“Be quiet, Collier,” I say through my teeth. “You’re just bitter because you couldn’t last a single round with him.”
His upper lip curls. “I won in the end, though, didn’t I?”
I shake my head. “If this is what you call winning, you’re emptier than I always thought.”
Collier shoots forward and North moves like lightning, getting right in his face, daring him to take a step closer to me. Before one of them can throw a blow, my father inserts an arm between them, cursing impatiently. “Collier, thank you for calling me. Now take your friends and go back to class.”
A few strained seconds tick by before Collier does what he’s told, spitting on the ground near North’s feet while departing. When my friends—ex-friends now— disappear around the edge of the building, I’m far from relieved, however, because my father’s eyes are still launching daggers at me and North. His anger hasn’t cooled a single degree.
“This—whatever this is—is over,” he grits out. “You want to rebel a little, Grace, fine. I don’t expect you to be a saint. But for the love of God, don’t waste your time with someone this far beneath you—”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the blood drain from North’s face and it’s like being punched square in the stomach. “He is not beneath me. Don’t say things like that. You don’t even know him.”
Simmons scoffs. “I’m to understand he’s an illegal street fighter from Southie? My God, daughter. I thought you had more common sense than this. You’ve been going to see him every night, haven’t you? Not the library. Not to your friends’ houses. This kind of…person will have you pregnant so fast your head will spin. You’re nothing but a payday to him. A one-way ticket to a cushy life.”
North steps forward. “That’s not true, Mr. Foster. I would never take advantage of Grace. Never.” North’s voice vibrates with honesty. Will my father hear it? Hear how genuine he is? Will he even care? “I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting. I meant no disrespect. I respect her more than anyone I’ve ever met.” He glances back at me over his shoulder, affection spilling from his golden eyes. “I’m in love with your daughter. I want to be the one to give her everything. I’ll break my back making her happy. I’ll never take her for granted.”
That impassioned speech gives my father momentary pause, but in no time, the ugliness is back on his face. “Assuming that making her happy is even possible, considering the life she’s accustomed to, how do you think this little relationship is going to work?” My father’s face is rife with skepticism. Ugliness. It’s shrewd, too—and that’s what scares me the most. “I’m not paying for her to attend an Ivy League school, just so she can turn around and go pump out some brats in South Boston. You think this love affair is going to last while she attends a prestigious school? Alongside peers with the same stellar upbringing? All while you bash your fists into faces in some underground sewer? Does that sound realistic?”
I’m ready to scream with frustration by the time he turns his attention to me. I’m ready to scream and tell him I don’t want his Ivy League school. I don’t want the pressure and expectations and cookie-cutter career in finance. That’s not my path to happiness and I’ve been doing it this whole time for him. Not me. But he speaks before I can.
“If you continue this abomination, Grace, I will not pay for college. All your hard work will be down the drain. Your future ruined.”
“Oh Jesus. Please, don’t do that because of me, Mr. Foster.” North sounds like he’s struggling to catch his breath, misery etched into every line of his beautiful face. “She’s so smart. She needs to go to the best school. The way she helped my sister with her science project…” He trails off, turning to lock his tortured eyes with mine. “Even if I win the fight next week, Gracie, it won’t cover tuition at a place like that. I’d need more time. I could do it, I just need more time—”
“North,” I breathe, framing his face in my hands. “No. No, I would never expect you to pay for me to go to college. Of course I wouldn’t.” I wet my lips. “Remember what I told you about wanting to teach? I don’t need a Harvard or Yale education to do that and do it well.”
“Grace,” my father interrupts tightly. “I’d like a private word with you.”
I swallow hard. “Anything you need to say to me, you can say it in front of North.”
At that, North and I just melt together, his forehead pressing into mine. Sharing oxygen. His hands coming up to cradle my face, the way I’m doing with his. Like we’re the only two people in the world. That’s how it always feels and I need this, I need our connection to survive. I’m not being a dramatic teenager. This is not going away. He’s the gravity I’ve been missing my entire life. This isn’t an adolescent infatuation that can be gotten over.