I knew my best friend had grown close to my girl and that is why he is instinctively protective of her now, but if Kay were to hear Trav calling her his sister the way she does with Tessa, there’s a chance it might actually make her cry.
“Sister?” the female says. “We know who Eric Dennings is, and you are not him.”
“Doesn’t make Kay any less my family.” If it’s possible, Trav’s chest widens more as he continues to hold his protective stance. “Now, again…who the hell are you and what do you want?”
Grayson and I flank Trav on one side while E and Carter occupy the other. The couple in front of us is older, around my stepfather’s age. The man is in what I recognize as a custom-tailored Armani suit under his unbuttoned wool coat, and on the woman, I can only see the stilettos and a genuine strand of pearls due to the buttons on her long peacoat being done up. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut.
I have a hunch who they are, but having never met Liam Parker’s parents, I can’t be certain.
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker,” E says, voice like steel, confirming my suspicions. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” He says the final word much the same as Trav did polite.
“So rude,” Mrs. Parker chastises. “Obviously you weren’t raised right.”
“Make another dig against my father and I won’t hesitate to call the police.” E turns deadly serious.
The way the Parkers’ eyes try to look over our shoulders, it’s obvious they’re waiting for an invitation inside, but we aren’t having it. Mr. Parker lets out a dramatic sigh when he realizes this fact.
“We’re here to talk about these ridiculous charges you insist on pressing against my son.” How he can say that with a straight face, I’ll never know. What I do know is I have the overwhelming urge to lay him out the same way I want to do to his spawn.
“Ridiculous?!” Trav bellows before I can.
E places a hand on Trav’s shoulder, silently telling him to back down and let him handle the situation. We don’t need any of us flying off the handle and making things more complicated.
“Mr. Parker.” E waits for the patriarch of the Parker family to turn his attention to him before he continues. “I assure you there is nothing ridiculous about the assault and battery charges we brought against Liam. My sister had to have surgery to repair the cheekbone your son broke with his fist. That’s not even taking into account the fact that he knocked her unconscious or the countless other bruises she incurred from his unwarranted attack.”
“Unwarranted?” Mrs. Parker screeches. “Liam was only protecting himself.”
“In what world would a guy who’s over six feet tall and a football player to boot need to use his fists to ‘protect’”—E uses air quotes around the word—“himself from a girl who doesn’t even top five feet?” He pauses, waiting for a response. “Please…enlighten me. I would really like to know.”
Color rises from Mr. Parker’s neck up into his nostrils-flaring, jaw-clenching, ugly face while—I shit you not—Mrs. Parker clutches at her pearls like a 1950s housewife. It’s clear they don’t have an answer to E’s argument, and a weighted, uncomfortable silence stretches on.
“You know…” Trav finally loosens his defensive posture. “It really is too bad the footage of what happened leaked onto social media.” He looks at me over his shoulder, giving a We can talk about it later nod to my What the fuck? blink.
Trav runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if he is disappointed for the Parkers. “Good luck trying to peddle whatever bullshit your waste of sperm is trying to sell you.”
As a group, we step back, E slamming the door in both their stunned faces.
“Explain. Now.” I round on Trav.
He looks around, but no one seems to know what he was talking about.
“Shit.” He scrubs both hands over his face when he realizes this. “I can’t believe none of you have an alert set up for the UofJ411 Instagram. Or that you”—he smacks the back of his hand against my chest—“still haven’t charged your phone.”
He digs his own out of his pocket and scrolls until he comes to the appropriate spot. There, looping in a minute-long clip, is the moment when Liam Parker made the biggest mistake of his life.
#Chapter21
UofJ411: How is @TightestEndParker85 still alive after this? #DeadManWalking #CasanovasGonnaGetYou
*video of Liam stepping to Mason and Kay getting punched when she tries to intervene (only the overall noise of the party can be heard)*
@Rock_n_read719: Holy shit! You really going to let that slide @CasaNova87 #DefendYourGirl #Kaysonova
@Shenanigator: Talk about taking the rivalry to a WHOLE new level #NotCool #KeepYourHandsToYourself #CasanovaWatch
@Sjenkins31: This is a declaration of war #DontMessWithTheFlock
#Chapter22
A week may have passed since the drama that went down with Liam at the AK house, but campus seems to still be abuzz recounting the details, both true and exaggerated, of what happened.
The fact that Coach Knight and the guys were questioned about the footage now circulating the internet in their postgame interviews after the U of J defeated Wisconsin in the Big Ten Conference Championship in Indianapolis this past weekend is certainly keeping the story alive and well.
Even now, as I make my way from one lecture hall to another, my Hunter insulated knee-high boots making it easy to keep my footing as I keep my strides long, I can see the pointed glances and hands lifted to whisper behind.
Most of the bruising on my face has healed. There’s only one small spot still tinged a deep purple, the rest fading to an ugly brown and mustard yellowish color. Thank god for that, and for Bette’s professional makeup kit being stocked with heavy-duty concealer. I can’t imagine how much worse the gossip would be without it.
On my left, I see a phone held up—not discretely, I might add—and aimed in my direction. I tug on the brim of my new black U of J fitted cap, the hat a match to the one my boyfriend always wears—a gift from, you guessed it, the man himself—letting the curls I left hanging loose swing forward, making sure anything the makeup couldn’t hide is obscured as best I can.
After spending the last week recovering and generally hiding from all the things I don’t want to but know I need to deal with, it’s time for me to pull on my big-girl spankies and get shit done. That’s why today I made sure to wear my white Don’t flatter yourself, I only look up to you because I’m short tee underneath a fitted black and white flannel shirt.
Coach Kris still has me banned from The Barracks, declaring I need another week of taking it easy and to catch up on any schoolwork I may have fallen behind on when I had to avoid screen time those first few days with my concussion.
A group of co-eds loiter outside the doors to Jefferson Hall, and I curse my vertically challenged stature for making it harder to wade through the crush of bodies in my way. Normally I can handle the occasional jostle, but a rogue elbow or two could be damaging to my healing.
My spine stiffens when I see Adam’s smarmy grin amongst the crowd. I honestly can’t figure out his issue or what motivates him to be the douchebag he is, but he’s always rubbed me the wrong way. A lot of it probably has to do with the sense of entitlement he wears around him like a cloak, but I just genuinely don’t like him.