The Charlie Method (Campus Diaries #3)

Chapter Thirty-Nine Charlotte

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHARLOTTE

The Method failed me

I MEET B LAKE AT D ELLA ’ S D INER A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER . S HE ’ S with Gigi and a platinum blond named Diana. Blake warned me ahead of time that Diana was recently assaulted by an ex—which sounds downright terrifying—so I’m able to mask my shock when I see the purple-and-black bruising on Diana’s face. Sounds like Diana and her boyfriend, Shane, had a tough winter. His father died. She was attacked. I can’t even imagine going through either of those events without having a breakdown.

“What happened ? ” I ask Blake as I slide into the booth beside her. “How did you get kicked out of Burton House? Is it a permanent thing?”

“According to them, yes,” she says flatly. “I’m not allowed to step foot in there except to pack up my stuff. Supervised. But my parents are going to speak to the dean.”

“Seriously, what the hell happened?”

She grits her teeth. “Isaac happened.”

Oh dear.

“We were hanging out in the common room last night, and he invited some of his football buddies to come by and watch the game with us. I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he promised me they’d behave.” Her blue eyes flash. “They did not behave. They totally trashed the place. I’m talking broken furniture, spilled drinks, stained carpets. One of the linesmen even kicked a hole in the wall. By accident, but still.”

Blake is usually cool and collected, but this morning, I hear the note of panic in her voice.

“That’s awful,” I exclaim. “What are you going to do?”

“My dad promised he’d take care of it, but the dean is out of town until Tuesday, so I’m homeless for the next few days.”

“You’re not homeless,” Diana assures her. “I told you, you can crash at my place until you figure it out. I’ll stay with Shane next door.”

At my blank look, Diana explains that she and her boyfriend are next-door neighbors at an apartment complex not far from here. Beckett told me the other day that Shane was back at Briar. He’d moved home for a short time after his father passed away to help his mom and sister, but he returned to Hastings after Diana’s attack. I have a feeling he won’t be leaving her side anytime soon. I’m discovering that hockey players are beyond protective.

“And if that doesn’t work out,” I tell Blake, “I’m sure Will and Beckett would be happy to let you stay in their spare room.”

“Speaking of Will…” Gigi eyes me over the rim of her coffee cup as she takes a long sip.

“What?” I say.

“A little birdie told us you’re dating Will.”

“The birdie’s name is Will,” Diana says, snorting.

Discomfort has me shifting in my seat. “Yeah? What else did he say?”

“That was it.” Diana rolls her eyes. “Which is why we’re fishing for details.”

“Leave my Big alone,” Blake chides.

Gigi grimaces. “God, this sorority lingo is so weird.”

“I know,” I sigh.

“But no, Blakey, we will not leave your Big alone,” Diana says, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “So, Big…tell me…what are your intentions with our William?”

Luckily, I’m saved by the loud vibration of my phone.

“Hold that thought,” I tell them while inwardly praying they’re human goldfish and will forget what we’re talking about in five seconds.

I lift my purse onto my lap and dig around for my phone, finally finding it hiding under my wallet. As I pull it out of my bag, a piece of paper comes out with it, fluttering onto the tabletop in front of Diana.

She plucks it up and gives it back to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” I say, a crease puckering my forehead. I don’t recognize the paper and have no idea why it’s in my bag, but rather than check it later, I make the stupid decision of unfolding it in front of everyone.

My heart stops when I recognize the handwriting.

It’s Beckett’s.

Not Will’s.

“Oh my God, is that a love note?” With a grin, Diana steals the paper back, her green eyes twinkling with mischief.

I try to snatch it out of her hand, but she’s already reading it out loud.

“ Have a good day, baby girl. Miss you already. ” Her jaw falls open. “Whoa. Will’s leaving secret notes in your purse? The boy has it bad .”

Relief floods my chest at her assumption that the note is from Will. Thank God she doesn’t know what their handwriting looks like.

And thank God that Beckett chose to write the most innocuous note on the planet. This could’ve gone in a whole other direction if he’d said Will and I can’t wait to fuck you later, baby girl.

Gigi’s voice drips with amusement as she says, “Okay, that is beyond cute.”

I give a nervous laugh, hoping the flush in my cheeks doesn’t give me away. “Yeah. Will’s sweet like that sometimes.”

“Would it kill you to admit you like him?” Blake says with a smirk, and I realize she’s mimicking my exact words when I was harassing her about Isaac in the fall.

“I like him a lot,” I admit.

I stuff the note into my purse as casually as possible, pretending it wasn’t from the wrong guy. No, not the wrong guy. Just a different guy. My mind races, guilt gnawing at me. I have no idea how to handle this situation anymore. I don’t want to lie about who’s writing me sweet notes. But I also don’t want to tell the truth.

“What’s a lot?” Gigi asks, smiling.

What am I supposed to say? That I’m falling for him? For Beckett too? The notion feels too big. Too terrifying. When we started this thing, I hadn’t planned on catching feelings—especially for both of them.

For the first time in my life, the Method failed me. Because “falling in love with two guys” was not on my list of potential outcomes.

“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I mean…I might be falling for him.” I laugh awkwardly, trying to brush it off as no big deal.

Blake’s eyebrows soar. “You’re falling for him? Charlotte, that’s serious.”

“Yeah.” I sigh, hating how conflicted I feel. How scared I am.

Because…falling for one guy? Fine.

But two?

That’s a mess I’m not ready for.

A few nights later, I’m back at the town house, sitting cross-legged on the couch, laptop open in front of me and a mess of textbooks and scribbled notes spread out on the coffee table as I sketch out the latest iteration of my heart monitor design.

I prefer working at their place. In fact, it’s become a habit now, packing an overnight bag and driving to Hastings, where there’s no Agatha monitoring the halls making sure everyone is wearing Delta Pi–approved pj’s or isn’t typing too loudly on their keyboards. Here, I can be as quiet or as loud as I choose. I can stay up all night if I want without worrying about anyone derisively commenting about the dark circles under my eyes the next day. Because dark eye circles are a common occurrence in STEM. Engineering comes with a lot of late nights, caffeine, and occasional breakdowns over complex algorithms.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, though. STEM might be challenging, but it’s also stimulating. Rewarding. Fun . Maybe not everyone’s idea of fun, but definitely mine.

Will sits on the other end of the couch, his gaze glued to the Bruins game on the TV. Every few minutes, he either curses angrily or exclaims, “Fuck yeah!”

Beckett went out tonight with one of their teammates, someone called the Kansas Kid, who I only recently realized was a human man. For the longest time, I thought they were talking about a western movie.

I groan when my phone buzzes on the table, fighting the urge to march into the hall bathroom and flush the damn thing down the toilet. Harrison’s been blowing up my phone this past week, and although I feel like shit admitting it, I enjoyed it when he was in California. He ended up staying out there after Christmas for another six weeks, crashing at his friend’s place and building a website for the friend’s tech start-up. He’d been too busy to text or call me more than a handful of times, and I can’t deny it felt nice to have some breathing room.

Whenever I talk to Harrison, it feels so damn heavy . He triggers this relentless need to atone for the great childhood, the full life, I was fortunate to be given. My sister is adding to that guilt too. She stopped badgering me to tell our parents about Harrison, which is somehow even worse than being nagged about it. A part of me needed her to keep pushing. Without that pressure, I’m even less inclined to share the truth with Mom and Dad.

“Holy shit. You should’ve come out tonight, Larsen. Nazzy almost started a bar fight with an active-duty Navy SEAL.”

I glance up as Beckett strolls into the living room, a bearded, golden vision in faded jeans and a white hoodie that brings out his tan. His eyes are bright but not glazed, which tells me he’s tipsy rather than wasted.

“Dude, that kid’s mouth is gonna get him killed one day,” Will says without taking his gaze off the hockey game.

Beckett settles next to me, leaning in to smack a kiss on my cheek. “How’s the blood project going?”

“It’s my capstone project,” I correct with a grin. “And it’s a blood pressure device.”

“Right. Explain this to me again?” He peeks over my shoulder at the laptop screen. “I’m trying to get my nerd fix for the night.”

Will snorts.

But because I happen to be a nerd, I can’t pass up the opportunity to nerd out when given the chance.

“Okay. So ,” I tell Beckett, excited to talk about my capstone. “Imagine a device that can measure your heart rate and blood pressure without the need for those annoying cuffs. It’s totally noninvasive. You know, no squeezing or anything.”

“But squeezing is fun.” He winks at me.

“Yeah, for you, perv.” I snicker. “But normal people don’t like those cuffs squeezing their arms, especially if they need to check their blood pressure multiple times a day.”

“True,” he agrees. He glances back at the laptop. “So you’re saying that gadget there can take someone’s blood pressure? How?”

“Dude,” Will warns from the chaise. “You have no idea the can of nerd worms you just opened.”

I beam at Beckett. “How, you ask? Let me tell you!”

“Larsen,” he groans. “Save me.”

“Nah.”

“So basically,” I explain, “it involves a combination of photoplethysmography and oscillometry. PPG is a technique that uses light to measure changes in blood volume, and oscillometry is used to estimate blood pressure based on arterial pulsations.”

He sighs. “I don’t think that was English.”

“Sure it was.”

“Can we just say you’re creating a device that makes those old-fashioned cuffs look like dinosaur tech? I don’t need to see behind the curtain.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to help me test the prototype. Both of you. You guys are going to be my human guinea pigs.”

Will looks over with a lewd smile. “You can do anything you want to my body.”

“Any day of the week,” Beckett agrees. “Actually, no. I’ll be your lab rat as long as it doesn’t involve any scary-ass wires and electric shock.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be painless. Unless you count the pain of having to listen to me explain the minutiae of heart rate variability and signal processing.”

“You know what’s really sexy about this?” Beckett says.

I can’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t associate my capstone with the word sexy , but okay, I’ll bite. What’s sexy about this?”

“How hot you look when you talk about your work. I like it.” His voice is gruff.

Damn it. Every time he says stuff like that, I melt into a puddle at his feet.

I keep working while the guys watch the rest of the game, and after it ends, Beckett puts on that role-playing zombie game he likes while Will passes out on the sectional. Eventually, my eyelids start drooping, so I close the laptop and snuggle up against Beckett. He turns off his game and stretches out beside me, pulling me closer so I’m resting my head on his chest.

He doesn’t make a move to initiate anything physical. It’s late, past two in the morning, and we’re both content to cuddle on the couch, clothes on and genitals safely tucked away.

I reach under his hoodie and stroke his warm, hard flesh. Not in a sexual way. I just like touching him.

“Feels nice,” he mumbles.

Lying there with him, I think back to how annoying I found him last semester, how I believed he had such little substance, and guilt pricks at me.

“Beck?” I say softly.

“Mmm?”

“I misjudged you.”

“What?”

“Last semester. I thought you were a fuckboy.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, and I feel him smiling against my hair.

“And that you lacked substance,” I admit, then release an expletive when I realize how harsh that sounded. “I’m sorry. I just heard that out loud, and it sounds so shitty.”

He rolls onto his side so we’re facing each other, his eyes taking on a knowing gleam.

“Don’t apologize. You’re not the first to think that. Probably won’t be the last.” A wry smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. “People don’t take me seriously because I look like a blond surfer boy and sound like a dumb Australian. But that’s fine by me, actually. It gives me the upper hand. Catches them off guard when they realize I see a lot more than they think.”

“See what?”

“Them. I see people for who they are.”

“Yeah?” I stroke the beard growth on his face, and he sags into my touch for a moment. “Tell me what you see then.”

“Okay. Well…” He nods toward a sleeping Will, gravel thickening his voice. “Larsen, for example. He plays a role outside this house. The nice, unassuming good guy. The perfect gentleman.”

“And he’s not a gentleman?”

“No, he is. He can be. But he’s also got a filthy mouth. He’s an animal in bed. And he’s ruthless. Not like his dad—he wouldn’t crush someone to get ahead. But Will isn’t a pushover either. Push comes to shove, he’ll take what he wants. He’ll pick himself if it comes down to it.”

A groove digs into my forehead. “Would he pick himself over you? Over me?”

“No. But over some people, definitely. Friends even. But not the ones he loves. He’d give the shirt off his back for us.”

I smile against his chest. “He loves us?”

“Are you kidding me? He’s head over heels for you, Charlie. And I think he cares about me, yeah. I think he’d always have my back.”

I sit up, my gaze drifting in Will’s direction. He’s fast asleep.

“So Will is ruthless but selfless. He’s a gentleman and an animal. What else?”

“He’s intense.”

“That I know.”

“He smiles to hide the intensity, but it’s inside him. He’s ambitious, but he doesn’t want to be because he thinks it makes him like his dad. So he pretends he doesn’t have this innate drive to succeed in anything.”

God. Beckett is perceptive.

I curl up beside him again, reaching for his hand and lacing our fingers. “Okay. How about me? Tell me about myself, all-knowing one.”

He brushes his lips over my forehead. “You’re the strongest, most fragile person I know.”

I laugh. “Impossible. There’s this thing called the law of contradiction.”

“Huh?”

“Fundamental principle of logic. Basically, it’s a law that states a proposition can’t be true and false at the same time and in the same sense.”

“So…an oxymoron?”

“Sure, if you want to use the commoner’s term for it,” I say in a haughty voice.

He chuckles. “Another truth about you—you’re not a snob, even though you sometimes pretend to be.”

“What else, smart-ass?”

“You’re a perfectionist.”

“Duh.”

“Because you’re scared of not being good enough for your family.”

I falter. “Wh-what?”

“That’s why you push yourself so hard. You’re always trying to be perfect, because you think if you slip up even once, your family won’t love you as much.”

My heart clenches, his words hitting me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

“What else?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“When you’re in Charlotte mode, you never let yourself relax, and you’re always on guard. You’ve spent your whole life trying to prove you’re worth loving.”

Every single word is like a tiny, precise blade cutting into truths I’ve always buried deep, under all the achievements and smiles. My eyes feel hot, stinging. I try to swallow, but the lump in my throat won’t budge.

“I…” I blink back the tears, but it’s too late.

They spill over, streaming down my cheeks as a sob chokes my throat.

Beckett curses when he realizes what’s happening. He sits up in alarm, pulling me onto his lap. “Charlie. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

The tears keep falling, and I hate it. I hate how vulnerable I feel. I hate how he just drew all these fears out into the open and forced me to look at them.

“I’m sorry.” Misery rings in his voice. “I’m a fucking idiot. I’m not good at this shit. Not anymore. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Another sob racks my body.

“Please stop crying, baby.” He’s begging me now.

The commotion jolts Will awake. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The deep concern swimming in his eyes shatters something inside me. I cry even harder, my chest heaving as the sobs I’ve been holding back for so long break free. It’s too much. Too much truth. Too much vulnerability.

Beckett holds me tighter. “It’s my fault,” he tells Will. “I said some dumb shit.”

“No,” I mumble through a sheen of tears. “You were right. Everything you said…it’s all true.”

Will sinks down beside us, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. It’s odd, the way he grounds me, makes me feel safe. Beckett does too, but in a different way. I trust Beckett wholeheartedly, but he doesn’t necessarily ground me. If anything, he makes me soar.

“I love my parents,” I whisper as the tears finally begin to subside. “So much. And I know they love me. But being adopted messes with your head sometimes, especially when you’re a kid. I know it’s irrational. They’ve never given me a single reason to doubt their love. But I remember lying awake some nights, especially if I did something bad, like stole a cookie and then lied about it or some other trivial bullshit—I’d lie there terrified that they’d come into my room and tell me it was time to go back.”

Will rests his chin on my shoulder, pressing a kiss to it. “I’m sorry. That sounds brutal.”

I gulp through the lump in my throat. The memories trigger a fresh rush of tears.

Me at age six, my clothes all dirty, clinging to my mom after I ran through the muddy playground when she ordered me not to.

Clutching her hand, desperate for reassurance. Asking her if she was going to give me back now because I was bad.

And then the relief that washed over me when she held me close and whispered that I was her forever daughter.

I hadn’t realized I was still carrying so many of those childhood fears, and I bury my face in Beckett’s neck, battling the tears while he strokes my hair and Will holds me steady.

“Breathe,” Beckett whispers in my ear.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then exhale slowly, trying to let go of the anxiety, the insecurity, the constant need to prove myself.

But there’s nothing for me to prove. Not here, with these two guys. When I’m here, I don’t feel the need to be perfect. I just get to be…me.