The Score

  “Dean didn’t pick law because it’s glamorous,” I object, feeling the need to defend him again.

  “Then you should talk to him about teaching, or coaching, anything that lets him work with kids. He’s made for it.” Ellis starts to get up but I stop him.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you also look at him like he hung the moon. And I get the sense he feels the same about you.” Ellis tips his head and then he’s gone, skating over to join Dean and the boys on the ice.

  *

  Dean

  “What were you and Doug looking all serious about?” I tease, linking my fingers through Allie’s as we cross the parking lot toward my car. I click the key fob. “Please don’t tell me he was hitting on you.”

  She blanches. “Oh, God no. In front of children? That would be so inappropriate.”

  I can’t help but laugh. For someone who’s such a dirty girl in bed, her obsession with propriety and labels is kinda ridiculous. “So what did he want?”

  We slide into the car. Allie still hasn’t answered the question, which brings a frown to my lips. Okay, now I’m starting to think she lied to me, and Coach Ellis was hitting on her. But she opens her mouth and startles me by saying, “He thinks you should be a teacher.”

  My eyebrows fly up. “He said that?”

  She nods. “A teacher, or a coach, or anything that lets you work with kids. Those were his words. Personally, I think you should consider being a Phys Ed teacher. Then you get to blow a whistle and wear those tiny gym shorts. Your ass would look great in them.” A slight smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Anyway, I guess Ellis saw your something.”

  “My something?”

  “That’s what happened to me when I was twelve,” she explains. “I went on my first casting call and the casting director told me she saw ‘something’ in me. It’s what convinced me to keep auditioning and pursue acting as a career.”

  I scoff. “Yeah, but you were talented to begin with, babe. All I did today was give a kid a skating lesson and run some hockey drills with the boys.”

  Which was a lot of fun, I can’t deny that. But the idea of making a career out of running around a gymnasium and blowing a whistle at little kids is…crazy. It’s crazy, right?

  “I don’t know…” Allie says teasingly. “Maybe dodge ball games are your destiny. Or coaching, at least. You’d be amazing at that. You love working with those boys.”

  True. But…oh, for chrissake, why is this even a topic of discussion? I’m headed to law school next fall.

  I start the car and reverse out of the parking space, changing the subject before Allie can tease me again. “How’d rehearsal go?”

  “Good, actually. Mallory memorized the final act, so Steven is happy. But I’m still a tad worried.”

  “How come?”

  “We’re taking a three-week hiatus for the holidays. What if she falls into an eggnog coma and forgets all her lines?”

  I chuckle. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. When is opening night?”

  “First week of February.” She pauses. “By then I’ll probably know if I got that Fox pilot, too.”

  There’s no enthusiasm in her voice, and I glance over with a frown. She told me she’d sent an audition tape to the producers in LA, but other than that, she hasn’t mentioned the role, and I don’t think she’s even called her agent for an update.

  But she ought to be clamoring for an update, right? I don’t know much about show biz, but a Fox pilot feels like a pretty big deal to me.

  “Do you want the part?” I ask slowly.

  Her hesitation is more telling than anything else she could’ve said.

  I press my foot on the brakes as we near a red light. “Talk to me, babe. What’s bugging you about this project?”

  Allie shrugs. “I’m just not in love with the role. And…well, lately I’ve been thinking I might want to stay away from comedies and find more dramatic roles. Or maybe stage work. Maybe in New York.”

  The confession startles me, but when I stop to think about it, it becomes obvious where it stems from. “You want to stay close to your dad.”

  She turns to me with sad blue eyes. “That’s definitely part of it. He’s getting worse, and I’m not crazy about the idea of living on the opposite end of the country from him. What if something happens and he needs me? I’d have to sign a contract—I can’t exactly walk up to the producers and say, sorry, gotta go to New York for a few weeks. Shoot around me.”

  “What about hiring a nurse?” I suggest.

  “God, no. He’d never be cool with that. I actually brought up the idea last year. It wasn’t something he needed at the time—we were just discussing options for the future—but he freaked the fuck out. He said he could take care of himself, thank you very much.”

  I fight a smile, because I can almost hear Joe Hayes’ crotchety voice in my head uttering those words.

  She bites her lip. “It’s true, right now he can take care of himself. But the numbness in his legs is so much worse than it was last year. So is his vision. He’s using the cane for now, but what if eventually he needs a wheelchair? What if we’re looking at paralysis? Blindness? If that happens, he will need someone. Maybe not round-the-clock care, but I don’t like the idea of him being all alone in Brooklyn.”

  I reach over the center console to squeeze her hand. It’s cold. Trembling. She’s scared, I realize. Scared of losing her father, the way she’d already lost her mother. I’m not sure what to say to make her feel better, because truth is, she has every right to be scared.

  Both my parents are healthy and active, so I don’t spend much time worrying they might die. When I’m with them, I don’t see a thundercloud of doom hovering above their heads.

  But Mr. Hayes is suffering from a disease that’s slowly eating away at his nervous system. He’s dealt with it for years, while his daughter stood on the sidelines watching it progress, helpless to stop it.

  Jesus. I’m suddenly floored by her strength. I hadn’t understood, not until this very moment, how difficult this must be for Allie.

  “Let’s not talk about this anymore. I’m bumming myself out.” Her voice wobbles before steadying. “Tell me more about this restaurant you’re taking me to.”

  *

  After dinner, we drive to my house. Last night I stayed with Allie in the dorms, so tonight it’s her turn to sleep over. We’ve got a nice, fair arrangement going, except for the times when Allie plays the vagina card, in which case the arrangement becomes do what your girlfriend wants.

  My girlfriend. Fuck me. It still boggles my mind. I ain’t complaining, though. Allie and I have a blast together. We also have wild, sweaty sex on the regular. So I’m trying to focus on that and not read too much into the rest of it.

  Too bad my friends can’t do the same. Garrett is convinced I’ll do something to screw up the relationship and that it’ll end in a massive fireball that blows up in all of our faces. Sometimes I wish he gave me more credit.

  Says the man who almost drove someone to suicide.

  The painful memory grips my heart, conjuring up the image of Miranda, and her tears, and the harrowing late-night phone calls where she threatened to kill herself and accused me of ruining her life.

  Christ. I feel sick every time I allow myself to think about it, so I shove the unwelcome reminders aside. She never accepted my friend request, I realize. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.

  Allie and I walk into the cramped front hall of the townhouse, which smells almost as good as the restaurant we just came from. Tucker must be home.

  “Tuck? Where you at?”

  “Kitchen,” is his faint reply.

  I shrug out of my coat and toss it on one of the hooks in the wall. Allie does the same before bending over to unzip her leather boots. I smack her ass, then grin when she scowls at me. “Whatcha making?” I call out to Tucker.

  “Soup,” he calls back. “And baking some bread.”

 
I sigh. “Sometimes I worry about him,” I tell Allie. “The more domestic he gets, the bigger the risk of his penis falling off.”

  She tsks in disapproval. “Sexist bastard.”

  “I think you mean sexy bastard,” I say helpfully.

  “No, I got it right the first time.”

  We move toward the living room just as the front door swings open behind us. I turn around, and I literally have one second to react before a blond tornado flies toward me and launches herself at me.

  “Surprise!” the tornado shouts, flinging both arms around my neck. “Guess who’s spending the weekend!”

  I’m so dazed and taken aback that I return the hug on instinct. From the corner of my eye, I see Allie’s mouth twist in a deep frown. Shit. I know the conclusion she’s jumping to right now, and I need to squash it, pronto.

  When Allie clears her throat purposefully, the intruder swivels her head and says, “Oh. Hi. And you are?”

  “Dean’s girlfriend,” Allie replies tightly. “Who are you?”

  Rather than respond, Summer whirls toward me again. “You have a girlfriend? What the hell, Dicky! Why am I always the last one to know these things?”

  Allie makes a noise. I think it might be a growl. “Did you just call my boyfriend Dicky?”

  “Yeah, so what?” Summer challenges.

  I quickly intervene before a catfight breaks out. I mean, catfights in general are hot as fuck, but not when I’m related to one of the pussycats. “Summer, this is Allie. Allie, Summer.” I sigh. “My little sister.”

  27

  Allie

  I’m annoyed with myself for not realizing it sooner. Of course this stunning, vibrant girl is Dean’s sister. Now that my claws have retracted, I can clearly see the resemblance—

  Summer’s hair is the same shade of blond, her eyes the same vivid green. She’s a lot shorter than Dean, but far taller than I am. At least five-nine, if I had to guess.

  “What are you doing here?” Dean directs the demand at his sister, who isn’t put off in the slightest.

  “I told you I was coming to visit, remember?”

  “No, you told me you wanted to visit.” He makes an aggravated noise. “You can’t just show up at people’s houses without giving them any warning, Summer. What if I wasn’t home?”

  “But you were.” She beams. “And now I’m here. See? The universe always gets shit right.”

  He arches a brow. “And did the universe happen to mention that I have an away game tomorrow? And that the bus leaves at eight in the morning? And that I probably won’t get back until midnight?”

  Disappointment fills Summer’s eyes. “Fuck. And I’m leaving early on Sunday morning.” She goes quiet for a moment, and then her expression brightens. “That’s fine. It just means we need to do all our catching up tonight. Where should I put my bag?”

  I press my knuckles to my mouth to smother a laugh. I get the feeling there’s nothing on God’s green planet that can bring Summer Di Laurentis down. She seems like the kind of chick who falls asleep wearing a smile.

  Dean speaks in a strained voice, as if he views his sister’s surprise visit as a major inconvenience. “I kinda had plans tonight, boogers.”

  Boogers?

  “Plans change¸” she says flippantly. “And your plans now include me.” Her green eyes flick in my direction. “You’re cool with me hanging out with you and Dicky tonight, right, girlfriend?”

  The laugh I was trying to hold in pops out. Actually, it’s more of a howl, because oh my God, why does she call him Dicky?

  “I don’t mind at all,” I assure her. I meet Dean’s irritated gaze and add, “Are you going to explain the nickname, or should I create my own backstory for it?”

  Summer grins at me. “It’s one of my least interesting anecdotes, actually. I couldn’t pronounce his name when I was little. And our older brother Nick, I called Nicky, so I just replaced the first letter and voila—Dicky.” She winks conspiratorially. “He hates it.”

  I don’t blame him. I can see a minx like Summer having way too much fun tormenting her big brother with an embarrassing nickname like that.

  “So what are we doing tonight?” Summer asks eagerly. She tosses her long blond hair over one shoulder and does a little twirl. Sweet Jesus. This girl is far too energetic. “Is there a club anywhere around here? A bar? I have my fake ID with me, so—”

  “Then you’d better hand it over,” Dean interrupts. “Because there’s no way I’m aiding and abetting a minor.”

  His sister snorts. “Don’t give me that shit. You were getting drunk when you were thirteen.”

  “I was very mature for my age.”

  “You’re not mature for your age now.”

  “At least I didn’t get kicked out of Brown for setting togas on fire.”

  “I didn’t get kicked out of Brown, and I did not set anything on fire.”

  “How would I know? I have no idea what you even did to get kicked out, because nobody in the family will fucking tell me.”

  “I didn’t get kicked out!”

  My head is spinning from moving back and forth between them. Is this what all siblings are like? If so, I feel fortunate that I’m an only child. All this bickering seems like it would be exhausting.

  “And if you quit yelling at me,” Summer is grumbling, “then maybe we can sit down like adults and I’ll tell you why I’m on probation.” She waves a manicured hand. “But let’s save that for later. I’m in the mood for a party. You think one of the frats is hosting one tonight? Wait, what am I saying? Of course there’ll be a party on Greek Row. It’s the only way those pervos ever get laid, right?”

  I choke on another laugh.

  Dean is more on edge than I’ve ever seen him, his fists balled against his sides as if he’s trying not to throttle his sister. “We’re not going to a party tonight. I already told you, I’ve gotta be up early to meet the bus. Which means we’re staying in. A nice, quiet night in,” he says firmly.

  Of course, he says this right as the front door opens again and four hockey players trudge inside. Or maybe three players and a civilian, because while I know Logan, Fitzy and Hollis, I don’t recognize the fourth guy. He has dark spiky hair and looks too small to be a hockey player.

  “Hey.” Logan nods in greeting and shrugs out of his jacket. The hallway isn’t big enough to accommodate so many people, and I find myself being squashed up against the wall as the guys push their way inside.

  “This is my sister,” Dean says in a resigned tone that makes me hide a smile.

  The guys nod and say hello, but they’re in a big hurry to get to the living room. Logan glances at us over his shoulder. “Morris got his hands on a demo version of the latest Mob Boss. Hasn’t even hit the market yet. We’ll probably be up late.”

  Beside me, Summer breaks out in a broad smile.

  “Don’t make it too late. Bus leaves at eight tomorrow,” Dean reminds his roommate.

  Logan shrugs. “I’ll sleep on the bus.” Then he disappears into the living room.

  Summer is practically vibrating with excitement now. She sidles close to me and hisses, “Who was that?”

  I wrinkle my forehead. “You mean Logan? He lives here. But don’t get any ideas. He has a girlfriend.”

  “No, not him.” Her hand flutters dismissively. “The big guy with the tats. I didn’t catch his name.”

  “Oh. Fitzy. Colin Fitzgerald,” I clarify. “One of your brother’s teammates.”

  Summer’s green eyes twinkle. She flips her hair again and announces, “I want him.”

  “Summer!” Dean says in exasperation, while I desperately try not to laugh.

  “What? I’m just being honest.” His sister blinks innocently. “Be honest or be a jerk—that’s what you taught me when I was twelve, remember? After I stole your favorite shirt and then accidentally dropped it in the sewer?”

  “How do you accidentally drop a shirt in the sewer?” I blurt out.

  “I wasn’t
wearing it. It fell out of my backpack.” She smirks at Dean. “And then I lied about what happened and you gave me a speech about honesty, remember? Well, congratulations, Dicky. I’m super duper honest now.” She points her finger at the living room doorway. “That was the hottest piece of man meat I have ever seen. And I want him.”

  “I’m going to murder you in your sleep one day,” Dean tells his sister. “Swear to God.”

  Her smile is the epitome of sweetness. “Aw, Dicky, you would never, ever do that. Wanna know why?”

  “Why?” he grumbles.

  “Because you love me.”

  Honestly? I think I love her, too.

  *

  Dean

  I am terrified of what I’ll find when I get home tonight. I’ll only be gone for sixteen hours, but Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis is capable of doing earthquake-level damage in sixteen minutes.

  When she was thirteen, Nick and I were home alone with her. We turned our backs for twenty minutes, tops, and when we walked into the living room, the liquor cabinet was overturned, broken glass was everywhere, and Summer grinned at us and said, “Oops.”

  She said she’d wanted a taste of alcohol to see what all the fuss was about. Destroying thousands of dollars’ worth of liquor in the process.

  Granted, she’s twenty now. But do I trust her? Absolutely not. I’m just hoping Allie can find a way to control her. And yes, I recruited my girlfriend into babysitting my sister today. No way was I letting Summer loose on campus without a chaperone.

  During the five-hour bus ride to Scranton, Allie sends me updates about their day, along with running commentary about how great my sister is, and OMGs! every time Summer reveals an embarrassing detail from my childhood.

  Having breakfast at the diner.