Page 101 of Keeping Score

“I’m going to vomit,” Cassie muttered, head between her knees as we sped down the road.

“Since when do you have such a weak stomach?”

I glanced over to where she sat in my passenger seat, pale and slightly sweaty.

“Since when do you drive ninety in a thirty-five?” Her head popped up, barely long enough to glare at me. “Oh, nope. Head’s going back down.”

I laughed as she resumed position and slowed down to an easy 70 mph.

“Where are we going, Maggie?” Cassie groaned, staring down at the floor mats. “And how are we not already there yet at this speed?”

“I have some business to take care of,” I told her.

And a lot to say before I lost my nerve.

Running high on emotion, adrenaline, and the horrific memory of Brody’s lips on another girl permanently branded against my eyelids, I pressed my foot harder against the gas and accelerated once more.

Cassie groaned, and I reached one hand in the backseat to grab an empty takeout bag.

“Here,” I shoved it at her. “In case you get sick.”

My fist pounded against the door, eager to do something with the anger practically radiating from it.

“Maggie!” Cassie yanked on my arm to whisper-hiss. “Whose house is this? I don’t think you’re on close enough terms with any of your clients to show up at their home in the middle of the night!”

“It’s not a client.” I banged again. “It’s my dad.”

“What!” she yelled, before clasping a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound that had already escaped. “You said it was for work.”

“No,” I said slowly. “I said it was business. As in, the unfinished variety.”

And I had to do it now or I never would.

“I can’t meet Liam’s dad like this.” She gestured to herself, hair wild from the windows she’d rolled down for the sake of ‘fresh air,’ and the huge Harbor Wolves jersey that fell down to her

mid-thigh.

“You don’t need to impress him, Cass,” I told her. “He’s nothing but an arrogant, waste-of-space, sorry excuse for a father, ass—”

The door opened, and there he stood, in all his glory.

“Making a habit of this, are we, Margaret?” he asked, looking an infuriating mixture of bored and indifferent.

Then, he peered to where Cassie was shrinking behind me, eyeing her up and down.

“Are you girls coming from a high school game?” he asked sarcastically, taking note of our jerseys.

Asshole, I thought.

He was just bitter that he was too ashamed to show his face at the Garden after Liam told him off five years ago.

“Hi,” Cassie said uncertainly. “I’m—”

“Don’t tell him who you are,” I told her. “Because we’re never going to see him again.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, as if I were nothing more than the child I was acting like.

But then, his eyes widened, and I realized he was noticing the details of Cassie’s jersey.