Outside Edge (Knockout Girl Book 5) Read online

  Outside edge

  Natasja Eby

  Copyright © 2019 Natasja Eby

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—except in the case of brief quotations for the purpose of critical articles and reviews—without written permission from the author.

  ISBN-13: 9781689759779

  First edition: November 2019

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. However, should you find yourself craving the sights, sounds, and smells of the holiday season, this is purely intentional.

  Cover and book design by Natasja Eby and Joel Wright

  Published by Natasja Eby

  https://natasjaeby.blogspot.com

  DEDICATION

  For Michelle Wright,

  The only person who was remotely sympathetic towards Adrian.

  (She has a book coming out March 2020.)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to the following people:

  Dad, Eli, Gina, Joel, Matt, Melody, Michelle,

  Mom, Vicky, and the townsfolk of Noëlville, ON.

  “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another.”

  –Ephesians 4:32

  CHAPTER one

  Adrian

  I can’t look at the judge’s face as he lists all the horrible things I’ve done over the past three months. I know what I did and I knew it was wrong when I did those things. I know the latest DUI is just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  “Well, Mr. McDuff,” Judge Alderson says, his bushy grey brows low over his eyes. “Do you have anything to say before I make my final decision?”

  I glance around me quickly. My parents are on my left. The prosecutor is sitting at the bench to my right. There’s no one else here. The judge is literally the only thing standing between me and my future.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, but even I can hear how unapologetic I sound.

  “Do you think sorry will undo a DUI charge?” Judge Alderson asks neutrally. “Or revive the Carlsons’ cat? Or give you your scholarship back?”

  I clear my throat like I have something important to say. But there’s no good answer for those things. They’re rhetorical questions and nothing I say will change the judge’s mind, or my coach’s mind, or bring that stupid cat back to life.

  “Right,” he says, shaking his head at me. “Let’s take a five-minute break, after which I will deliver my final judgment.”

  My breath gushes out of me as he pounds his gavel once and stands. Five minutes. That’s all he’s going to take to decide my fate. This sucks.

  I sit and ignore my parents’ disappointed stares. Even though they separated a while ago, they’re still a “united force on the parenting front” and they have never once let up on me about anything. What did I do that was so bad? Well, let’s see...

  I lost a great girlfriend, got my nose broken, started drinking too much, screwed up a playoff game, lost my dog to cancer, and then ran over someone’s cat. Although, if you ask me, people should really know where their cats are at all times. The rest, though...

  Judge Alderson comes back out and I immediately stand up, gulping down hard. He’s got a serious dad look on his face and I don’t like it one bit.

  “Adrian,” he says and he almost sounds kind but I’m still wincing. “It’s rather unfortunate that you didn’t have enough foresight to not get yourself into the trouble you’re in now. We have multiple testaments of your overzealous drinking habits and how you’ve become an unreliable teammate—”

  “Wait, but—”

  He taps his gavel, giving me a stern look. “I gave you your chance to speak. Now it’s mine.”

  I clench my jaw and stare at the gavel instead of giving him the satisfaction of making eye contact.

  “Due to all of this evidence, I’m giving you a year of community service work with a six-month probation,” he says and my heart drops. “We have a list of appropriate volunteer positions you may choose from, but your grandfather has graciously agreed to take over your probation. He has plenty of placement opportunities for you and in my professional opinion, I suggest you take him up on his generous offer.”

  My eyes widen and I open and close my mouth several times. “But—but...my pops lives all the way in Christmastown,” I say. It’s a good five hours’ drive north, but I’m sure the judge knows that. “How...how am I supposed to go to U of T if I’m living there?”

  The judge raises his eyebrows at me like he’s surprised I would bring that up. “Adrian...you’ve lost your scholarship, your driver’s license, and your spot on the junior hockey team. The dean is already on the fence about withdrawing your acceptance. I think, for your sake, you should really step back and re-evaluate the direction your life is taking. If you choose to go with your grandfather and truly make an effort to better yourself, you can reapply to the University of Toronto for next fall and have a good chance at getting in.”

  “But—but—” Finally I look over at my parents. Mom’s eyes are red and teary. Dad’s jaw is clenched and I can’t tell whether he’s madder at me or the judge. Probably me, but still... “This is so unfair.”

  Judge Alderson raises an eyebrow. “Unfair? Are you sure? I’ve given you a sentence befitting a juvenile delinquent even though your eighteenth birthday was three months ago. Perhaps over the next year, you can learn how to organize your thoughts before you speak them aloud. Now please make your decision and report back to me by the end of the week. You’re dismissed.”

  He bangs his gavel while I bite down so hard on my tongue I can taste blood. I spin and stalk out of the courtroom, ripping off my suffocating tie and coat at the same time. Lot of good dressing up did for me when the judge was just going to take everything away from me that I hadn’t already lost.

  While I’m busy storming out of the courthouse, the click-clack of Mom’s shoes follows me. Dad’s footsteps are softer, but I’m guessing that’s because he’s saving all his anger for when we get home.

  “Adrian,” Mom calls softly just as I open up the outer doors.

  I shake my head and keep going. It’ll be a hike to walk home, but there’s no way I want to get into the car with them right now. I stomp down the sidewalk, but a strong hand grasps my elbow and stops me in my tracks.

  “Don’t ignore your mother, Adrian,” Dad says under his breath. “After all that, don’t be the son who won’t talk to his own mom.”

  I sigh heavily and look past him to Mom, who’s standing a few feet away tears streaming down her cheeks. I give her a sad look because I feel as sad as she looks. “I’m just going to...walk home. I’ll talk to you at home, okay?”

  Dad’s grip tightens on my arm but Mom nods and says quietly, “Okay.”

  I pull my arm away from Dad, sling my ridiculous suit jacket and tie over my shoulder, and continue my trek down the sidewalk. Just because I said I’d talk to them at home doesn’t mean that I’ll go straight home.

  Instead I head downtown to a little interior design shop, where I stand at the front window and stare across the street. There’s a gym there called O’Keefe’s Boxing Elite where everyone who ruined my life likes to hang out.

  “Excuse me, can I help you?” a professional but snippy voice asks behind me.

  I spin around, making the suit jacket flare out. A middle-aged lady in a tight pencil skirt and black heels is giving me a weird look, like she can’t figure out why a young guy in a suit would be hanging out in her s
hop. I can’t exactly tell her I’m spying on my ex and the love of her life, though.

  “No one can help me,” I say darkly.

  Dramatic, yes. But that’s all I’ve got right now.

  ***

  After wandering around with my suit jacket slung over my shoulder and the off-and-on vibrations from my phone, I finally decide to go home. By the time I throw open my front door, the streetlamps are on, my stomach is rumbling, and my head is buzzing. Without even bothering to change, I flop onto my bed, enjoying the darkness of my room. It matches the darkness of my spirit.

  “Rough day, eh?” Simon says from the doorway.

  I can’t even answer him. I love my older brother, but he’s my perfect opposite, emphasis on perfect. The guy can’t do any wrong and I wish I could hate him for it, but I can’t. Instead, I just turn onto my side and curl up.

  “Gonna wrinkle that suit,” he tries again but I don’t feel like talking to him right now. “Okay... I’ll go.”

  I lay awake for a long time in that fetal position, unmoving, not caring whether my suit gets wrinkled or not. And I don’t care about it in the morning when I get up, groggy from about three hours of sleep and wincing at my mom’s calls for me.

  I go down into the kitchen where she’s having some coffee. Simon’s probably already out doing the Lord’s work or whatever so it’s just me and her.

  “What’s up?” I say loosely.

  She hands me her cell. “Your grandfather’s on the phone. He tried calling you, but it went straight to voicemail.”

  I sigh heavily and take the phone. “Hey, Pops. Sorry, I think my phone died.”

  “Well, we almost thought you died,” he snaps. “Your brother tried waking you and your phone was silent. Why would you scare your family like that?”

  I bite back another sigh and don’t bother to point out that when he was my age, they didn’t have cell phones or security cameras everywhere and he probably did whatever he felt like doing when he felt like it.

  “Sorry,” I say again. Is this my life now? Apologizing for everything, including just being asleep?

  “Never mind that,” he huffs. “When are you coming? I can make room for you this weekend. Though, you’ll have to clean out the loft yourself. This old man’s back can’t quite handle that ladder anymore.”

  I choke back all the words I know I can’t say to him. He really thinks I’m going to stay with him and sleep in the loft and carry on with my life like that? I glance at Mom, but her back is turned to me as she empties the dishwasher. I’m sure she’s trying her hardest to listen, though.

  “I...I hadn’t decided to do that yet,” I say.

  There’s a weighted silence on the phone that stretches beyond infinity. Finally, he says, “You better be jerking my chain, son. Do you have something better to do?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m going to U of T. I can work my hours around that.”

  I hear a crash and turn to find my mom standing among the ruins of a glass she dropped. She’s staring at me wide-eyed and shaking her head furiously.

  “Hang on, Pops,” I say and cover the phone with my hand. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I guess you haven’t checked your email this morning?” she whispers. I shake my head and she looks down at all the glass shards. “They withdrew your acceptance. I’m sorry, Adrian.”

  The air freezes around me, suffocating me and snuffing out every last remaining shred of hope I had. I take a few deep breaths.

  “Hey, Pops,” I finally say into the phone. “I changed my mind. I’ll be there this weekend.”

  “Good,” he says gruffly. “We’ll be expecting you.”

  We? He’s been living alone since my Memaw died a few years ago. “Alright, see you soon.”

  My mom is still standing there with glass all around her, staring at me. The lines around her eyes are drawn tight, but not like when she smiles, and it kills me a little.

  “I’ll get the vacuum,” I say.

  I go and grab the vacuum from the basement and when I come back, she’s still in that same position, with her hands hanging loosely at her sides.

  “Come on, Mom,” I say. “My life is over, not yours. Can you stop...looking at me like that?”

  She raises her eyebrows, looking more like her normal mom self while I start up the vacuum. It only takes a couple of minutes and when I’m done, she comes and puts her arms around me. The hug feels good, I’ll admit it, but it doesn’t fix anything.

  “You’re being a bit dramatic, you know?” she says as she lets me go. “Your life isn’t over. You’re just taking a little detour en route to your goals.”

  I cross my arms. “That’s a nice metaphor for ‘you screwed everything up, Adrian.’”

  For some reason, Mom smiles. “You didn’t screw everything up. You made a few mistakes. But you’re young and the judge is right—you’ve been given a good opportunity to fix things and try better next time.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I say. But it still feels bleak to me. “I’ll go talk to Judge Alderson.”

  I don’t even bother to change. I just put my suit jacket back on and stalk out the doorway. It’s another long walk to the courthouse—since I can’t drive now—and it’s far too sunny out for my liking. Why couldn’t it have been dark and rainy to match my mood?

  When I get to the courthouse, I asked if Judge Alderson is available and the receptionist tells me he’s got two minutes to spare. He sure is generous for a guy who judges people all day long.

  I go into his office and sit down at the desk. He smiles, like he doesn’t care that I’m wearing yesterday’s now-wrinkled suit, that my hair is completely disheveled, and that I probably have monster bags under my eyes.

  “Ah, the young Mr. McDuff,” he says and I can tell he’s already had at least two cups of coffee. I probably should have tried that. “What can I do for you?”

  “I talked to my pops,” I say. “I’m going there this weekend. I’ll live with him for however long I’m supposed to and do whatever he says to appease the court system.”

  His smile falls. “I’m happy to hear that but I hope you do understand that this is for your own good. You are a bright young man and you have a promising future, but you can’t keep making stupid mistakes over and over and expect to live a prosperous life.”

  My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead. I wasn’t expecting life advice, but okay. “Thanks,” I say slowly. “So I guess I’ll...”

  “Report back by the end of the year,” he says. “If I see enough improvement in your habits, I might consider changing my judgment.”

  “Okay.”

  That’s it. That’s at least four and half months of torture up in French Canadian territory. There’s so little to do there that I’ll probably die of boredom before I make it back to this chair.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adrian

  Simon leans silently against my doorjamb as I pack the last of my clothes into my suitcase. I’m pretty much taking everything with me that I’ll need over the next year, since I know it’ll be hard coming back and forth between home and Pops’s place. Simon hasn’t said much to me over the last few days and I can’t tell if he’s disappointed in me or sad to see me go.

  Glancing over my shoulder at him, I say, “Be good while I’m gone.”

  “Good enough for the both of us?” he asks, a tiny smirk on his face.

  “Yeah, I’d appreciate that,” I say. With one final zip on the suitcase, my whole life is packed away.

  He comes in while I’m attempting to drag both suitcases off my bed and takes one for me. “Adrian, I wish—”

  He cuts himself off, so I fill in for him with, “You wish I hadn’t screwed everything up so I wouldn’t have to borrow your suitcase indefinitely?”

  He smiles. “I was going to say I wish you hadn’t been kicked off your team, so maybe you could have stayed here while you...figured things out.”

  “I...” He looks so sincere. He’
s only 18 months older than me, but he’s got a wisdom I was not lucky enough to be born with. “Me, too.”

  “I also kind of wish you’d killed the Carlsons’ cat a long time ago,” he quips. “That thing was evil.”

  I chuckle because I know he’s trying to make me feel better, but I still feel guilty over that. After losing Sugar—our beautiful Saint Bernard—I can’t bear the thought of another family losing their pet, too. “I’m glad I could help you out,” I say, but the humour I meant is missing.

  “I’ll come visit when I can,” he says in a heavy voice.

  I consider making another joke but instead, I say, “I’d like that.”

  We take the suitcases down to my dad’s car, where he’s checking out the tires. I’m sure he’ll tell me he wants to make sure they’ve got enough air or something before we go. But, really, he’s just avoiding looking his disgraceful son right in the eye. I don’t know what we’re going to do for the whole five-hour ride.

  Mom comes out of the house holding a plain envelope and watches me and Simon put the suitcases in the trunk. When we’re done, she comes over and gives me a tight hug that nearly suffocates me.

  Handing me the envelope, she says, “Spend this wisely.”

  I glance inside the envelope where there’s a bunch of twenties I definitely won’t count in front of her. Seeing the tight lines around her eyes, I know what she really means is, “Don’t spend this on alcohol.” As if my grandfather will even let me out of his sight long enough to let me track down any alcohol.

  I nod and say, “I’ll see you, Mom. Bye, Simon.”

  “Say hi to Pops for me,” he says.

  “I will,” I tell him.

  “Adrian,” Dad calls from the driver’s seat. “It’s a long drive. Come on.”

  No “son,” “kiddo,” or “buddy.” Now I’m just “Adrian, the screw-up.”