Charity (Black Mountain Academy) - Rochelle Paige Page 0,1
visits because I had to foot the bill for those so I wouldn’t violate NCAA rules, but that hadn’t stopped several coaches from making verbal offers. I hadn’t bothered to accept any of them since nothing was in place to hold them to it.
My plans for the time between my eighteenth birthday and when I was able to move onto campus were still up in the air. There was no way in hell I would pass up the opportunity to crash in a mansion for more than a year and have a bunch of money waiting for me at the end of the school year. “Count me in.”
“Thank goodness.” Mrs. Carrington patted my shoulder. “I wasn’t looking forward to going up against the Whitneys if you didn’t like the plan.”
I had no doubt she would’ve done it anyway because she had gone to bat for me several times over the past four years. I’d been damn lucky when my case was assigned to Mrs. Carrington because I’d heard plenty of horror stories from other foster kids about how shitty their social workers were. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be okay with this?”
She gestured toward my hockey bag and stick. “I wasn’t certain how you’d feel about leaving your friends behind and playing for a different team this year.”
“It is what it is.” I shrugged. “And the guys get that I’m not in control of my life until I turn eighteen. They’ll understand why I’m playing for the Cougars instead of the Blue Devils.”
“They better,” she grumbled with a frown. “If one of their parents had been willing to take you in, then you would’ve been in the same place for the past four years, and nobody from my office would’ve been in favor of moving you now.”
This wasn’t the first time Mrs. Carrington had expressed her frustration over the fact that I’d only been able to stay with one of my friends for two weeks after my mom’s funeral. I’d been pissed about it at first too, but I’d eventually gotten over my disappointment. My friends’ parents still helped me out a lot even though none of them felt as though they could take me in for the long haul. Flashing her a grin, I lifted my hockey bag and flung it over my shoulder. “But then I wouldn’t be riding in a Bentley to the mansion I’ll be calling home, and that’d be a damn shame.”
“Language.” Her answering smile let me know that she was correcting me because she was supposed to and not because my language actually bugged her.
I grabbed my stick and hoped it fit inside the Bentley. The rest of my shit was in my backpack and a suitcase, and I didn’t want to make another trip back to Devil Valley if I didn’t have to. “Sorry.”
“Would you like some help?” Looking over my shoulder, I saw the guy who’d been behind the wheel of the Bentley had gotten out and was rounding the front of the vehicle.
“Sure, man. That’d be great.” I picked up my backpack and let him grab the suitcase. Mrs. Carrington followed us to the back of the car and watched while we figured out how to get all three of my bags to fit in the trunk and my stick into the back seat. Once that was done, I turned to my social worker and smiled. “Thanks for all the help.”
“I figured I’d just get in the way since you seemed to have it under control.” She shrugged and handed some paperwork to Mr. Whitney. “Expect to see me sometime this week.”
Mr. Whitney inclined his head. “You should have my number to make arrangements for a good time to stop by.”
“That’s not how this works, Mr. Whitney.” Mrs. Carrington crossed her arms and frowned. “This move is a disruption to Corby’s life during a pivotal year for him. I’d prefer the transparency a drop-in visit allows for this first visit. It will be helpful in determining how well he’s settling into your home.”
I stifled a grin at my social worker—who was only a couple of inches over five feet—facing off against a man who had a good ten inches on her and wore a watch that probably cost more than she earned in an entire year. Luckily, Mr. Whitney wasn’t a dick about it and didn’t try to throw his weight around. Then I would’ve had to step in, and it would have sucked to piss him off before I’d