Chapter 4
Daddy Issues
CALEB
The Delta Psi Omega house is exactly what I expected: loud, chaotic, and filled with too many people trying to talk to me. I've been officially pledging for three weeks now, and it still feels like I'm wearing someone else's skin every time I walk through these doors.
"Hey, Caleb!" Gavin's booming voice carries across the entryway as I try to slip past unnoticed. So much for that plan. "We missed you at breakfast!"
"Had an early class.” It’s a complete fabrication, but there's no reason to slow down for Gavin to trap me into conversation.
The truth is, I've been avoiding communal meals as much as possible.
Too much forced conversation, too many probing questions from well-meaning frat brothers who can't take a hint.
"Andrew was looking for you.” Gavin follows me to the stairs, not taking the hint. "Something about pledge duties for the week."
Fantastic. More mandatory "bonding" activities. "I'll find him later." I'm already calculating how long I can reasonably hide in my room before someone comes looking for me again.
"He's in the kitchen with Emily," he says helpfully.
Nodding, I continue upstairs, hearing Gavin's cheerful "See you at dinner!" behind me. Fat chance. I've got a design project due tomorrow, so I'll use it as my excuse to work through dinner.
My room, technically a pledge room I'm sharing with a freshman named Jaren, is mercifully empty when I enter.
Jaren's a decent roommate, mostly because he's rarely here, preferring to spend his time in the common areas with the other freshmen pledges.
His relentless cheerfulness would be annoying if it didn't give me so much alone time.
Dropping my backpack so I can collapse on my bed, I pull my phone from my pocket. Three missed calls from my father. No voicemails, because God forbid Caleb Huntington the Second deign to leave a message. Just the expectation that I'll call back immediately, like one of his staffers.
Maybe. I'll call him later. Or… never. I haven't decided.
A knock at my door interrupts my brooding. Before I can say anything, it swings open to reveal Drew, our seemingly omnipresent frat president.
"There you are," he says, as if we had a scheduled meeting I'm late for. "Been looking for you."
"So I heard." Resigning myself to whatever new brotherhood obligation he's about to bestow upon me, I sit up and wait. "What's up?"
"Emily wants to meet you," he says, which is not at all what I expect. "She's heard all about our newest pledge and says I've been keeping you all to myself."
Drew's girlfriend is something of a legend among Delta Psi members. According to frat lore, they had a dramatic breakup last year, only to reconcile before Halloween. The way the brothers talk about her, you'd think she was a combination of Michelle Obama and Beyoncé.
"I'm kind of busy.” Motioning at my backpack, I try to shake him off till another time. "Design project due tomorrow."
"It'll keep," Drew says with the easy confidence of someone who's never missed a deadline. "Come on, she's only here for another hour before her study group."
His tone makes it clear this isn't actually a request. With a sigh, I stand up and follow him downstairs, mentally preparing for small talk with a sorority girl who probably thinks I'm a "project" to fix.
Emily Baker is not what I expected. She's waiting in the kitchen, perched on a barstool at the island, laughing at something Tyler is saying.
She's tiny, maybe five-foot-two, with warm brown hair cut in a stylish bob and curves that her simple jeans and sweater do nothing to hide.
But it's her smile that startles me. It’s so genuine and warm, reaching all the way to her eyes.
"Emily," Drew says, his voice softening in a way I've never heard before. "This is Caleb, our newest pledge."
She turns that smile on me full-force. "Finally! I was beginning to think Drew was keeping you hidden away." She hops off her stool and approaches me, extending her hand. "I'm Emily. It's so great to meet you."
Shaking her hand, I'm surprised by the firm grip. "Nice to meet you, too."
"Sit," she commands, pointing to a stool. "I want to hear all about you."
Reluctantly, I take a seat. "There's not much to tell."
"I doubt that." She studies me with intelligent eyes. "Drew tells me you're a design major?"
"Oh no, I'm pre-Law and my minor is in Digital Media and Design."
"That's perfect! I need someone with an eye for aesthetics." She glances at Drew. "No offence, babe, but you have the design sensibilities of a colorblind hedgehog."
Drew laughs, clearly not offended. "True. That's why we have James and now Caleb take care of the frats' design work."
The mention of James sends an unexpected jolt of irritation through me.
Since our forced tour of the fraternity house three weeks ago, we've developed a mutual avoidance strategy that works for both of us.
He stays in his tech cave, I stay out of his way, and we interact only when absolutely necessary. Which is rare, thank God.
"Speaking of James," Tyler interjects, "has anyone seen him today? The donation link on the website is glitching."
"Probably holed up in his room," Drew says. "I'll check on him later."
Emily's attention returns to me. "So, Caleb, do you happen to have any plans this afternoon?"
The directness of her question catches me unprepared. "Uh, just working on a project. Why?"
"Perfect! You're coming with me." She stands, gathering her purse. "We're getting your hair sorted out."
My hand instinctively goes to my hair, which has indeed grown too long over the past months. I've been using it as a shield, letting it fall across my face to avoid eye contact. "My hair is fine."
"Your hair," she says kindly but firmly, "makes you look like a cave-dwelling computer troll. No offence."
Tyler snorts, quickly covering it with a cough when I glare at him.
"I don't need—" My protest starts automatically.
"It wasn't a question," Emily interrupts, her tone still friendly but brooking no argument. "My stylist had a cancellation, and it's meant to be. Drew said you were pledging because you didn't have much choice, but I disagree."
The comment almost pulls a smile out of me, which… No. Absolutely not. But apparently, curiosity doesn't care about maintaining hostility.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She looks at me with those perceptive eyes. "You had a choice, and you made a good one. Now we're going to get that gorgeous haircut so people can actually see your face."
"It's no use arguing with her," Drew advises, looking amused. "Trust me, I've tried."
"Come on," Emily says, looping her arm through mine and practically pulling me to my feet. "We'll be back in a couple of hours, boys. Try not to burn the house down while we're gone."
Before I can formulate a proper protest, I'm being led out the door and toward her car, a sensible but well-maintained Subaru that somehow perfectly matches her practical but stylish vibe.
"You really don't have to do this." The protest comes out shaky.
Too much. All of this is too much; her being nice when she barely knows me, the idea of sitting in that salon chair while a stranger pokes at my face and decides what to do with it.
The hair's been working fine as a barrier; why mess with what works?
She unlocks the doors. "I know. I want to. Get in."
Something about her no-nonsense attitude makes it hard to keep arguing. I slide into the passenger seat, resigning myself to whatever makeover scheme she's concocted.
"So," she says as she navigates away from campus, "tell me the real reason you're hiding behind that hair."
I stare at her, caught off guard by the direct question. "I'm not hiding."
"Caleb," she says, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow, "I have three brothers, all of whom tried the exact same thing at some point. The hair curtain is not as subtle as you think."
For some reason, her bluntness disarms me. "It's easier. People don't try to talk to you when they can't see your face."
"And why don't you want people talking to you?"
"Because they usually want something." Shit. That came out more honest than intended. "Or they're only interested in getting their foot in the door with my family."
She nods, as if this confirms something she already suspected. "Family name issues, huh? Let me guess— pressure to follow some predetermined path, disappointment when you don't conform, conditional acceptance based on performance?"
"Are you a psychology major or something?" This is getting uncomfortably perceptive.
"Education, actually," she says with a smile. "But I grew up with a father in politics. I recognize the signs."
"My father's running for Senate. Was the Mayor before that. The Huntington name means something in this state, apparently." Bitterness coats every word; no point hiding it now.
"And being the gay son complicates things?" she asks gently.
My spine snaps straight, "What my father says in public and in private are two very different things."
"Drew mentioned things seemed tense," she says. "Don't worry, what happened with Tyler isn’t known by everyone. He just wanted me to understand your situation better."
"My situation," I repeat flatly. "You mean being blackmailed into joining a fraternity instead of facing disciplinary action?"
"I mean, being alone and isolated when you don't have to be," she corrects. "And for what it's worth, Drew doesn't see it as blackmail. He genuinely believes you'll benefit from having a brotherhood."
"I don't need—," I begin, then stop myself. What exactly don't I need? Friends? Support? People who actually see me for who I am, not as an extension of the Huntington dynasty?
"Everyone needs someone," Emily says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. "Even grumpy law majors with daddy issues."
I find myself smiling slightly. "Are you always this direct with people you've just met?"