He swore. Softly, louder, finally screaming out rage that he knew was really fear. He swiped his forearm across his wet face and sank to the ground with his back to that same huge, ancient Douglas fir.
Oh God oh God oh God things like this aren’t supposed to happen to me. Maybe this was his payback for being so shitty to Dad when really it was Mom— Trevor stopped that thought dead. No. Dad had lied, too. More with what he didn’t say than what he did, but he’d lied all the same. If he really loved Trev and Bree, how could he let them live with Mom, when he knew…? His claiming he loved them, that was a lie, too.
Trev knew only a couple of other guys who’d gotten a girl pregnant, and they were idiots. Plus, the girls had gotten abortions—one of them without her parents even finding out—so everything was all right.
The tormented look on Cait’s face when her mom said that, about her getting an abortion, made Trevor afraid that’s not what she’d do.
He’d talk to her, he thought desperately. Talk her into it. Not getting one was stupid. If she had that baby, nothing would ever be the same for either of them again. She was fifteen. He remembered the things he’d said, about her still playing with Barbie dolls and holding tea parties for her toys, and winced. But he bet she’d been doing both those things not that long ago. He knew Bree secretly played by herself in her bedroom long after she was pretending to her friends to be cool and into boys. And Bree…he cringed again. Bree was fourteen. Oh, man. He’d kill the guy who got his sister pregnant.
The guy? You mean, the one like me?
He used the hem of his shirt to wipe his nose and then to furiously blow it. Did anyone else at school know about this? If Cait had told all her friends, everyone would know in no time. Maybe a bunch of them already did. He didn’t like thinking there’d be some jerks who’d be bowing to him because he’d cashed in her v-card and was so virile, he couldn’t help getting her pregnant. Those same guys would be looking at her like she was some kind of slut, and trailer trash because, man, she’d have a squalling brat by the time she was sixteen. Would the admin even let her stay at the high school, or did they exile pregnant teenagers to the alternative school? Wow, did West Fork have an alternative school? Yeah, they must. Every place had losers.
Oh, damn. He dropped his head back against the tree and stared at the lights he could see outside the boundary of the park.
If either of them was the loser, it was him. He felt familiar fury rise in him as he imagined some jerk making filthy comments about Cait as she passed in the hall. Someone like Aaron Latter, a real loser. Filled with so much anger and turmoil he didn’t know where to put it—high tide, oh, yeah—Trevor would want to smash any guy’s face who said something about Cait. He didn’t know if he could stop himself. If he should. Wasn’t that the right thing to do? Defend his girl?
Get kicked out of school?
If they made her go to the alternative school, he’d go, too, he resolved. All for one and one for all. It was only fair.
He had known she didn’t want to have sex, and he hadn’t cared because it would make him feel good. And now he felt like such an asshole, and he didn’t only hate Mom and Dad, he hated himself, too. And the thing was, he still really liked Cait but he knew she must hate him. And why wouldn’t she, when he’d jumped up and said How do I know it’s mine? when he didn’t even mean it.
This time, when he felt hot tears on his face, he didn’t try to stop them from falling.
* * *
NO POINT IN EVEN PRETENDING to go to bed until Trevor came home. If he came home. Where else would he go? Richard asked himself, and didn’t know. He’d have gone out looking for his son, but had no idea where to start, either, which was a sad thing as a parent to realize.
He kept thinking about Molly and wondering whether she felt as useless as he did tonight. Did she have anyone she could talk to? Would he and she get to a point where they could? How much more awkward would it be if she knew he was lusting for her?
At 11:36, he heard the front door open. He stepped out of the kitchen, catching Trev heading for the stairs. A vise closed over his chest. Trevor looked like hell. Gaunt, as if he’d somehow managed to lose a whole lot of weight in less than four hours. His eyes were swollen, his mouth compressed, his hair spiked.
“I was worried about you,” Richard said quietly.
His son shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” He hadn’t managed to inject the usual vitriol in his voice, though.
“Take it how you want. I’m here to talk when you’re ready.”
Another shrug. Trev gazed at his feet.