“Wait!” Mom says, cutting me off. When I raise my brows in question, she continues. “Did I mention we’re going to host a party at the house over Labor Day weekend?”
“A party?” I frown, my brain switching gears at that bit of news.
Who the heck does she plan on inviting? No one in this town will even talk to us.
She nods, a smile springing to her lips as her eyes crinkle. “Yup, I thought it would give everyone a chance to get to know us a little better. It might make things easier at school.”
You know what that sounds like?
A disastrous idea. But I don’t have the heart to tell Mom that and rain on her parade when she’s obviously excited about it. I glance at my father to gauge his thoughts, but his expression remains shuttered.
The only thing this conversation has proven is that Dad knows more than he’s willing to admit. Kingsley mentioned two things this morning. One, Great-Great-Grandpa Herbert started Hawthorne Industries with a partner. And two, the partner was cheated out of his stake in the company. As much as I want to believe Kingsley is a liar, I can’t. He’s right about at least one thing and my gut tells me he’s probably right about the other.
I need to figure out what happened and why.
Chapter Sixteen
I lay on the horn for the second time.
Where the hell is Austin? Why is he taking so long?
If he keeps this up, we’ll be late. A shiver works its way through my body. I wouldn’t necessarily call it fear, but it’s pretty damn close. I’ve been doing my best to fly under Ms. Pettijohn’s radar. Waltzing in late for the second time in a matter of weeks won’t help that objective.
With my palm resting against the horn, I’m about to lay on it for a third time when the front door opens, and Austin rushes out with his head down and shoulders hunched. He’s been especially surly lately. My gut tells me that his foul mood has everything to do with football, but he’s remained frustratingly tightlipped about it.
Once he slides into the passenger seat, I grumble, “What took you so long?”
“Woke up late.” His words are barely audible.
“Ever consider setting your alarm?”
I wait for him to fire off a snarky comeback, but get instead, “Yeah, I’ll do that from now on.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye as he silently stares out the passenger side window at the house. Something feels off about his behavior, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.
“Aus?” I lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He shrugs off my touch. “Just drive, okay?”
Surprised by the curt dismissal, my mouth tumbles open.
What the hell is wrong with him?
When I walked out of the house this morning, Austin had yet to appear for breakfast. Mom said something about him oversleeping. Come to think of it, I never saw him last night after practice. He had slammed into the house and shuttered himself away in his room. I’d knocked on his door, asking if he needed help with homework, but he’d claimed not to have any. I didn’t push the issue because I had a quiz to study for.
Suspicion grows inside me. “Austin,” I blurt, angling my body toward him, “look at me.”
“No.”
My heartbeat hitches as my mouth turns cottony. “Why not?”
“Summer, can you just drive?” There’s a pause as his voice drops. “Please?”
“Not until I see your face.”
For a long moment he remains still, and I wonder if we’ll sit in the driveway all morning. Finally, he huffs out an exasperated breath and swivels toward me. My eyes widen as I clap a hand over my mouth. His nose is bruised and swollen. The damage around his eye from last week had only begun to fade.
“What happened?” Before he can say anything, I growl, “And don’t tell me it happened at football!”
His lips lift into a humorless smile. “Well, it did happen at football, just not practice.”
My mind whirls at the implication. “In the locker room, then?”
“They want me to quit and I’m not going to.” His voice turns belligerent. One of Austin’s best qualities is that he’s relentless. In this instance, it’s a detriment to his health.
“Who? Who wants you to quit?” I really hope Kingsley doesn’t have anything to do with this. Why that matters, I don’t know, but it does.
He presses his lips together, refusing to answer.
“Austin?” I search his battered face as he glares out the windshield.
“You wanted to see what happened, now you’ve seen it. So drive. I don’t need to be late on top of everything else.”
This is getting out of hand.
“Maybe we should tell Mom and Dad,” I murmur, pulling the car out of the driveway and heading to the main road.