Twenty-Six

After everything that went down with Jude and Archer, my thoughts have been complete chaos. Add in what I now have to tell my parents, and I'm near spiraling. The only thing that's kept me sane has been Ronnie's reassurances that I'm doing the right thing.

Dad isn't an unreasonable person, I remind myself over and over. He loves me, wants the best for me. He wouldn't want to keep paying for a degree that I never intended on using.

That's the mantra I've repeated to myself for the last few hours and keep repeating as I take a shower and wash my hair twice just to stall for time.

Dad's off today. There's no practice, no Dragons related activity at all. It's one of the rare days he gets to stay home with Mom all day.

Which is why it's the perfect time to tell them. Mom's been puttering around the kitchen for the last hour or so, cooking something for dinner that smells amazing. I'd have their full attention if I chose to spill it all to them tonight. But even considering that has me shivering under the scalding hot water.

I've made a mess. A huge mess that I have no choice but to crawl and scrape my way out of.

Part of me wishes Jude could be here to hold my hand through this. I still can't quite figure out how he's become the calm to my internal storm so quickly, but I'm not complaining. I just feel blessed to have found him when I did.

But having him here would only complicate things.

At least now that Archer posed his ultimatum to Joel, Jude won't have to pretend any longer. We can be together, out in the open, as we really are.

Gritting my teeth, I shut off the water and hop out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel. When I get back to my room to get dressed, there's a text message from Jude.

Boyfriend

Hey sweetheart. I know you're probably second-guessing your decision to tell your parents but don't. I'm so proud of you for gathering the courage to do that. And I'm incredibly proud of who you are as an author. I have no doubt your parents will be too once they get over the part about you not being in school anymore. If you need to talk afterward, call me. I'm heading to Joel's now. Just remember you are safe, loved, and it will all be okay in the end.

My eyes well with tears as I read the last line. It's impossible to keep them at bay, so I cry, allowing all the guilt and worry from the past few months to pour out of me at once. He's right. It will all be okay in the end, no matter how my parents take the news. I've got him, my crazy, hare-brained venture took off, and above all, I know my parents love me no matter what. Even if they don't agree with my decision.

Once I'm dressed, I dry my eyes and do my best to cover my red, splotchy face with makeup. Aside from my slightly puffy eyes, I don't look too terrible. I wander out to the main living area where the aroma of dinner forces me to take a deep inhale.

Mom's humming at the stove with her back turned to me, still wearing that awful boot. She was bummed she couldn't make the game in Seaville, but it's too hard for her to get around unfamiliar arenas with crowds full of people. Even sitting in a car for that many hours causes her foot to ache, so she opted to stay home, claiming she had a fictional boyfriend to keep her company. Dad wasn't laughing as hard as I was at that.

I step up to the bar and tap my fingernails against the granite top. "Need any help?"

She sends me a smile over her shoulder. "Nah, I don't think so. Just about to finish up."

"Where's Dad?"

"He's taking a nap before dinner," she says, stirring something that smells an awful lot like beef stew. "Said not to let him sleep past five." She chuckles to herself. "Poor guy isn't as young as he used to be. These overnight games take it out of him."

I'm not sure what possesses me, but words tumble out of me faster than I can stop them. "Mom, I have something I need to tell you."

The hand she's using to stir the beef stew halts, and she slowly turns to face me. "Is this about your new boyfriend?" One single eyebrow lifts in a move that reminds me so much of myself, I'm forced to bite back a laugh.

"Ah, no. But I can tell you about him too." I slip into a seat at the bar, then fold my now sweaty hands on top. "I mean, after I tell you what I need to. Actually, you might not want to talk about anything else after I confess this."

Worry clouds her features, and she sets the spoon down beside the stove. "What is it?"

I swallow down the last of my resistance. I've come this far; there's no stopping now. "Mom, I…I didn't go back to school this semester. After Christmas break, I just…didn't go back."

Her brow dips so low, I wince. "Wait," she says, holding up a hand like a stop sign. "What do you mean you didn't go back?"

My throat tightens around the words I need to say. How do I even explain this next part? Taking a deep breath, I decide to go for straightforward.

"I dropped out, Mom. Went to the office, got my transcripts, and…I haven't been back."

She blinks about a hundred times, probably still not believing she heard me right. "Chantelle." My name comes out like a breathless whisper. "Why?"

Tears spill over my lashes at the genuine hurt mixed with confusion in her voice. "I did something crazy. Exciting, super cool, but also kind of…crazy." She remains silent as I wipe away a few errant tears.

"I wrote a book, Mom. A romance novel. And then I published it." A nervous chuckle escapes me as I pick at my thumbnail. "I wasn't sure if anything would come of it. But I gave it a go anyway. I created social media accounts under a pen name, posted a few videos that went viral, and my book skyrocketed to success just a month after its release. It became a bestseller."

Her jaw drops, and she looks at me as if she's seeing me for the first time.

"I know this is a lot to take in right now," I say, rushing on. "And I'm going to tell Dad next, I just…I couldn't keep hiding this from you guys. I've been miserable keeping it from you. But once my book did so well, it took a ton of time to manage my social media pages, along with trying to write the sequel to the first book. I never dreamed of being a full-time author, but it sort of just…happened."

A tear falls down Mom's cheek, and my heart breaks a little at the disappointment in her expression. "I hate that you didn't tell me you wrote a book." She wipes away the tear, surprising me when she asks, "Do I get to read it?"

The hope in her voice has me crying too. "Yeah, Mom. Of course."

She nods, clearing her throat. "Chantelle, your dad won't be happy that you made such a rash decision about school without talking to him first."

"I know."

"And I officially do not approve of you doing so."

It takes effort to hold her gaze, but I make myself do it. I have no one to blame for the uncomfortableness of this situation but me.

"However," she continues, "I am so proud that you"re taking responsibility for your life and making your own decisions."

A smile starts on my lips, but I tamp it down. Her reassuring words are like a balm to my anxious heart. She reaches out and grasps my hand in hers.

"Your dad and I have been worried about you ever since he who shall not be named left." I snort a laugh at her nickname for Lex, and she giggles too, rubbing her thumb over the back of my hand. "But I'm serious, honey. He really made you question yourself. You've always been strong-willed and sure of who you were, even with your slightly obsessive tendencies and overactive thoughts. But after he left, it was evident how often you questioned your decisions. Our hearts broke for you."

More tears spill out, and I do my best to wipe them away.

"Even though I don't like that you hid this from us, you're an adult. You get to make the decisions for your life, whether good or bad. You living here doesn't mean you are under our thumbs, Chantelle. We trust your judgement."

Again, my heart aches. Somewhere deep inside, I'd hoped she'd say this to me, hoped she'd offer her support, even if she didn't agree with my decision to quit school.

"You saying all that makes me feel better about telling Dad."

"Telling Dad what?"

I spin around at the sound of Dad's voice, and my heart slams against my rib cage.

"Honey," Mom hedges, moving toward Dad with hands raised in a placating manner. When she reaches him, she pats him on the chest and ushers him forward. "Chantelle has something she'd like to talk to us about. Why don't you sit down at the table? We'll get dinner set, then we can talk."

Dad looks warily at Mom, then me. "Okay." His tone, laced with a heavy dose of skepticism, doesn't ease the tension in the room, but I ignore it and get to work ladling up bowls of stew. Mom grabs some rolls for the breadbasket, and we quickly toss together a salad.

Not liking to sit around while others work, Dad gets all our drinks. Soon we're seated around the dining room table, all staring at one another like we're caught in a weird game of chicken.

"So," Dad says, drawing out the o. "What's going on, sugar bean?"

Fiddling with the spoon on my napkin, I gather every speck of courage from the corners of my heart and meet his eyes. "Dad, I quit school. I'm no longer a student at DU."

His eyes widen before his gaze darts to Mom. "Did you know about this?"

Mom tilts her head, expression pleading. "I just found out before you walked in."

"Chantelle," Dad says, voice stern. It takes me back to the days of being an ornery little kid getting into trouble. "How did this happen?"

I take a deep breath before giving him the same explanation I gave Mom. I water down some of the whole writing romance aspect since I doubt that would excite him, but still…I give it to him straight.

"I know I should've talked to you first, considering how you've paid my way," I say. "But my heart wasn't in sports journalism. I'm not sure it ever was. And once I published my book and it became a bestseller, it was too much to try and manage my school load and my author career together. Maybe it wouldn't be for someone else, but for me it just…was."

His lips are pulled tight, his hands folded in front of him. He's mad, there's no denying it, especially with his loud, disappointed sigh.

"I can understand how that would be a lot to manage," he says. "But I still would've liked to discuss this with you. You're an adult and can do what you want, but your decisions affect your family, too, Chantelle. I can't get back the money I paid for this semester."

"I know, Dad. Which is why I will pay you back. I'll reimburse you for all of it. It might take me a little while, but with what I've saved from lifeguarding, plus what I'm making now, I should be able to cover it all in the next couple of years. And since I'm no longer attending classes, I'll start looking for another place to live."

He eyes me, tapping a finger on the table. "I'll accept that. I'm not happy about it, but…I'll accept it."

I almost tell him how glad I am that he didn't freak out, but refrain. "I'm sorry for not telling you the truth."

His face softens a fraction. "We forgive you. But Chantelle, I don't want you to move out before you're ready. Let this career of yours gain some traction before you go finding a new place."

Relief fills me at his reassurance. "If you're sure."

"Of course I'm sure. You're our daughter. We want what's best for you. If a career in sports journalism isn't it, I can live with that."

I smile, grateful and overwhelmed that he's taking this so well. "Thanks, Dad." Without lingering on the subject, he picks up his spoon and digs into his stew. Mom relaxes into her chair, casting furtive glances Dad's way every other second.

"Now," he says around a bite of roll. "What I really want to know is how your date went the other night."