Astor Hill

Chapter 6

6

Ben

If there’s one thing the elite group of students at Astor Hill College hold a flame for it’s the state championship winning basketball team, the Astor Lions. Even now, two years later, I’m stalked in the hallway by classmates that could easily be confused for adoring fans. When I was at the height of my game, I hated the attention I got for being the team's captain. There was always a spotlight shining on me and being 6'4” it was hard to duck out of. Even now, I pass by a group of snickering freshman girls whispering amongst each other.

“Oh my god look, it's Will’s brother.” They try and fail to sneakily look at me.

“Okay you were right, he’s definitely hotter. How is that even possible?”

I glance at them as I turn toward the massive brick building flanked with the school's flags, causing them to burst into embarrassed laughter. When I first arrived at Astor, I found the Mark Maxwell Arena comical. How could what was essentially a basketball court look so regal? Gifted in the 1960’s by the Maxwell family the arena was built in a more turn of the century style. It was once the school's playhouse but when they realized that sports could easily outsell plays they renovated the inside into the court it is today. The path to the building’s entrance is lined with cherry blossom trees, begging to bloom toward the end of the season, as if to celebrate the team’s inevitable win.

I feel a breeze prickle the back of my neck, as a feeling of uneasiness washes over me. Is attending tonight’s game a mistake? Am I instigating what will inevitably be a full out brawl between Will and I sometime in the near future? I curl my fingers into fists, a frown tugging at the corners of my mouth.

When we were little I remember teaching Will the basics of the game, sneaking out of our room into the massive family room, stealthily skipping over the creaky floorboards that made up the Tudor style house we stayed in every summer. We'd mute the TV and I’d set up NBA Street on my PS2 while Will snuck into the walk-in pantry stocking up on snacks. I’d whisper to him my thought process making the players move through the plays. The next morning at the crack of dawn Will would shake me awake, his tiny hands clawing into my arm. “Can we practice free-throws?” We both were obsessed, addicted even. We’d play every day from the crack of dawn until the sun started going down in the evening. It was thrilling, a game that was only ours. That was until Daniel Chapman, Will’s dad and my step father, got a hold of how good we were a few summers later. How hard we were willing to work for the game we loved.

When Dan started joining us, coaching us, I noticed the small shifts in Will. One misstep and he’d punish himself, throwing the ball with all his force and Dan would punish him too, laughing at every misstep and always coming in fast with a snide comment. “Ben would’ve made that shot.” He celebrated Will not for working with the team, but instead for moving to always make himself the most valuable player.

God forbid someone stepped on Will’s toes. An innocent game could turn into a death match at the blink of an eye, an accidental foul turning into a fist fight.

“He’s just emotional, he cares,” Dan would say. “You could use some of that passion.” Anytime Will would lash out, whether he was losing or his team mate wasn’t performing each play to perfection, Dan found a way to turn it into a positive.

“Will, your competitive streak has a mind of its own. This fire will always make you the better player,” Dan said, staring at my eight year old brother whose face was caked in dirt and tears after getting kicked out of his third basketball camp of the summer for blowing up on a ref for making a bad call.

Will peered at me. “Even better than Ben?” His smile was mischievous as usual but there was something else in it too, determination.

I take a deep breath as the smell of rubber fills my lungs. I feel my heart jump the way it does when I’m beginning to panic. I start the exercise I learned in therapy, silently naming the different objects around me in my head, trying to remain in the moment. Stepping in through the lobby’s massive wooden doorway, a comfortable warmth wraps around me. I feel at home as I hear the squeak of sneakers in the distance. Feeling my lips flicker with a smile, I push my hands into my jean pockets and step inside.

The arena’s lobby is teeming with impatient fans draped in Astor Hill’s signature crisp white, the navy Lion insignia peppered throughout the crowd. And even if she hadn’t been running through my mind since our encounter, she wouldn’t have been difficult to spot. Using her black sunglasses she pushes back her dark tendrils, readjusting them to the top of her head. She looks lost. The only indicator that she is at a basketball game are the socks that hit above her ankle and the chunky white sneakers that give her an air of sportiness, enhancing her already mile long legs. Even I, the guy who picked this shirt up off the floor, can tell that her style is unparalleled. Her chest shimmers with perspiration as a tiny L dangles beneath her collarbone.

She quickly assesses the crowd, pursing her rose pink lips. She’s obviously looking for someone and I realize that someone is me as her amber flecked eyes zero in. Even though I see her coming, I feel my heart speed up and sweat grip the back of my neck. I avert my gaze, briefly glancing at my classmates who seem to be doing the same. The effect Olivia has is overwhelming, and not just to me. She moves through the crowd fluidly, softly putting her hand on the backs of those in her way. With barely a tap it seems like she could move mountains.

The black strap of her rectangular leather bag hangs off her smooth shoulder, framing her left arm that she digs into the pouch of her purse. When she pulls her hand out, she’s holding a black, glittery spiral notebook. On the other side of the strap her slender neck balances a head draped in thick, chestnut locks that fall in layers around her face as she puts her glasses in the bag.

I take a quiet breath to bring myself back to reality and am immediately met by a sultry, masculine scent. Her scent isn’t the typical floral essence I’m familiar with from my escapades as captain all those years ago. Instead she smells mysterious, like a bonfire that had gone out in a rainstorm. It reels me in, so much so that I don’t even realize how close I’ve let myself stand in front of her.

“I knew I’d find you here,” she says with an assessing smile. Her eyes leave mine and quickly roam the length of my body. I realize my face hasn’t shifted, so I allow myself to meet her gaze.

“Bold of you to assume I’d be here,” I respond, annoyed but excited about the incoming public confrontation.

She extends her right hand, and I notice that while her hands are strong, her fingers are dainty and delicately manicured.

“Olivia Beckett,” she says with a slight eyebrow raise. “My sincerest apologies for telling you to fuck off the other day.” She smiles tightly, obviously straining to make amends for her behavior. “You see, I have an aversion to strange, random men interrupting intimate conversations with my boyfriend. As it turns out, you are neither strange nor random to Will. So. Again, I apologize.”

Wearily, I finally accept her outstretched hand and am not the least bit shocked by the firm handshake she initiates.

“Ben Cabot. I have an aversion to women telling me to ‘fuck off’ when they ran into me in the first place, but for you I’ll make an exception.” I wink and give her a smile that used to work wonders for me during my first years at Astor but as to be expected, Olivia seems wholly unaffected.

“The women I know don’t usually enjoy being manhandled by total strangers.” A cynical smile dances at the corners of her mouth and echoes at the edges of her eyes. “It seems your time away from civilization may have left you worse off when it comes to introductions.”

“I’d hardly say Boston is uncivilized.” She scribbles down what I assume is “Boston” in her notebook. “I wasn’t aware I was on the record.”

I hear her sneakers squeak on the floor behind me as I move toward the arena to find my seat.

“Does Will know you’re talking to me?” I ask abruptly. As much as I’m enjoying the banter, I shouldn’t be.

I spin around, only to be met with a flash of irritation in her eyes, her lashes narrowing her stare into careful slits. Despite her cheeks that rise into high points and a jaw that reveals a strength evident in more than her physicality, there’s a softness. Softness in her spiced brown eyes and the suppleness of her gently curved lips. Freckles scatter across the bridge of her sloped nose that arrives at a perfectly formed point. Her lashes are lush, and her brows are dense above her playful eyes.

“Do I have to ask Will’s permission to get to know his aloof older brother?”

“I don’t know, do you?” Her eyes relax into their natural almond shape and I see her bite the inside of her cheek. Her slender fingers clinch her pen. The only indication that she’s feeling anything is the slight tap against her notepad, but even that only hints at boredom. I notice a slight blush creeping up the side of her neck, suggesting she might be enjoying this introduction as much as I am.

I find my seat in the wooden bleachers only to feel her slide into the spot next to me.

“So Ben, tell me, why come back to Astor Hill if you were living it up in Boston?”

“I wanted to finish school.”

“There are more schools in Boston, no?”

“Yes there are more schools in Boston, Olivia.”

My eyes are fixated on the court, even though the game hasn’t started. Still, I can feel Olivia roll her eyes at my side, frustrated with my lack of clarity. I clench my jaw, which I’m hoping will indicate that I do not want to be questioned. To her benefit, I’m sure that Ian guy put her up to it, thinking there was some sort of juicy story happening in the background. I guess star player not being able to control his anxiety could be that, but Dan and my mother went to extremes trying to hide my ‘issues’ from the school and furthermore their peers, so giving Olivia the inside scoop could cause even more of a rift with my parents than the one that already exists. Sensing that she won’t give up I toss out a question of my own.

“So, Will huh?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“A question, I guess. Based on what I walked into this morning it seems you don’t actually mind being manhandled, or is it just when he does it?”

“Correct. Will can manhandle me whenever he likes.” She tosses me a mischievous grin, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. While it’s obvious she’s being sardonic her tone seems deflated, like if I keep tapping on this sore spot she won’t be able to pretend it doesn’t hurt. I fully break my eyes away from the court, glancing at her. She’s tucking her hair behind her ear, looking down at her notebook. Her blush is more apparent now than it was before. Did I just embarrass her? Regret fills my stomach as I take in the only glimpse of vulnerability I’m sure to see from her tonight.

The players begin filing out of the locker rooms as loud music fills the stands. Olivia stands alongside the rest of the gymnasium cheering as each player is announced. She waves at Will when he finally comes out, the captain always being announced last. His gaze is impenetrable, I’d know that focus anywhere. It’s the one thing we have in common when playing. Nothing could distract us during a game.

The players gather around the coach as he explains the play and the mass of fans fall back into their seats. I notice Grant who goofily shoots Olivia and I the middle finger. Olivia pretends to catch it and hold it to her heart, which cracks Grant up. Her smile is so genuine, I feel jealousy erupt within me. Boy, what I would give for her to smile at me like that? I shake the unwanted feeling away.

“So you know Grant?” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. Her smile fades as her eyes go from Grant to Will who hasn’t even glanced our way.

“We’re in the same study group,” Olivia states flatly, her tone guarded.

“Grant’s one of the best people I know,” I say, shifting toward her. “He’s my best friend. I feel silly saying that, but it’s true.”

Olivia meets my gaze and seems to relax slightly, unhinging her shoulders as she turns toward me, and I see a small smile play at her lips. “Grant’s one of the best people I know too, believe it or not.”

Olivia’s bare thigh grazes my jeans and I feel clammy and ill. I shouldn’t be doing this, feeling these things.

“So are you going to help me out here at all Cabot, or am I being forced to revisit this at a later date?”

Her charm makes my entire body vibrate. I swallow hard. Ian made a few attempts to get me to answer the ever present question of why I left school last year. The reporters he sent me were ditzy blondes who seemed to want to sleep with me more than write a story, but it seems he’s actually taking this story seriously now since he sent the one person I can’t say no to, whether he knows it or not.

“Well we can’t do that, now can we?” I say, my gaze shifting to my brother out on the court, trying to find a way to get her to back off this story. Her eyes follow mine until she lands on Will. She looks down at her pad, tapping her pen again.

“He doesn’t own me,” she says, defiance etched in the sudden slant of her eyes.

“I didn’t say that he did,” I retort, unable to contain my amusement.

“He doesn’t have to know,” she says, cracking a half smile, her eyes piercing into me.

I raise an eyebrow. “Olivia Beckett, I am shocked,” I say in a fake mocking tone.

“If there’s one thing to know about me, it’s that I’m full of surprises.” Her eyes flutter, an air of mischief in her tone.

“Oh, that I can tell,” I give her a smile.

She licks her lips and looks at the court in an attempt to hide the flush that was getting rosier by the minute.

“So… Boston…?” She says in a playful impatient tone.

“My grandfather lives in Boston. He’s getting old. I wanted to see him.”

She scribbles into her notebook. I reach over into her lap and shut the notepad abruptly. Her face is hard to read, the blush appearing underneath the freckles I am now becoming familiar with. It’s funny, for a girl that seemed to intimidate the entire school she’s easy to rile up.

“Can we at least get to know each other before you give me the fifth degree?” I ask with mock innocence, pushing my thigh further into hers and letting the warmth of my body press against her, our arms now fully brushing.

She blows out a breath, attempting to regain control of the conversation but seemingly flustered by our closeness.

“We go to McKinley’s on Saturday nights, if you want to pick this up then, “ she says in almost a whisper, clearing her throat as she bounces up onto her feet before I have time to respond. Scribbling into her notebook she rips out the page and hands it to me. “Call me when you’re ready to talk, Cabot. ”

And like that she’s gone, heads turning as she pushes her way through the double doors, light streaming into the arena around her.

Olivia wasn’t wrong; I was surprised. Surprised by the way she presented herself and the way just her smile seemed to knock the wind out of me. She’s breathtaking, and the thought of her tight dress hitting well above her knee makes my throat feel hoarse and my hands clammy— all the symptoms of attraction that I have only read about and haven’t experienced myself.

I can’t feel this way , I think to myself, the weight of the paper becoming heavy in my hand. Yet here I am, staring after my brother's girlfriend with the realization that I will never get over her and I haven’t even had her yet.

The post game locker room vibe is infectious, especially hot off a win. The game was just a friendly, but a win is a win, and if the trap music blaring so loud that the floors vibrate is any indication, my ex-teammates feel the same way. I hear Grant before I see him, his boisterous laughter coming only seconds before I see him whip Andrew’s back with a towel.

“You’re whipped , bro.” Andrew’s eyes roll at Grant’s accusation, but I see him bite back a grin.

“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen her. She’s got these?—”

“We’re talking about your imaginary girlfriend, again?” Will cuts in, settling on the bench near Grant’s locker, a towel draped over his shoulders and his back to me.

“Fuck off,” Andrew says, exaggerating each vowel, before he notices me. “Ben the fucking Bogart! In the flesh! Shit, come here.” His grin is the best welcome I could’ve asked for, but as I back out his quick, sweaty hug, I get the sense that not everyone’s glad to see me.

Will’s eyes seer into me, his irritation obvious.

“This is a closed locker room, or has it been so long that you forgot?” He’s fuming, his jaw flickering with more than annoyance as he slams his locker shut.

“Chill, Chapman. I invited him,” Grant says, like that should calm him down. Will just nods his head, his locked gaze unwavering.

“It’s cool, Grant, I’ll uh…” I back up, putting both hands up in mock surrender, because what the fuck have I done to him? It was naive of me to think I could come back and we’d turn a new leaf. That the hot and cold, ill will between us would just disappear. I didn’t want it to be like this between us, not anymore, but his tone grates against me and I find it too easy to dip into that all too familiar well of antagonism. “I’ll see you tomorrow at McKinley’s. Olivia invited me.” I shoot him a snarky smirk and give Grant a quick nod before exiting the locker room.

No part of me feels guilty for poking the bear like this, and that’s concerning. A year of therapy, nowhere to be found the moment I probably needed it most.

This is exactly why Morgan wanted me to talk to him before I came back , I realize, making my way to my car. A hand grabs my arm just as I’m about to swing open my car door and I defensively whirl around, relieved to see my brother.

“Jesus Christ, you can’t just?—”

“What are you doing, Ben?” Worry creases between his brows as he shakes his head at me in disbelief. He’s still in his game jersey, his duffel slung over his shoulder.

“I was attempting to go home, actually.” I’m being evasive, but I also don’t entirely know what he means.

“I’m serious, bro. Why are you even here?” It's eerie how much he reminds me of the boy I grew up with.

“I—” I pause, considering my answer. I came back to finish school, sure, but I could’ve done that anywhere. I considered it, but Astor was pulling me, calling me, like I had unfinished business here. Maybe it seems like I had a change of heart or just shifted gears when I left Astor, but to me it felt like I hit pause. Like a timeout where I just needed a minute to get my shit together. I came back here because I’m ready to hit play. I took a break and healed what needed to be healed. But I’m ready to get back to my life.

“You left , remember?” He’s accusing me of more than just leaving my responsibilities. It feels like he’s reminding me that I left him, and the flicker of hurt in his gaze would’ve been undetectable if I hadn’t seen it so often in my own.

“Yeah, I did. And I want to talk to you about that, about Lily. Maybe we can?—”

“Bro,” he drawls out, exasperated. “That’s not what this is about. You left , and the rest of us moved on with our lives. You’re still stuck in the past, and I don’t need you pulling the rest of us back into it.”

I’m taken aback, in part because he’s so flippant about Lily, which I haven’t seen before— I’m used to his soul being crushed by the mere utterance of her name— but also because he’s not wrong.

“I’m just here to finish school. Just want to get back to my life.” I feel defeated. This is not how I wanted this to go.

“Cool. Do that, then. But stay the fuck out of mine.” I shake my head in disbelief. I thought it could be different than this. “And while you’re at it, stay away from Liv.”

So this is about her . A shit eating grin takes over my face, that well of antagonism boiling to a point that it can’t be ignored. “Sorry, brother. She really won’t leave me alone for this story she’s writing— she told you about that, didn’t she?” I watch irritation flicker behind that gaze, but he quickly recovers, disgust replacing it.

“So what, you just come back? Try to get on my team? Try to mess with my girl?”

“Technically, I was here first.” I can’t help it, at this point, but I decide to reel it back when I catch his hand flex. I know my comments go against everything I learned in therapy but it’s hard when I’ve been hearing around school all the ways in which Will mistreats Olivia. Regardless, I take a breath trying to regain control of the situation. “Hey, I’m kidding. I was serious when I said I just want to get my life back… but not at your expense.” I let that settle with him, watch him take a breath. “It’s been a while since we coexisted like this, Will.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” His jaw relaxes, but his posture is still guarded as he combs his hand through his hair.

“I’m not here to fuck up your life. I wouldn’t do that to you.” The words feel so perfect, and I mean them, but I regret them the moment they’re out of my mouth.

I spent months in therapy working hard to not be the version of myself I was when I left here. It took just a few words from Will, one seething glare, for me to dip back into the person I was. One conversation with Olivia and, once again, she’s consuming my thoughts, my conscience struggling to have any regard for my brother. I thought being a better brother to Will was going to be easy, but it might be the hardest part of this journey I’m on.

He gives me one last assessing look before nodding his head and walking off.