Chapter 25 #2
"I'm fine." Absolutely not fine. "Just a disagreement."
"That didn't sound like 'just' a disagreement," he says gently. "That sounded like a breakup."
The word lands like a blow. Breakup. Final. Done. Over.
"Yeah, well." The shrug doesn't sell it. Not even close to nonchalant. "These things happen."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
He nods, respecting my boundary while making it clear he's not going anywhere. "Okay. But if you change your mind..."
"I know where to find you." Reaching for my door handle, desperate to be alone with my racing thoughts and the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.
"One more thing," Drew says before I can escape. "This doesn't change anything with the frat."
Pausing my hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"I know what you're thinking," he continues. "That this is awkward, that one of you might have to leave. But that's not how we operate. You're both our brothers. We'll figure it out."
The unexpected support throws me. "James was here first. If anyone should leave—"
"No one's leaving," he interrupts firmly. "This is new territory for us, sure, but we'll figure it out. Together."
For the first time since everything imploded, the ice through my core thaws a little. "I… I appreciate that."
Footsteps on the stairs announce another arrival, Gavin, looking uncharacteristically serious.
"Everything okay?" he asks, glancing between us.
"Getting there," Drew answers. "I was telling Caleb that his place in the frat is secure, regardless of what's happening with James."
Gavin nods vigorously. "Of course it is. Need me to help with anything? I'm great with breakups. Well, not great at having them, but great at the after part. Ice cream, terrible movies, burning photos, whatever you need."
Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitches upward. "I'm good, Gavin. But thanks."
"You guys were good together," Gavin adds, apparently unable to stop himself. "Even when you were faking it for the frat to see."
Drew and I both stare at him.
"What?" Gavin asks, utterly guileless. "It was really obvious you were faking it to get Drew off your back about mandatory events. But after that kiss at the snowball fight, which was super hot, by the way—"
My face burns.
"—I knew it was becoming real."
"You were watching us?" Momentarily distracted from my misery by mortification.
Gavin shrugs. "Well, when you're locked out of searching for porn, I settled for in-person."
"Fuck off, Gavin," I say without real heat.
He grins, taking my response as a good sign. Meanwhile, Drew seems to be processing new information.
"Wait," he says slowly. "You two were fake-dating? This whole time?"
"Not the whole time." Guilt is adding to the emotional soup brewing inside me. "It started because you were kind of pushy with the mandatory events." Yeah, that sounds bad. Wincing, I add, "Sorry about that."
"Are you sorry it happened? All of it?"
It's a loaded question, one that forces me to look beyond the immediate pain of the last hour to everything that came before: the late-night conversations, the quiet moments, and the way James looks when he's truly relaxed, guard down, sharing parts of himself I suspect few people ever get to see.
"No." Strange. Didn't expect to say that. "I'm not sorry for any of it. Except..." I trail off, a horrible thought forming. "Except for tonight. For believing my father without talking to James first."
Drew's expression sharpens. "What did your father tell you?"
Leaning against my door, I'm suddenly exhausted. "James met with him secretly. He was considering taking money to break up with me." The words stick. Swallowing doesn't help. "He had a recording. It sounds real."
"And you believed him?" Gavin asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Over James?"
"I—" My words stop. Why did believing the worst come so easily? Because it confirmed my deepest fears? Because it was easier to be angry than afraid? "I don't know."
"Do you believe it now?" Drew presses.
The question forces me to confront the hollowness in my stomach. "No," Oh god, what did I do? "I think my father manipulated me. Again."
"So what will you do?" Drew asks.
"I don't know." The walls of the hallway suddenly seem too close. "James made it pretty clear he's done."
"People say things they don't mean when hurt," Gavin says. "Trust me, I'm an expert."
"Maybe. But I need to figure out what happened first, what my father did. What James did or didn't do."
Drew nods, understanding. "Take the time you need. We're here for both of you."
The support from these two, my frat brothers, hits me harder than I expected, a lifeline I didn't know I needed. For all my initial resistance to the idea of fraternity "brotherhood," it seems I've found something genuine here after all.
"Thanks." There is a lump choking my throat, and I'm not able to say more without maybe falling apart right here.
They seem to understand, retreating with promises to check in later. As they leave, I finally enter my room, closing the door on the world outside.
Alone at last, I sink onto my bed, and everything that happened today crashes over me in waves. James's face when I accused him. The hurt in his eyes giving way to cold anger. The finality in his voice when he told me to leave.
My phone buzzes with a text, and for a wild, hopeful moment, I think it might be James. But of course it's not.
Father
Let me know if you need anything, son. I'm here for you.
The careful concern and the strategic timing are all so perfectly calculated. He got exactly what he wanted. A terrible feeling burns up from my stomach like seven cups of coffee with no food, and a cold, clear anger fights against my sadness.
I see no reason to respond to the text. Instead, I pull up my contacts and find a different number, one for the family lawyer who handled my trust fund when I turned twenty-one. The one person with access to my father's records who doesn't report directly to him.
This isn't over. Not by a long shot. If my father manipulated us, there would be evidence. And I'm going to find it.
But as determined as I am, I can't shake the empty feeling underneath. Because even if I prove my dad lied, even if I clear James's name, I'm not sure it'll make a difference. Some things you say can't be taken back. Some doubts, once you put them out there, can't be erased.
I believed the worst of him. Didn't even question the recording, didn't ask for context, just went straight to James and blew everything up.
And here's the really pathetic part: it only took me twenty minutes after leaving to realize Father had manipulated me. Twenty minutes to remember that James doesn't give a shit about money, that he'd already told Father off once. Obviously, there was more to that conversation than what I heard.
But twenty minutes was too late. The damage was done. I'd already proven to James that I don't trust him, that I'm another Huntington waiting for everyone around me to betray me.
He was right about one thing: people from different worlds probably should stay in their lanes. Because apparently I can't spend five minutes in mine without turning into my father.