Loser || WlW

Twenty-Eight

    "No, I'm not going," I say as I limp to my bedroom.

"Jordan, listen to me." My dad catches the door with his palm before I can lock him out. "Jordan." His eyes are gentle when he notices the tears streaming down my face.

God, I hate crying in front of him.

"Jordan, listen." He motions for me to sit and joins me on the edge of the bed. "We have to do this. It's the right thing to do." His hand is rough as he squeezes mine. "For Claire."

"Dad." My voice is thick with sobs. "Even Brittany doesn't believe me anymore. Claire's entire family thinks I killed their daughter. They probably don't want me anywhere near the service. And the Hemmetts..." I trail off; shake my head.

"They're just a bunch of bullies, Jo." He half-smiles. "Since when have the Taylors been afraid of a bunch of bullies?" He flashes a big smile.

Always. I have always been afraid of bullies.

"Okay, Dad."

"Okay?" He holds his hand up for a high five. "Come on." He motions to his hand. "Don't leave me hanging."

I roll my eyes and high-five him and he runs out of the room, cheering for his victory.

Grace leans against the doorframe, smiling. "Your dad is funny."

"Don't say that too loud. You don't want him to hear you." I smile.

It takes over an hour to find something to wear. Between my brother giving me a black button-up and Grace lending me a pair of black pants, I finally look funeral-ready.

The drive is silent.

We keep to ourselves until we're climbing the hill to the service. "Dad, your shirt isn't even black. It's like dark blue," Zachary says, squinting at his arm.

"Close enough." He pushes Zachary's face away from his shirt. "It's all I had," he mutters after a minute.

My heart is beating out of my chest as I scan the crowd for a familiar face. Everyone is staring; whispering as we pass. Someone says, "Ew, why did the murderer show up?"

I glance at Grace who squeezes my hand once.

"Can we stand in the back?" My voice shakes.

My dad nods and we stop walking. "I was going to ask the same thing." He lets out a nervous chuckle and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

Zachary shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at the Hemmetts. "Incoming," he whispers.

I follow his stare and find Trevor storming toward us with two of his teammates in tow.

"Shit," I whisper.

My dad balls his hands into fists. "That's the boy that hit my daughter?"

Zachary stands in line with him, rolls his sleeves up an inch, and nods. "We can take a couple of pampered pricks. What do you say, old man?"

"Zachary!" I hiss. "Shut up."

Trevor stops in his tracks, his eyes focused on something to my right.

Brittany is walking toward us. She's fierce in high heels, tight black pants, and a black top. A wristlet is clutched between her freshly manicured fingers.

"Oh my god." The words get stuck in my throat. "This is worse than Trevor beating the shit out of me." I shift my weight back and forth, trying to steady my heartbeat.

She's going to chew me out in front of everyone.

She lifts her sunglasses to the top of her head. Her eyes are bloodshot and circled with bags. She's walking so fast it looks like she might attack me.