Astor Hill

Chapter 5

5

Olivia

Conceptually, I knew Will had a brother. Practically, I had completely forgotten that Will has a brother. A living, breathing, talking, walking, legendary brother. The mysterious ex-captain of the basketball team. How am I the last person on this campus to realize that Will’s brother is Ben fucking Cabot ?

Will was almost embarrassed as he muttered the mystery man’s identity to me in the courtyard earlier, confirming the truth of the matter: the objectively gorgeous man with tousled dark locks and fiery brown eyes was definitely his older brother.

Naturally, Will would have an attractive brother— I wouldn’t expect anything less. Ben, though, is devastating. Objectively speaking. It’s quite simply true; Will would agree, if it wasn’t weird to tell your boyfriend that the brother he’s failed to mention is genetically blessed beyond measure.

I think about how I told him off this morning and grimace at the memory. Under normal circumstances if someone caught me from stumbling backwards I probably wouldn’t have told them to fuck off, but I panicked because I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the stranger, and my boyfriend was literally standing right behind me watching me openly gawk at Ben.

I make a conscious effort to relax the jaw I’ve been tensing as I march down to the newspaper office. When Ian texted me this morning about an urgent assignment, right as Will decided to pick a fight, I was already brainstorming my counter offer. I don’t get stories. I spot them, hunt them, chase them myself. Today, though, I’ve never been so glad for a straight forward story assignment in my life.

The door handle on the heavy Georgian revival door is slick with condensation, and I wipe my freshly manicured hand on the back of my tweed skirt. I see the blue fade of Ian’s hair just above the Mac at the top desk.

“Olivia,” he quips, clearly peeved that I’ve rushed over. The only thing Ian hates more than overeagerness is a bustling newsroom; both are the antithesis to the culture he’s strived to create at the paper. I quickly mask my fluster with a calm smile, and I’m met with a small grin that says he’s got some shit to spill. Ian and I are the same in this way; we love some good gossip. Part of what’s made the paper so distinctly different from the Harvard Gazette or the Yale Daily News is our willingness to lean into dirt and scandal. Gossip is soothing to the soul; the best people engage in it. Obama’s weekly basketball game with his security detail was not simply a physical release for a rapidly graying Barack. It was obviously his weekly gossip sesh. How else was one supposed to handle that one senator’s incessant crying?

“Before you tell me to go fuck myself, listen to the pitch.”

Little does he know, I need a distraction. I’ll take almost anything he gives me after the traumatic morning I just had.

“Spill.” I slide into the chair next to him and purse my lips in faint irritation, if only to give the illusion that this is painful for me.

“Okay. Hot jock disappears without a word two years ago, reappears all of a sudden to finish his senior year. Everyone’s asking what will happen to the program now that he’s back, if or how it’ll upset the basketball team’s perfectly laid plans— you know, sporty shit. Alice is covering that, don’t worry. You come in with the?—”

“I can’t,” I cut Ian off, my brain finally catching up with the gravity of Ian’s request. I feel the panic in the form of sweat as my face flushes.

“Why not? Olivia. Not to pull this card, but I’m your editor, so you will.” Ian walks toward the window overlooking the campus courtyard. “We need the why. Why Ben Cabot fled Astor Hill is the story anyone and everyone cares about.” Ian turns back looking me directly in the eyes, his tone grave. “People like Ben don’t just abandon their plans like that. Not only did he up and leave but he did so with no explanation. Not covering this would be a huge misstep. You refusing to cover this would be a massive misstep, for you.” He looks down his nose at me, emphasizing the word you.

“You can’t expect me to?—”

“Not to mention, I already had Lauren reach out via email and Raya tried to get a quote from your boyfriend. Both massive fails, until I realized we literally have you,” he adds, a smug smile settling on his face as he sits at the large plush armchair at his desk. His logic here is sound, but in true Ian fashion he fails to comprehend that I might not want to report on my boyfriend’s brother. The word “ethics” is foreign to him, but I attempt to reason with him anyway.

“This is such a conflict of interest. I cannot ethically cover this story. You are correct, he is Will’s older brother, as of this morning. I mean, as of always. You know what I mean.” My words are becoming jumbled, my thoughts feel fragmented and I need an out. I’ve only just met the man and our first interaction was anything but perfect. I practically spat venom at him after he basically saved me from the embarrassment of falling on my face.

It hits me that Ian, who may be my only real friend here, has no idea of any of this. He must think I’ve known Ben for years. That I can just ask him to go out for coffee or, better yet, drill him with a quick line of questioning at their next family gathering. He probably assumes I already know why he left, and that I’m the easiest person to task this story with because it won’t even require that much investigation.

I cut Ian off mid sentence, realizing I haven’t even been listening.

“I’m too close to this,” I explain, deciding against sharing the dismal truth about my relationship with Will’s family. This is going to be a problem for Will, and beyond that I can see this becoming a problem for me. Ian crosses his legs, examining me closely.

“What’s really going on here, Liv?” his tone changes from editor to concerned friend, which only happens on occasion.

“Will’s just been having a really hard time lately and—” Ian rolls his eyes, cutting me off.

“Olivia, there has not been a time since I’ve known you that Will isn’t going through some shit. At this point, I can’t tell if he’s got issues or if you do.” I feel my face redden as I narrow my eyes. “Liv, you know I’m right. First it’s that you can’t run for class president, then he has an issue with you doing that study abroad program. Does he want you to fail or are you just scared to?”

I shift in my seat, regaining my confidence as anger blossoms inside me. “I know you think you know everything going on at this school, but your ignorance is really shining through right now.”

He chuckles, giving me the bitchy smirk he only saves for when he knows he’s won. “Exactly Olivia, I am ignorant. That is why I am not writing this story— you are.” And I know I can’t say no.

Ian’s right, of course, I consider while walking down the strip of buildings housing the several coffee shops, book stores, and restaurants on campus. A gossip piece is best when messy; ideally, the mess wouldn’t involve me. I thought this assignment would be a decent, albeit temporary, distraction from my issues with Will and the existence of his extremely attractive brother. Instead, the universe is telling me to deal with this head on. Fine. Head on was not my preferred manner of handling this, but it is certainly a manner I’m familiar with.

I’m about to pop my right AirPod into my ear when I hear “Beckett!” from behind me. A comforting warmth blooms in my chest.

“Hey,” I offer with a sigh as I reach up to reciprocate Grant’s signature bear hug.

“Where are you headed? I’ll walk with you.”

“I was just gonna grab a coffee from Nero. But you’re not a coffee guy, if I remember correctly.” Grant pointedly avoided the cardboard carafe of Dunkin breakfast roast during the organic chemistry finals study session last semester.

“You remember! Do you always catalog details about your study mates?”

“Just the ones that bring the best notes and freshly baked sponges .” I elbow what is essentially his hip. I’m a tall girl, but Grant is a literal tower next to me.

“I told you about my British Bake Off binge in confidence, Beckett. Don’t make me regret it,” Grant says with a chuckle. Grant might be teammates with Will, but this is the extent of our friendship. Quick exchanges between classes, brief chats at parties, and every now and again, random details about our lives in disparate study sessions. He’s one of the few men on campus I can do this with. In another world, Grant and I might be real friends. In this one, the one with Will, I settle for his warm acquaintance.

“I seal these lips for no one… but I’m not beneath a coffee bribe,” I offer with a friendly wink. Grant reaches ahead of me and opens the door, and I inhale the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans. “Thanks.”

Grant’s frown reaches his brows as he lowers his voice.

“How’re you holding up today?”

It’s sweet of him to remember. He barely even knew Lily. I bite the inside of my lower lip as I shoot him a tense smile.

My purse audibly buzzes twice as we wait in line, and I’m grateful for the distraction most likely coming from Ian. Except when I check my messages, it’s not; it’s a text from Will.

I need to see you. Nero in ten?

I don’t necessarily want to talk about earlier or tell Will about my meeting with Ian, but I can’t bring myself to refuse. He wants to see me, needs to see me, and I hate the guilt that creeps up when I even consider telling him I’m busy. It’s also the perfect opportunity to avoid a heart to heart with Grant.

I sigh as I turn toward him. “I’m gonna have to cut our impromptu coffee short. Rain check?” I offer with a raised brow. “I totally forgot I was meeting Will. But maybe we can all get food after?”

I’m lying about my forgetfulness, and by the questioning gleam in his eyes, he knows it.

“Sure, Beckett. Remind Will not to suck at practice, will you?”

I laugh, relieved and amused. “If only my words held that power.”

He looks at me over his shoulder as he strolls away, a sad smile settling across his face. Close call. I’m not ready for the flood gates that might buckle under the strain of a conversation about Lily, especially not with someone as sensitive as Grant.

I find a secluded table in the corner by the French doors that lead to the garden and pull out my notebook, willing myself to switch gears. This morning feels long, especially after the hour I spent reading old papers about Ben in the newsroom. I'm in desperate need of a shower after my speed walk to the newsroom in the thick August fog, but if I have to wait for Will here I might as well get a head start on my questions.

Ian’s directive was to dig into the “why” of Ben’s departure. That seems straightforward enough, but it could prove insufficient for a story. I’ll need to generate more context, fill in the gaps of his life right before he left and over the past two years. More importantly, I’ll need to pinpoint why he came back. As much as I’d like this to be a one and done assignment, my journalistic brain is eager to unfold something complex and layered. Maybe he had some sort of injury that led to a mental breakdown? Maybe he spent the past two years meditating in a monastery in Bhutan. Maybe the strain of athletic leadership pushed him to explore life without the pressure of the competitive sports world… I don’t know. Maybe he just left, wanting a gap year. But Ian’s made it my sole purpose to find out.

I’m slipping my notebook back into my bag when I look up and catch Will making small talk with a dancer; I’m pretty sure she’s a freshman, because she’s in a uniform and I haven’t seen her before. She’s tiny, probably reaching just below five feet and her blonde hair reaches her waist. Her eyes glitter with ambition as she flutters her eyelashes at him, a hollow laugh ringing out a little too forcefully. I watch him shift his weight, his hand reaching out to pick an eyelash off her face, and I feel my cheeks burn in frustration.

As if he feels my eyes on him, Will shoots me a subtle smile followed by a conspiratorial eye roll, like that move he just pulled was out of pity, or for my benefit, or something justifiable, and I unwittingly cool off.

I don’t know how he does it— make me doubt him one second and make me feel like the only worthy person in the building the next. Will’s far from perfect, but when I consider the kind of guy I need next to me, he kind of is. Yes, he can pull shit like this, but there are moments where he makes me feel powerful and wanted; it’s what drew me to him in the first place. He’s my most vocal fan and my loudest critic. And I love that about him, for the most part. No one else has ever made me feel the strange twinge of happiness and sadness that creeps into my chest like Will. I believe life is about balance, and I need someone who does that for me. Someone who elevates me and has no qualms about bringing me down a peg when I need it. Even if it feels like shit, sometimes.

Feeling like shit is still better than feeling nothing. I felt nothing for so long after Lily left but Will… he brought me back from that. That has to count for something.

He barely concludes whatever conversation he was having and waltzes to the front of the order line. The mousy girl with the thick wired glasses who’d been about to order says nothing, just giggles when he motions toward the counter and says, “Do you mind?”

A minute later, he places two iced coffees on my table and rotates the chair across from me so the back is to the table’s edge. He sits with his arms crossed on the back of the chair and leans forward, his dark blonde waves falling slightly in his eyes. I suck in the side of my cheeks, the corners of my mouth turning upward into an unwilling smile.

“You’re quite the celebrity today. First the dancer, then the librarian-in-waiting.”

“Hmm. I didn’t notice. I might’ve been too distracted by the smoke show sulking in the corner.” A slight blush creeps up my neck, but I roll my eyes.

“I’m not sure what I dislike the most— that you accused me of sulking or that you used the term ‘smoke show’ to describe me.”

“Who said I was talking about you?” I kick his right leg from under the table.

“Watch it, Chapman,” I say, shaking my head with a grin so deep, I can feel my usually reluctant dimples emerge. He grabs my hand from across the table and runs his thumb along the back of it.

“You know you’re beautiful.” He peers through his lashes at me as if to give the impression that he’s feeling shy, which we both know he isn’t. I raise an appraising eyebrow at him as if to agree. “Does this mean you forgive me?” I’d already forgiven his flirtatiousness, but the groveling is a boon to my freshly injured ego.

“You’re on thin ice… but yes. I forgive you.” He pulls my hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss into my palm, smiling. It always went like this; Will being an asshat, me getting pissed off at his behavior, us having a heated argument, and ultimately, me forgiving him. “This could’ve waited until later, though.”

His brows furrow in confusion, so I clarify. “You said you needed to see me. Seemed urgent,” I add, now also confused.

“Oh. Yeah I, uh, wanted to talk to you about my brother.” He says this with a grimace, like bad news is on the horizon, and I brace myself while fighting the urge to pick a fight. I fail.

“The brother I just met this morning? After two years of dating, you now need to urgently talk to me about your brother?”

His eyes burn with irritation, his tongue sliding against his teeth as I watch him bite back a reply. “Liv I already told you, we’re not close. I’m assuming you’re smart enough to realize that it’s for a good reason.”

I bite the inside of my cheek trying to temper my own anger. “What does that even mean?” I ask, frustrated by his obtuseness.

“He’s just… I wouldn’t say he’s the best guy. He kind of abandoned his team. I mean, if he thinks he’s going to waltz back in there and pick up where he left off?—”

“Will,” I interrupt him, refocusing our conversation. “That seems rash. If you’re not close, like you claim, then he’s probably different than you remember.” He scoffs, crossing his arm.

“Nah, Liv. We might not be close, but I know who Ben is. He doesn’t give a fuck about the people around him, whether it’s his family, his friends— especially not women. I just…” he shakes his head, not finishing his thought. I raise my brows, urging him to continue. “I just need you to keep your distance from him. I don’t know why he’s back, but I don’t need him worming his way into my life. Into our life.” He emphasizes ‘our,’ like Ben poses some existential threat.

A laugh escapes me, slightly more intense than I intend. “Worming his way into our life? You make him sound parasitic.”

“I’m serious, babe. He’s a shameless flirt and?—”

“Oh! Must be a family trait,” I cut him off, irritated by this sudden bravado and possessiveness.

“Olivia,” he says, his jaw grinding in frustration. “Just… tell me you won’t go out of your way to know him. If I wanted you to know my family, believe me, you would’ve met them by now.” He says this like it perfectly explains his response to all of this, but I feel his words like a knife to the gut.

“No can do, Will,” I answer, my voice seething, feeling burned by his reminder. “Ian just gave me a new story. Ben’s the subject.”

His nostril’s flare and he tilts his head back, running his hands through his hair. He sighs visibly, his head leveling back so that he’s looking me right in the eye. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“I didn’t choose this story. Believe me, I’m the last person who wants to get to know your brother.”

His gaze narrows on me for a long second, like he’s deciphering something.

“Just be careful, Liv,” he says gently, sincerely, his earlier frustration replaced now by obvious worry. And as much as I’d like to say I have no idea what he’s even worrying about, I know that would be a lie.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll be extra super careful,” I tell him, saccharine sweet, as we both move to leave the table, reaching for each other's hand. I spin to face him once we’re outside the cafe. “I need to go home and shower before dinner tonight. This humidity is ruining me.”

Will grabs my wrist and pulls me in, wrapping his arms low around my waist. He gives me a quick kiss on the lips, then leaves a trail of brief, wet kisses down both sides of my neck. He returns his soft lips to mine and gives me one last kiss, this one deep and full of apology and promise.

“Wear something pretty for me,” he says. Warmth creeps from my neck to my cheeks and while I’m sure desire is painted on my face, guilt settles in my chest as I walk away from campus and toward my apartment.

I don’t want to do this story, but I’m also not going to sabotage my own work and as Ian very blatantly pointed out that’s been a habit of mine when it comes to Will. I’m committed to producing this piece for Ian, and moving on as quickly as possible. If what Will said is true, then some well deployed charm on my part might be all I need to get this story done and dusted. Besides, what’s a little bit of innocent flirting if it means I get the answers I’m looking for? It’s not like Will has any room to judge. He’s constantly deploying his charm to get what he wants.

What Will doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And besides, I think he’d rather I move on from this story quickly than get mired by it. Regardless of my methods , I think to myself, realizing my bottom lip is beginning to feel swollen from my unconscious biting.

Something continues to eat at me, and I see Will’s worried face in my mind’s eye. He can’t know what I’ve been thinking, but his vocalized insecurities make me feel like I’ve done something wrong anyway.

Ben is already starting to feel like the bane of my existence.