All Chapters of Mister Grumpy Hockey Star Is My Secret Boyfriend : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

122. LUTHER All I can do is stare at Bernice like a dummy. I seem to have lost function of my face. "What? Don't you know that it's rude for you not to say hi back to someone?" "I didn't expect to see you here." "Why? You think I'm not smart in science? Well, I lied. I'm good, and I'm going to be the Sterling scholarship candidate. I know that's why you are in Mister Ray's office, but don't count on the scholarship, because it's mine already." My lips press together as I step to the side to allow her to pass. When she finds out that I aced the test and that Mister Ray already picked me, she is going to be so mad. Anyways, I hurry my way to the very back of the school, where I have found myself my own study room. I found it myself and cleaned it out, and it's been my haven for the past few days, away from the hassle of school life, and my life....The old cleaning supplies storage room. It was full of old boxes, old shelves, and thick films of dust. I cleaned it up and now, it

124. LUTHER I don't know if I am supposed to be happy or sad that my mother chose to come here. Whatever hit her in Little Rock hit her so hard that she hasn't been out of the house for weeks, and she stays in her room for days at a time. I do my best to help her, but I don't think I am doing much. No matter what I do, the jokes I crack, she has never been happy. Something in Densberry has made her depressed, and even though leaving would kill my spirit, I am willing to leave with her. Yet, against all odds, she has shown up for me. She is wearing her faux fur coat, the one that we used to laugh at so much and refer to as a custom, and with their very hard shades over her eyes. The room is quiet as her heels clink against the ground with each step she takes. She sits on the last available seat and crosses her legs before turning to look at me, "How are you doing, baby?" I immediately rush to her and place my hand on the backrest of her seat. "Miss Wayne, I'm glad that you cam

126. MARLON What sort of sick game is this? I'm fucking her son and she is doing my Dad? Bile rush up my throat. We are all going to hell for this. Somehow, I am able to stumble out of the house and projectile vomit over the grass. My lungs feel like they are being flooded with acidic water, and the world just keeps spinning around me. Maybelline feet come into vision, as I am wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Please, don't tell me that you are sick," she clicks her tongue with a frown on her face. "I'm not sick," I stand up straight again, but God, do I feel like shit. "Come on, let's go home. I don't think that there is anything that we can say to Janae that will get her to come back." She takes the car keys from me. I give one more look at the house, at Janae, who is staring at us, through a window, from behind parted curtains. From the look on her eyes, I know that she knows that I know. Why did she allow him to do that to her? Why did she allow him to ruin her

128. MARLON Maybelline is right, I fall sick after the disturbing thing I discovered about Dad and Janae. I'm so sick that I miss a few days of school, and when Luther says he wants to come and see me, I refuse because of how messy I get when I'm sick. I walk around the house coughing like a sick child from the time of the black plague, and with pieces of toilet paper stuck up my nostrils. "Dad is coming home today," Maybelline tells me with an excited look on her face, but not me. I am as still as a statue on my bed. "Aren't you going to say anything, Marlon? We haven't seen him in weeks," she tells me. "I really don't care, May. He is your dad, not mine," my voice is so deep and tired. When we were younger and I would say mean things like this about Dad, she would burst into tears, but now, she is so used to it that she laughs. "You know, you can't say those kinds of things when you look exactly like Dad. Don't you feel that sometimes it's like fighting your own shadow?"

130. MARLON The next ten minutes is a blur for me, and I'm sure it's same for my father, but after that, we stagger into the main sitting room, with bloody nose and busted lips. We hardly glance at each other before sitting on the long couch, while he uses the remote to turn on the television. There is a football match being played, and for first time since my mum died, my father and I are on the same couch, watching football. He sniffles, and then I notice his arm move into his pocket to take out a handkerchief. Surprisingly, he hasn't taken it out for himself, instead he hands it to me. "Maybelline thinks you and I should go to therapy to iron out our," he puts air quotes, "mental rivalry," "You're not my rival." I huff. "I agree, I'm just a bad Dad to you," he murmurs as I take it. "I can't believe that I hit my son." "It's alright, hit harder anyway," I say, not as a joke, but he snorts a short laugh. "You loved mum," I say. "I do." He affirms. "That wasn't a grammatical