Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HUNTER
FRESHMAN YEAR
“ W here to next?” Aidan Phillips asks.
The group of girls clustered around him immediately chime in with suggestions, all vying for my new teammate’s attention.
I tune out the chatter as I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, staring at the front yard littered with red plastic cups. So far, college parties seem pretty similar to high school ones. Less supervision, I guess, but same games. Partying has never been my scene, but I’m trying to fit in. This isn’t Casper. When I started high school, Sean had already paved the way. Holt is a fresh start in every sense. All that the strangers clustered around know about me is that I play hockey.
And the only reason they know that much is because Aidan has been talking loudly enough about the team for everyone in a twenty-foot radius to hear. He’s been bragging we’ll be raising a championship trophy before we graduate.
Unlikely, but not impossible.
Aidan’s high school stats are decent. I looked his up—along with those of the other freshmen on the team—but if we have any shot at improving Holt’s historically horrible ranking, it’ll be because of Conor Hart. I haven’t met him yet, and there’s a good chance I’ll be starstruck when I do. The guy is insanely talented. He should be playing at Boston College or Minnesota or some other DI program that’s basically a straight shot to the pros.
I’m not sure if Conor has arrived on campus yet. If he has, he’s kept a low profile. Pretty much everyone who Aidan has talked to has asked if Conor Hart is here, and no one appears to have actually met the guy yet.
The porch railing shifts as someone claims the spot next to me, jarring me from my thoughts.
“Hey. I’m Sarah.”
I glance over at the girl who’s leaning beside me, summoning a smile so I don’t come off as a total dick. “Hey. Hunter.”
“Nice to meet you, Hunter.” She tilts her mostly empty beer bottle toward me, and I tap my mostly full one against it.
“You too, Sarah.”
“Where are you from?” she asks.
“Wyoming.”
“So, like, cowboys?”
I’ve worn a cowboy hat exactly once in my life, when I visited my grandparents’ ranch before it sold. The kids I grew up with wore hoodies and sneakers, not chaps and boots.
But I nod, because that’s obviously the answer she’s looking for. “Yeah, sure.”
She smiles. “Yeehaw.”
We tap bottles again. This time Sarah sways a little closer, her bare arm brushing mine. She’s wearing a top that teases the lacy strap of her bra, and a suggestive smile that makes it fairly obvious she’s flirting with me.
Jemma—my high school girlfriend—broke up with me at the start of the summer. I think she would have ended things sooner if I wasn’t her date to senior prom.
I wasn’t in love with Jemma, but it does feel strange to realize our lives are entirely separate now. And that the main reason Jemma broke up with me is as far away as she is.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, flashing an apologetic look at Sarah before answering the call. “Hey.”
“Hey, man,” my roommate replies. “You still coming to this thing? It’s kinda lame, but there are tons of people here. Plus free food.”
My stomach grumbles. The lines in the dining hall were ridiculous, and free food sounds a lot better than warm beer.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say. “Student center, right?”
“Right. Hurry up, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving now.” I hang up with Clayton, tell Sarah I have to head out, and then walk over to Aidan.
“Hey, Morgan!” His full attention lands on me, ignoring the people trying to gain a scrap of it.
I wasn’t sure we’d hit it off. In the two hours I’ve known Aidan, he’s mostly cracked jokes, downed drinks, or flirted with the many girls who have hit on him. He’s from Los Angeles, and he has that privileged, flashy aura about him that makes me think his parents didn’t immediately turn around after dropping him off so they didn’t have to spend money on another hotel stay.
“Hey. I’m headed out.”
“Better offer?”
“Uh…” I can’t tell if he’s kidding or actually offended. “My roommate. He’s at this thing on campus, and I told him I’d stop by. I gotta live with the guy, so…”
Aidan nods. “I get it. Probably gonna bounce soon too. There’s this party on Lake with senior girls.”
“Right. Have, um, fun.”
He winks. “I will.”
“’Kay. I’ll see you at the meeting, I guess?”
We have our first team meeting with Holt’s head coach, Coach Keller, next week.
Aidan nods again, then shoves his hands into his pockets. “Or we could grab lunch tomorrow? I found this cool burrito place online. It’s just the next town over. Loughton?”
My meal plan is already paid for. I have some money saved from the summer, but the responsible thing to do would be to save it and opt for the free lunch.
But there’s no sign of Aidan’s earlier bluster now. He seems unsure, like he’s worried I will say no.
“That sounds great,” I tell him.
His face lights up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just text me.”
“All right, I will. See ya, Morgan.”
“Later, Phillips.”
Aidan’s expression brightens even more when I use his last name. He holds out a fist for me to tap, then pounds my back twice.
We exchange a grin before I walk down the porch stairs and in the direction of campus. Most of the upperclassmen live in the houses on the periphery of campus, like the place I just left.
I pass a few giggling groups of students headed off campus. No one else appears to be going to the student center. But Clayton was right, when I walk in the lower level, it’s packed with freshmen who opted for the school-sponsored version of a welcome party. Crowded enough that I can’t spot Clayton, which is surprising. Guy’s on the basketball team and well over six feet.
I slide my phone out of my pocket to shoot him a quick text letting him know I’m here, then veer in the direction of the buffet tables lining one wall to get some food. It’s pretty picked over at this point—the event started two hours ago—but I grab a bag of potato chips. There’s a colorful display of Jell-O cups that I move toward next.
My mom is a terrible cook. She can’t be trusted to boil water without evaporating most of it. Since my dad, brother, and I are hardly culinary geniuses ourselves, we learned to make specific snack requests to supplement meals and keep from starving. My dad always requested jerky, Sean was obsessed with Cheez-Its, and I asked for Jell-O. Not the most filling choice, but I love the taste of it.
“That’s brave.”
I glance past the Jell-O tower at the end of the table. There’s a girl leaning against the wall, right next to a poster advertising the club fair tomorrow afternoon.
Pink rushes into her cheeks when she realizes I’m looking at her.
“Brave?” I echo.
“Just—I’ve been standing here for like fifty minutes, and no one’s taken one of those. So yeah, you seem brave.”
I smile. “It seems safer than the cheese plate. Who knows how long that’s been sitting out.”
“Yeah, that hasn’t been super popular either. The Oreos went fastest.” She nods at a large plate that’s empty aside from a few black crumbs.
“I love Jell-O,” I inform her.
The girl’s nose wrinkles, crinkling her freckles. “I’ve never tried it. I’m not sure which is less appealing—the neon color or the way it…jiggles.”
I laugh. Her honesty is refreshing. She’s the first person I’ve met at Holt who doesn’t seem to be putting on any sort of act seeking approval.
“It tastes good.”
She sucks in a deep breath, like she’s preparing for some Herculean task. “Okay. I’ll try it.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” She shoves away from the wall and takes a couple of steps closer. Her forehead furrows as she scans the three flavor options.
While she deliberates, I study her. She’s really pretty, which I’ve never thought about a girl before. Usually they’re categorized as cute or hot in my head. But this girl—I should ask for her name—is pretty .
She’s on the petite side. At six-two, I’m roughly a foot taller than her, although her hair—loose and a little wild—makes up some of the difference. She’s tan from the summer, her bare arms several shades darker than her white T-shirt. The Beatles’ logo is on the front. There’s another strip of skin visible between her shirt’s hem and the waistband of her jean shorts that my gaze keeps getting drawn to. She also has an amazing rack.
She selects lime, glancing over a split second after I’ve averted my eyes from her boobs.
I set the strawberry I picked down so I can hold out a hand. “I’m Hunter.”
She smiles, swapping the cup to her left palm so she can shake mine. “Hey. I’m Eve.”
I’m already second-guessing the formal handshake—she’s not a professor or a coach—but it’s too late to drop my hand now.
There’s a weird lurch in my stomach—like missing a step descending stairs—when her smaller fingers fold around mine. There’s a blue stain on her pointer finger. Paint?
My hold lingers longer than is polite or necessary. “Eve, huh? Too bad Jell-O doesn’t have an apple flavor.”
Eve rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Clever, Hunter. I didn’t ask if you liked guns.”
I’m smiling too. “I don’t. I’m a pacifist.”
“Really?”
“No. I play hockey.”
“I don’t know anything about sports,” Eve says, almost apologetically.
“I don’t know anything about theology,” I reply. “I only knew about Eve and the apple from a Christmas pageant in middle school.”
She frowns. “What does the Garden of Eden have to do with Christmas?”
“Nothing, I’m pretty sure. I think it was an interpretive adaptation. Creative liberties were taken.”
Eve laughs and shakes her head. “Does Holt have a good hockey team?”
“We’re Division III.”
She points to herself. “Knows nothing, remember?”
“Right. Well, there are three divisions in college sports. Division I is the best; Division III is last. And Holt…Holt isn’t exactly at the top of the bottom. So no, Holt doesn’t have a good hockey team. That’ll hopefully change this season.” I try to project the same confidence Aidan was radiating on the porch.
There’s a mental component to every athletic activity. Mindset matters. Also, I kind of want to impress Eve.
“Because you’ll be on the team?”
I grin at her teasing tone. “Nah. I’m not that player. Wasn’t even sure I’d play in college. There’s another freshman on the team who has some serious hype. Assuming he lives up to it, things could turn around. We’ll see. It’s been a while since I joined a new team, and it’s hard to judge how everyone will gel before we start playing together. Honestly, I’m nervous about it. But it would be pretty cool to be part of the team that wins when everyone expects them to lose.”
“Prove people wrong instead of right.”
There’s a flash of understanding between us that makes me think Eve might be speaking from personal experience. That she has been underestimated or underappreciated before. “Exactly.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
She smiles again, but this one looks more unsure. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, then suck it inside her mouth. All I can think about is doing the same.
I want to kiss Eve—badly. I also want to keep talking with her. Learn her last name. Find out what the stain on her hand is. Ask if she wants to meet in the dining hall for an actual meal sometime.
There’s an open table in the opposite corner of the room.
Before I can suggest we go sit, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It keeps buzzing, so someone is calling me.
I pull it out, expecting Clayton. But Sean is flashing on the screen instead.
My appetite disappears, squashed by a ball of dread. He’s supposed to be at work.
“Sorry,” I say to Eve. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh. Okay.” She tucks one of her curls behind her ear. “No problem.”
I give her one last apologetic smile before turning and heading for the nearest door. I answer Sean’s call halfway across the room, but it’s too loud to hear anything.
Although, when I get outside, I realize it’s not just loud on my end. It’s as noisy on his.
“Sean? What’s going on?”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, okay? You’ll tell them I didn’t mean for it to happen?”
I take a seat on one of the metal benches, dropping the chips and Jell-O down beside me. The Jell-O promptly rolls right off the edge, landing on the brick walkway with a splat .
He’s high. And he’s definitely not at work.
And I’m so mad—so fucking furious—at my brother, that I can’t even find words.
Six months. He’s been sober for six months. Living at home, showing up for his job at one of the fast-food joints in town, even reconnecting with some of his friends who still live in Casper. He was gaining weight. Going for runs. Sleeping normally, aside from his night shifts.
My mom was worried about leaving him to move me into Holt. My dad and I convinced her it was fine, that Sean was completely recovered and wouldn’t relapse.
We were wrong. All that progress—all the stress and worry and small steps forward—is gone. Slithered down the drain back to rock bottom.
Sean is talking, but I’m still spiraling.
This isn’t like the other times. I’m in Washington, and I’m not supposed to return to Wyoming until Thanksgiving. I won’t be there to see the cycle start all over again, and I’m relieved. I feel so guilty for how relieved I am. Sean makes his problems everyone’s problems, and I’ve never had any form of escape from it before.
“Hunter!”
“What?” I snap back.
“Are you listening?”
“No, Sean, I’m not. I don’t know why you called me, but you need to deal with whatever the fuck it is before Mom and Dad get home. If you still have pills, flush them down the damn toilet. Call your sponsor and?—”
“One of the neighbors called the cops. They’re arresting me. I can’t do shit. I need you to call Mom and Dad, so they’re not worried where I am when they get home.”
He thinks that’s what they’ll be worried about?
“You got arrested? You’re in jail? How do you have your cell phone?”
“They sent Officer Peterson.” One of Dad’s fishing buddies. “He let me use my cell, but he’s taking it now. I gotta go.”
The call disconnects before I can ask any more questions.
I stare straight ahead at Holt’s brick library in utter disbelief. I’m sitting and still, but it feels like a seismic shift is happening beneath my feet.
I thought all of this was in the past. I committed to Holt because I wanted a fresh start where no one knew me as Sean Morgan’s little brother, and because I thought I could leave. That the days of Sean stealing cash and disappearing for twenty-four hours and calling me to confess were over.
I call my mom, because I’m not sure what else to do. My dad’s the one driving. They’re probably only an hour or two away from Casper by now. They left as soon as all of my belongings were moved into my dorm room.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey, honey. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight. Is everything okay?”
My left hand clenches into a fist, nails biting into my palm deep enough to break skin. “With me, yeah. But Sean called.”
“Oh.” She says a lot with that single syllable.
And I know my mom is experiencing the same sinking sensation that’s making me feel nauseous.
“He got arrested. Detective Peterson was at the house with him. I—I don’t know any details, but he sounded—he sounded like…before.”
“Okay.” She sounds years older than when she answered the phone, like all the emotion has been leached out of her voice. I can hear my dad in the background, asking what’s going on.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I know you were worried about leaving?—”
She interrupts. “None of this is your fault, Hunter. None of it.”
My dad’s questions die off in the background as he realizes why I’m calling.
“Let me… Let me know if I can do anything, and what happened, and?—”
“I will,” my mom interrupts. “I’ll update you in the morning, but there’s nothing you can do, honey. I’ve got to call the station now. Good night. I love you.”
I think my “Love you too” is spoken to dead air. She’s already hung up to start dealing with Sean’s mess.
I drop my phone in my lap, then drop my head in my hands. Fuck . I feel like I’ve aged a few years too.
At least ten minutes pass before I stand. Clayton has texted, but I don’t check the messages. I toss my dented Jell-O in the trash, grab the chips, and head back inside.
I was outside for even longer than I realized, because the formerly crowded room is basically empty. College staff are clearing the last of the food away. A few clusters of students are standing around, but none of them are Eve.
“Hunter!”
I turn to see Clayton ambling this way. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I, uh…” I rake a hand through my hair, glancing around again. Still no sign of her. “I had a phone call. You didn’t meet a girl named Eve tonight, did you?”
“Nope,” Clayton answers cheerfully, oblivious to the way my stomach is sinking all over again. I guess tonight is going to be full of disappointments. “You met a chick already? Impressive, man. Hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.”
He gives me a cheeky smile. I can’t muster a matching grin.
If Clayton thinks he ended up with some suave player as a roommate, he’ll figure out the truth soon enough. I wasn’t very smooth with Eve, but I enjoyed talking to her.
My very first night of college, and Sean couldn’t resist fucking it up.
“Come on, Hunter.” Clayton bumps his shoulder against mine. “Paul down the hall from us is having a little get-together. I told him we’d stop by. Maybe your mystery girl will be there.”
I nod. “Maybe.”
But with my luck tonight, probably not.