I punch him in the arm. “That is so unappealing to me.”

“Fine, then spread your legs so I could eat you out.”

“I’ll think about that one.”

He grins at me. “Keep me posted.”

The lighthearted mood dies when the hosts bring up the topic of my father. “Jensen had a great season,” Trevor says. “Shame they didn’t get a berth, but hopefully next year will garner a different result. I really do believe he’s the best coach in D1 hockey right now.”

Sadness coats my throat. I wonder if I should text my dad. He must be so disappointed that Briar’s season ended this way.

“I should text my dad,” I say out loud. “You know, offer my condolences.”

Jake’s tone goes soft. “I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

Would he? I have no idea, but I still send him a short message saying they played a good season and next year will be even better. He doesn’t immediately respond, but he’s not much of a texter. I simply hope he reads it and knows I’m thinking about him.

To my horror, actual tears well up.

“Are you…” Jake doesn’t miss my watery eyes. “Are you crying?” he asks with a note of concern.

“No.” I rub the side of my finger underneath my eye. “Sending that message made me a bit sad. I hate it when he’s mad at me. I mean, he doesn’t show much emotion around me anymore, but when he does, it’s usually more disapproval than anger.”

“Do you realize how messed up that sounds? You hate the anger, but you’re totally cool with the disapproval?” Jake asks incredulously.

“Well, no. I’m not cool with it. I’m used to it, is all.” I let out a sigh. “And I guess I understand it. I told you, I haven’t exactly been the perfect daughter.”

“Why? Because you ran wild in high school? What teenager doesn’t?”

“I did more than run wild. I…” A lump rises in my throat, and it’s difficult to talk through it. “Honestly, I think he’s ashamed of me.”

Jake looks alarmed. “What did you do, babe? Murder a teacher?”

“No.” I manage a weak smile.

“Then what?”

Hesitation lodges in my chest. I haven’t talked about this with anyone, save for the shrink my father made me see senior year. He’d consulted with the team therapist at Briar, who told him that after what I’d been through, it could be useful for me to talk about it with someone who wasn’t him. So I saw a therapist for a few months, and while she helped me come to terms with some of it, she couldn’t quite tell me how to fix my relationship with my father. And it’s only gotten worse in the ensuing years.

I study Jake’s patient expression, his supportive body language. Can I trust him? This story is embarrassing, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if people found out. I just don’t like the idea of being judged by someone whose opinion actually matters to me.

But Jake hasn’t judged me, not even once, since we met. He doesn’t care that I’m a bitch. He doesn’t care that I taunt him—he enjoys taunting me right back. He’s been fairly open about his own life, but then again, it’s easy to be open when you don’t have skeletons in your closet.

“Are you sure you want to meet my skeletons?” I ask wryly.

“Oh boy. You totally killed someone, didn’t you?”

“No. But I got knocked up when I was sixteen and almost died.”

The confession flies out before I can stop it. And once it’s out there, hanging in the air between us, I awkwardly stare into Jake’s wide eyes and listen to the crickets.

It’s a solid five seconds before he responds, whistling softly through his teeth. “Shit. Okay.” He nods slowly. “You got pregnant. Was Eric…?”

I nod back. “I lost my virginity to him. But despite what my father thinks, we weren’t irresponsible about sex. We were having it regularly for more than a year, and we were very good about using condoms. I wasn’t on the pill because I was too embarrassed to ask my dad, so I was super strict about condoms.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Jake says. “Now I get why.”

“When I missed my period, I was in total denial about it. I thought, okay, maybe it’s just stress. It’s not abnormal for women to miss a period, and sometimes it has nothing to do with pregnancy. But when I was two months late, I took a test.”

I’ll never forget how my stomach dropped when I saw the plus sign on that pee stick. The first thing I did was call Eric, who was less than helpful.

“Eric said it was no big deal and we’d get it taken care of. But he was right in the middle of playoffs, so his schedule was chaotic. He promised he’d take me but not until after the playoffs.”

Jake frowns deeply. “How long were you expected to wait?”

“A few weeks. But I did some research and found out the procedure is perfectly safe at three months. And before you ask, yes, I wanted to get it done. I didn’t want a baby. I was only sixteen. And Eric didn’t want a baby, either.”

Sadness washes over me as I remember those days. I’d been so terrified. “I couldn’t go alone,” I explain to Jake. “I was too scared, and way too humiliated to tell my cousins or any of my friends, and especially not my father. I needed Eric to take me, and we had it all planned out. He would have more time after the playoffs, and he’d drive me to Boston and we would get it done there.”

Jake runs his hand up my arm in a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I… I didn’t actually get the abortion,” I confess. “We had the appointment booked, but we never made it. I started bleeding one morning a few days before it. Well, spotting. I looked it up online, and most of the websites said that spotting during the first trimester was normal. I called Eric, and he went online too and concluded it didn’t sound like a big deal.”

“Where was he?”

“In Newport with his teammates. They were playing their semifinal round that afternoon. He said he’d check in with me after the game, and he did. I was still spotting but not too heavily.” I shake my head irritably. “Eric’s team crushed their opponent, so they were going out to celebrate. I asked him to come home, but he said there was no point because it was probably nothing, and he told me not to say anything to my dad.”

“So you just sat there at home, bleeding?” Jake says in dismay.

“Yes and no. Like I said, it started off really slow. Eric told me not to worry about it, and even I thought I was probably freaking out for no reason. So I ignored it and hoped the bleeding would go away. I had dinner with my dad, watched a movie in my room. And then a couple hours later, it went from spotting to…not spotting.” My throat tightens. “I called Eric again and told him it was getting worse and that I was going to tell my dad I needed to go to the hospital. And he said no way, because he didn’t want my dad to find out and kill him.”

“Selfish prick.”

I feel sick as I relive that terrifying night. “Eric decided to come back and take me to the hospital himself. He said to sit tight, and that he was on his way and would get there as soon as he could. He was two hours away.”