everything, and rescue me. Because that is not what I need or want. And that won’t change.Iwon’t change. You can remove the hero cape and take a break, SuperCade.”
He steps calmly beside me, leaning his elbows against the brick wall as he glances over towards the cemetery. “And what about what I want?”
“I don’t fucking care what you—”