Chapter 4

A week before Sectionals, the club cut training to taper hours.

Most of the teammates took the time off to rest. I took extra shifts at the skating club's shop.

Wednesday afternoon, Silas's car pulled up outside.

He got out and leaned against the driver's door. Music thumping from the speakers, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

"Maeve. Come here."

I kept working, ignoring his words.

"I'm talking to you." He frowned and walked over.

He reached for my arm, saw the dirt on my hands, and pulled his fingers back without touching me.

"Go wash up. You're coming with us."

"Where?"

"Cabin. Up the mountain. Lyla wants a few days off the ice. You're coming."

I straightened up. "I'm not going."

"Don't start with this again." He let out a sharp breath. "I drove all the way down here. Lyla wants to make peace. Don't be difficult."

"I have nothing to make peace about with her."

"Maeve."

"I'm training."

He laughed, short and ugly.

"Training. Right. Like you need to. You could skate Sectionals hungover and still take the podium."

"Just come. Get out of this dump for a weekend. Lyla actually wants to fix things with you."

"I'm not going."

His patience snapped. He stared at me for a second. Then he laughed again, this time with no humor in it at all.

"Suit yourself."

He pulled his wallet out, thumbed off a stack of hundreds, and threw them on the floor at my feet. The bills fanned out across the concrete.

"Here. Your wages for the month. I covered your boss for it. Take the money, keep your pride, and stay out of my face."

I didn't move.

"Not enough?" He pulled out another stack and threw it down on top of the first. "How about now?"

Coach Miller came out from the back office, took one look at the cash on the floor, and walked over fast.

"Mr. Kensington. What is going on here? We don't need any of this."

Silas didn't even look at him. His eyes stayed on me.

"Pick it up."

I still didn't move.

Lyla had been waiting in the car. She got out now, all wide eyes, and came running over in her white shearling boots.

"Silas, please, stop. You're scaring her." She crouched down and started gathering up the bills, one by one. "Maeve. Don't be mad at him. He's just looking out for me. He doesn't mean it."

She held the stack up to me with both hands, eyes wet.

"Please. Just come with us. I don't want to be the reason you two aren't talking."

I looked at her and Silas.

He wasn't sorry. He thought he was being generous, so I should be on my knees thanking him.

I walked past both of them, into the back of the shop, and shut the door.

Through the wall I heard him.

"See? That attitude. You try to help her, and that's what you get."

The car engine started up. The music pulled away down the street.

Coach Miller came in a minute later. He set the stack of cash down on the workbench in front of me.

"Take it, kid."

"No."

"Maeve." He pushed it closer. "Your dad. Your situation. You need this."

I stared at the bills. They smelled like Silas's cologne.

I walked to the utility sink in the corner, turned the water on as hot as it would go, and started washing my hands.

Soap, scrub, rinse. I kept going until my skin was raw.

That night, my dad came back.

He was drunker than usual, and he'd seen the cash through the front window.

He took it, then he started taking everything else. Even put a chair through the front glass.

I called the cops. When they got there, he was still going, swinging a hockey stick at the lights.

It took two officers to put him in cuffs. He spat at me on the way out, blood and saliva down the front of my work shirt.

"You called the cops on me. On your own father. I hope you know what you are. I hope you rot in hell for this."

I watched the cruiser pull out of the lot.

So this was what it felt like. To have nobody left around me.