Page 10 of Sin Bin (BU Hockey Season 2, #1)

Fallon

T he second I pull onto Gran and Grandad’s street, it all makes sense.

When I’d texted earlier today to tell them I was staying late on campus and would probably crash at a friend’s house, they put up a bit of resistance.

I chalked it up to the fact that there used to be four of us for them to dote on, and now there’s just me.

Plus, Grandad made chocolate chip pancakes for me this morning, so when he said he was back in the kitchen cooking my favorite dinner, I couldn’t resist driving back here.

Seeing the row of cars along the tree lined curb tells me I probably should have.

Part of me wants to put the car in reverse, back out of here, and return to campus.

I’m sure Viv and Annabelle are still studying at Drip, the coffee shop on campus, just like I’m sure the offer to crash at Annabelle’s place still stands.

I’m the kind of girl who prefers the comforts of her own bed to a lumpy couch, but the commute to and from Bainbridge is no joke. I’ve been late to class twice this week and it’s only Wednesday. Traffic is awful, and hefting my luggage-sized backpack around campus all day is no fun, either.

Being a commuter is not for the faint of heart, and though I’ve always considered myself to be one tough cookie—except for my aversion to blood—I might have overestimated.

I watch as a curtain swishes in the large bay window at the front of the house.

Dammit. I’ve been clocked. It’s not like I’d have actually bailed on dinner with my grandparents, but I probably would have sat in my car for a bit and doom-scrolled just long enough to fortify myself for what lies ahead.

I turn off the car, unbuckle my seatbelt, and reach across the center console for the backpack that surely makes me look like a turtle with an oversized shell.

I can’t help it, though. When I scheduled my classes last spring, I didn’t give a thought to time slots.

Living in a dorm meant I was only a few steps from my destination, no matter what it was.

I’ve barely reached the front porch when the door swings open. Gran’s standing there with a grin that stretches from ear to ear. “ Darling ,” she says, signing along, “ I didn’t think it would take you quite so long. Was traffic bad ?”

“ It was worse this morning ,” I tell her as we step inside. “ What’s with all the cars out front, Gran ?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

“ Your grandfather’s been in the kitchen half the day, and you know he always makes way too much, so we thought we’d invite some people over .”

Gran’s eyes are avoiding mine, and that’s something she rarely does. Granted, I can still make out what she’s saying because I can see her hands moving. There’s enough chatter coming from the direction of the dining room that it makes her words a little tricky for my hearing aids to detect.

It doesn’t matter, though, because as soon as we round the corner, her poorly-kept secret is out.

There are probably two dozen people here, and they’re all around my age.

I spot Thomas right away. He’s ditched the tie for a polo shirt, but it’s giving Casual Friday instead of Relaxed College Student.

Most of his companions are dressed nicely, too, so I should probably feel like a slob in my baggy jeans and loose t-shirt, but in all fairness, no one told me there was a party tonight.

And even if they had, my going out clothes wouldn’t help me blend in at all.

Everyone here is wearing clothing that’s only a step or two away from the uniform I was required to wear all through grade school and high school, and that’s not a look I want to repeat.

“ You made it !” I see Grandad walking toward me and read his lips. Even though he’s carrying a tray of snacks, he manages to wrap me in a one-armed hug.

When I let go and allow him to place the food on the table, a dozen guys descend on it, leaving crumbs in their wake.

Grandad winks, so I have no doubt he stashed a bag of chips and some of his famous buffalo chicken dip in the fridge for me.

Now if only I could herd everyone out of here so I could snuggle up on the couch and devour it.

I’ve had a long day, and I can feel a headache blooming at the base of my neck. The last thing I want to do is socialize—especially with a bunch of strangers—but my grandparents are so sweet, and I owe them so much.

Will it really kill me to play nice for an hour or two?

Ten minutes into this impromptu dinner party, I can answer that question definitively.

Yes. Yes, I may actually perish from boredom if I have to stand here with a fake smile plastered on my face and listen to Thomas and his buddies debate how many men it would take to beat a gorilla.

For a bunch of guys from a youth group, they sure are bloodthirsty.

A bony elbow pokes my arm and I turn to see a girl about my age. Like the others, she’s dressed as though she’s going to church, but when she looks up at me, her smile is kind. “Can you believe they’re arguing about that?” she asks. “I’m Becca, by the way.”

I shake my head. I’ve pretty much given up on figuring out guys and the dumb stuff they debate.

“I mean, I did the research,” she says, as I read her lips, “and ultimately a human could technically defeat a gorilla, but there’d be mass casualties before the last few guys could claim victory.”

I’m not sure if I should be impressed or horrified that Becca did her research.

My headache is getting worse and as much as I love Grandad’s cooking, a glass of water and a few ibuprofen are sounding like a delicious dinner right about now.

Becca shoots me a worried look as I rub my temples, but I smile to reassure her that I’m okay.

I’d be a lot more okay, though, if I could escape to my room and sleep off my headache.

As though she senses my imminent retreat, Gran begins corralling us to the table while Grandad serves up piping hot slices of his homemade pizza.

It’s always been my favorite, and right now I feel like I’m back in elementary school as I sit at a table with my peers and wait for the adults to hand us our plates.

What the hell has my life become? I’m weeks away from my twenty-first birthday, and while I’m not exactly up for a rager tonight, I don’t love the feeling of being a kid again either.

Maybe that’s what does it. Or maybe it’s when I catch my grandmother tell Thomas she’ll make sure there’s more plain cheese pizza next week.

Next week?!

My eyes must be bugging out of my head because Becca quirks her eyebrow.

“Didn’t Miss Carol tell you? She and Mr. Jim offered to host us each week.

The trip we’re planning requires a lot of prep, but she said you like to travel, and that you’d love to help.

I know you missed our meeting on Tuesday, but I’d be happy to fill you in. ”

I can tell by the wide-eyed expression on her face that my eyes are still bugging out of my head.

“Sorry,” she says, speaking louder and slower. “I don’t know any ASL, but we thought you could teach us some each week so that by the time our trip rolls around, we’ll be pros.”

I want to tell her it’s not the kind of thing you pick up in a matter of weeks, and that I don’t have any interest in teaching anyone. Nor do I have any interest in traveling to Europe on a chaperoned trip with a bunch of people I don’t know.

My temper bubbles to the surface, so I tamp it back down before I lash out. Poor Becca doesn’t deserve my anger. None of this is her fault.

But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay down here a minute longer than necessary. “Bad headache,” I say, rubbing my temple.

When I stand to walk my plate into the kitchen Becca takes it instead.

“Go lie down,” she says, her volume cranked.

Her heart’s in the right place, though, and I don’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt for letting her bus my dish.

The sooner I can crawl into bed, the better.

There’s no doubt I’ll have to talk to my grandparents, but that doesn’t mean I have to do it tonight.

It’s my second awkward breakfast of the week, but I’m far more anxious about this one than I was about my meet up with Kendra. That didn’t end in my favor, though, and now my anxiety is skyrocketing.

Gran hands me a steaming mug of coffee while Grandad plates up one of his homemade cinnamon rolls.

“ How’s your headache, dear ?” Gran asks, pouring a splash of cream into her own coffee cup.

“ I’m moving back to campus ,” I blurt, before I can think better of it.

Gran sets her mug down with a little too much force, causing the contents to slosh over the sides. “ Fallon, you’ve only been here a few days. Why on earth would you move back there already? Where will you stay? ”

“ There’s a room for me at The Chapel. Booker made sure of that. Living on campus will make things much easier, although I know the food won’t be nearly as good ,” I say, winking at Grandad.

“ Darling ,” Gran gasps, and I know she’d be clutching her pearls if she were wearing them.

“ You can’t possibly live there. Boys live there .

” The derision on her face is clear. The idea of me moving into a house full of college guys is akin to wearing pasties and thongs for the annual holiday photo shoot. It’s simply not done.

And yet, here I am, making waves and drawing lines in the sand.

“ Is the drive too much for you ?” Grandad asks, kindness shining in his blue eyes. “ Because I can drive you over in the mornings and pick you up in the afternoons. It’s no trouble at all .”

I smile gratefully. He’s so sweet. They both are, but I need to live my own life, and that’s not something I can do under their roof.

“ I won’t miss the traffic ,” I say with a smile, “ but it’s more than that. I love being on campus and being surrounded by people my age. I want the full experience of college life, even if that means living with roommates I wouldn’t choose .”

“ But the Triumphant Travelers are your age ,” Gran argues.