Chapter 25
Twenty Fucking Minutes
CALEB
The drive back to campus is a blur; my hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
My mind keeps replaying the recording, searching for an explanation or some context that would make sense.
James agreeing to take money to break up with me.
James is planning how to end things "in a way that doesn't reflect badly" on me.
It can't be real. It can't.
But if it's not, why show it to me? What would my father gain by manufacturing such an elaborate lie? And why would James have been so evasive about what happened on Christmas if not because he was hiding something?
By the time I park at the frat house, my confusion has crystallized into anger. Not at James, if what I saw was true, but at myself for being so easily fooled. Again. For thinking that someone finally saw me, not the Huntington name, not the family connections, but me.
The house is quiet when I enter; most guys are still on winter break. I know James is here, though. He mentioned working on the frat social media calendar today, so he'll be in the small office off the main floor.
He is precisely where I expect to find him, hunched over his laptop, surrounded by empty energy drink cans. He doesn't look up when I enter, too focused on whatever he's coding.
"We need to talk," the door closes behind me with more force than necessary.
He startles, looking up with tired eyes that widen when they register my expression. "What's wrong?"
"You tell me." Staying on my feet, adrenaline won't let the body settle. "How was your meeting with my father?"
His face, the one I've learned to read so well, goes through a rapid series of emotions: surprise, guilt, defensiveness. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't." The word comes out angrily. "Don't lie to me, James. Not now."
He slowly closes his laptop, buying time. "Caleb, whatever your father told you—"
"He didn't tell me. He showed me." I move towards the desk, looming over him. "The audio, James. From his office. December 26th. Ring any bells?"
He pales slightly, which only feeds the fire that’s creeping up my neck.
"So it's true," the confirmation is like a knife twisting in my gut. "You met with him behind my back."
"It's not what you think," he starts, rising from his chair. "I didn't—"
"Didn't what? Discuss taking seventy-five thousand dollars to break up with me? Because that's exactly what I heard."
"That's not—" He stops, runs a hand through his hair. "Yes, I met with him. But not because I asked to. He called me."
"That's not what the recording showed."
"Because he edited it!" James's voice rises to match mine. "He offered me money on Christmas Day to leave you, and I told him to go to hell. I told you that I told him off! Then he called the next day, saying he wanted to apologize and explain himself. Like an idiot, I went."
Everything in me wants to believe him. God, I want to believe him. But the sick feeling in my stomach won't subside. "And the seventy-five thousand? What, that was a casual conversation?"
"He brought it up again. Said the offer still stood. I was trying to get him on record admitting what he'd done, so I played along for a minute." His eyes plead with me to understand. "I never had any intention of taking his money, Caleb. Never."
"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice is demanding to know. "Any of it. The original offer, the meeting, all of it. Why the secrecy?"
He hesitates, which is answer enough. "I didn't want to ruin your relationship with your father."
The laugh sounds hollow to my ears. "That's rich. Since when do you care about my relationship with my father?"
"Since I saw how much it hurts you!" he yells, anger finally flaring in his eyes. "Every time you interact with him, every time you get a call or a text from that house, you come back a little more closed off, a little more bitter. I didn't want to be another reason for that pain."
"So you lied to me. For my own good."
"I didn't lie—"
"Lying by omission is still lying." Turning away.
Can't look at him. Trying to sort through the tangle of emotions threatening to choke me.
"What else haven't you told me? About all those connections my father mentioned?
Senator Mitchell's staff? Congressman Evans' daughter?
All those convenient people you know who could help his campaign if my being gay ever becomes a liability? "
He stares at me, confusion giving way to realization, then indignation. "Are you serious right now? You think I've been networking and saw you as what fucking opportunity I couldn’t pass up?"
"I don't know what to think." It's the most honest thing I've said since entering the room. "All I know is you've been keeping things from me."
"Things I was trying to protect you from!" He steps around the desk, closing the distance between us. "Your father tried to bribe me, and when that didn't work, he manipulated you. Can't you see that?"
"I see that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth," my anger receding enough for the hurt underneath to show through. "And I have to wonder why."
James goes very still. "What exactly are you asking me, Caleb?"
"Was any of it real?" The question comes out softer than I intended, vulnerable in a way I hate. "Or was I a convenient connection? The rich kid with family in high places who could help open doors?"
The hurt that flashes across his face seems genuine, but then, James has always been good at playing roles. Isn't that how this whole thing started?
"How can you ask me that?" His voice is tight with barely controlled emotion. "After everything—"
"After what? A few months of what started as a fake relationship?
Some good sex and inside jokes?" I'm being cruel now, deliberately pushing him away before he can do the same to me.
"What is 'everything,' James? What exactly have we built that's so goddamn precious you think I wouldn't survive knowing my father tried to buy you off? "
"I was trying to protect you!"
"I don't need your protection! I needed your honesty!"
"Fine! You want honesty?" He's shouting now, too; his cheeks are bright red.
"Here's honesty: Your father is right. We don't belong in each other's worlds.
I will never be comfortable in that house, with those people, pretending that their polite disdain doesn't cut to the bone.
And you, for all your rebellion, you'll go back to them eventually. You always do."
The words hit precisely, finding the exact insecurity I've tried hardest to bury. No matter how far I run, I'll always be drawn back to the Huntington orbit. My independence is a temporary phase.
"Is that what you think of me?" Quiet. "That this is playing at being my own person?"
Something shifts in his expression, regret maybe, but he doesn't back down. "I think you're fighting a war with your family that no one can win for you. And maybe your father's right about one thing, I'm a complication you don't need."
"So what, you were planning to take his deal after all? Make a clean break for my own good?"
"No! God, Caleb, that's not—" He stops, frustrated. "I turned him down. Explicitly. But maybe we should be asking ourselves some hard questions about what comes next for us. Where is this even going?"
The fact that he's saying exactly what I've been worrying about, asking the questions I've been too scared to bring up myself, makes me even angrier. "Nowhere. Since you've already decided, I'll crawl back to my family eventually."
"That's not what I said!"
"It's exactly what you said!" Unconsciously moving into his personal space. "You know what I think? I think you're the one looking for an exit strategy. Maybe some of you considered taking that money, and you're projecting your guilt onto me."
It's a direct hit. I can see it in the way he flinches, the way his expression shuts down.
"Get out," he says, voice dangerously quiet.
"What?"
"Get out of this office." His eyes are hard now, all the vulnerability gone. "I'm not having this conversation anymore."
"James—"
"No. You've made yourself perfectly clear. You don't trust me. You think I'd sell you out for money. For connections." Each word is precise and controlled. "There's nothing left to say."
"So that's it? One fight and we're done?"
"This isn't a fight, Caleb. This is you believing the worst of me." His voice cracks slightly on the last word. "I can't do this. Not with someone who's waiting for me to betray them."
The finality in his tone hits me like a physical blow. This is happening. We're really ending.
"Fine," I summon what dignity I can. "I'll go."
"Wait." He stops me as I reach for the door. For a split second, I think he's going to take it all back, that he'll apologize, that I'll apologize, that we'll find our way through this mess.
Instead, he says, "It's better this way. Your father was right about one thing: people from different worlds should stay in their lanes."
The words are so unlike James, so formal and stilted, that they don't sound real coming from his mouth. But the hurt they cause is real enough.
"Goodbye, James." Out into the hallway before anything else can be said.
Only to find an audience.
Drew, Tyler, and Gavin stand awkwardly, clearly having heard at least part of our argument. Drew steps forward, concern etched on his face.
"Caleb—"
Brushing past him, needing to be anywhere but here, away from pitying eyes and the suffocating knowledge that I've lost something precious, something I'm not sure I ever truly had.
"Caleb, wait," Drew calls, following me.
I keep walking through the main room, up the stairs, toward my tiny shared room that is my only safe space. Drew follows, persistent as always.
"Caleb, stop," he says as I reach my door. "Please."
Turning, I'm ready to tell him to go away, but the genuine concern on his face stops me.
"What?"
"Are you okay?"
Such a simple question. Such an impossible answer.