Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

Instead of heading straight upstairs, I go to the kitchen, knowing I’ll find Mr. Young sitting at the dining room table pouring over sales spreadsheets while sipping on a glass of whiskey. He’s gone for work constantly, and then he comes home and works some more.

“Hey,” I tell him, initiating conversation for the very first time.

I may not be in his home much longer, but we’re going to be in each other’s lives, and even though I despise this man for leaving Frankie alone so much, I know I’m going to need to build a relationship with him.

“Zeke,” he grunts, not even lifting his head from the paperwork.

“How’s work?” I ask stupidly as I grab a soda from the fridge.

“Busy as always,” he returns, the tone of his voice making it clear he doesn’t want to be bothered.

“Okay,” I say awkwardly. “I guess I’ll get an early start on homework.”

“Zeke,” Mr. Young snaps before I can leave the room.

My blood freezes in my veins.

Did Frankie already tell him about the baby? Is he going to tell me to pack my things and leave his home?

My fingers drum on the soda can as I turn back around to face him.

“Yes, sir?”

His lip twitches, and I can tell he’s appreciative of the respect I’m offering, but I’m certain appreciation won’t keep him from kicking my ass for knocking up his only daughter.

“Frankie came home sick today. Be quiet up there so she can rest.”

His eyes drill into me as if he’s trying to decipher some code, but I nod in understanding. This man would string me up if he knew what was really going on. He was adamant about me keeping my hands to myself when I moved in, but what none of us knew at the time is that my child was already growing inside of Frankie before she boarded that plane in Utah and left me without saying goodbye.

“Yes, sir,” I tell him before arrowing straight to my room.

The pain of being left behind still stings. It burns me like a fire poker in my gut. When I needed her the most, she just walked away. I try to tell myself that all the pain, hers and mine, are my fault. We could’ve had an amazing summer, the foundation for an incredible life together if only I had gotten out of my own head and let it happen. Now everything is in such a mess, I don’t know what our future holds.

I wait hours until I’m sure Mr. Young has gone to bed before I approach the bathroom door to Frankie’s room. The knob doesn’t turn because she’s locked it from the other side, effectively keeping me out of her room.

“Frankie,” I whisper as I press my forehead to the cold wood.

She doesn’t answer, and the burn of her rejection clogs in my throat.

“Frankie, please open up,” I beg, but I’m only met with silence.

If we were alone in the house, I know I’d break down the door and demand that she talk to me, but we aren’t, and it kills me to walk away.

I take a shower, and when I’m done, I dress and sit on the floor, just waiting and hoping that she’ll walk into the bathroom, but the lock never clicks over, and hours later, I wake up curled in a ball. As much as I try to keep my anger from coming to a head, it’s impossible.

Her rejection kills me, but not as much as waking up in the morning and realizing she left the house without talking to me first.

Still unsure of what happens next, I grab my football gear and head to practice, if only to postpone what I know is coming. If she wants to ignore the entire situation, refusing to talk to me about it to make plans, then I can do the exact same.Chapter 38Frankie

Piper scrunches her nose up when I walk out of the bathroom stall and wipe my mouth with the paper towel she’s holding out for me.

“Morning sickness?”

I nod, bending my head and drinking a mouthful of water, swishing it, and spitting it into the basin.

“Yeah. It’s awful. All I want to do is sleep.”

“When does it end?”

I shrug. I literally slept all day yesterday after the confrontation with Zeke. “I haven’t really done a lot of research yet.”

Piper pulls out her phone as I wash my hands. “Google says that the first trimes—”

She snaps her mouth closed and pockets her phone when the bathroom door opens. We stand in silence as a freshman girl uses the restroom. She doesn’t speak again until the girl washes her hands and leaves.

“Usually the morning sickness is gone after the first trimester,” she whispers as if the walls can hear my secret.

I nod, knowing I need to do more research on what’s happening and will happen to my body as my pregnancy progresses, but I just can’t focus on that right now.