CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #15
Liam snorts. "Bro—your grandma is my grandma. Congratulations, you just roasted yourself."
"Shut the hell up," Luke snaps, mashing buttons like his controller owes him rent. "Only reason you even scored that last kill is because the game felt bad for you. Pity points."
"Please. You've got the reaction time of a sloth on NyQuil."
"At least I don't play like my thumbs are broken. Bro, you look like you're trying to type an essay out here."
"Yeah? Then why am I still up on the leaderboard?" Liam jabs a finger at the screen.
"Because you stole my loot drop, you little thief!"
"Oh, cry harder. Want me to knit you a blanket with Grandma so you can sob into it together?"
Gunfire, explosions, some poor digital soldier screaming in the background—it's all I hear as I approach the living room. From the sound alone, I know the twins are knee-deep in Call of Duty.
I step in, and sure enough, the twins aren't even sitting anymore. They're standing. Controllers clutched like weapons, leaning forward like being two inches closer to the screen is gonna help. Both of them red in the face, shit-talking each other like their lives depend on it.
"You're trash, dude! Actual garbage. Take the L!" Liam shouts.
"Shut up, you button-mashing gremlin," Luke fires back, jabbing his controller like it owes him money.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh.
They're always at each other's throats when it comes to video games—two hyper-competitive sore losers who'd rather die than let the other get bragging rights.
But throw them on the ice together? Different story.
Suddenly, they've got insane chemistry, like they share one brain cell that only activates during hockey. A deadly duo.
Meanwhile, Cody's sprawled on the couch like he's king of the idiots, phone in hand, thumbs moving faster than the twins'. Grinning so wide it's obvious he's texting something dirty.
Dude's multitasking like he's got a side hustle as a call center rep, switching between probably three different women at once. Maybe five. I don't even wanna know.
I mean, how he doesn't mix them up is beyond me. If it were somebody else, he'd end up calling one 'babe' and sending her the wrong ass pic meant for someone else.
But Cody? Nah. Guy's running a whole damn rotation like it's the NBA.
Cody notices me first, finally tearing his eyes off his phone long enough to toss me a nod.
"Where were you, man? Thought we were meeting at La Playa to cook up the master scheme."
Liam glances over. "Yeah, dude. You bailed. Knew it was too good to be true when you offered to pay for drinks." He grumbles, "Should've known you were running a scam."
Before I can answer, Luke lets out a full-on war cry—"BOOM, HEADSHOT, BABY!"—and starts doing this obnoxious little victory hop in place.
Liam's eyes snap back to the screen just in time to watch his player ragdoll across the digital battlefield.
"You cheating sack of shit!" Liam shoves at his twin's arm, nearly knocking the controller out of his hands.
Luke barks out a laugh. "Cheating? Bro, I'm just better. Accept your L."
"Better my ass. You cheated! Like always!"
"Yeah, yeah. You're just a sore loser, bro. Like always."
They're back at each other's throats in seconds, arguing like COD refs are about to storm the room and review the tapes.
Cody and I both lose it, laughing while Liam and Luke keep jabbing each other like five-year-olds fighting over a Happy Meal toy.
"Where's Taylor, anyway?" I ask, scanning the living room like she might pop up from behind the couch cushions. No sign of her.
"Taylor? Your Taylor?" Luke pipes up without even blinking, eyes still glued to the screen while his thumbs go feral on the controller. The twins are already mid-rematch.
I roll my eyes. "She's not my Taylor, dumbass."
I fish out my phone, thumb hovering to hit call—except the screen stays black. Dead. Perfect. Forgot I forgot to charge it earlier.
"How about Kent?" I mutter, irritation bubbling. "I told him to bring Taylor here like an hour ago."
"He hasn't come back yet. I think," Cody says, not even looking up from whatever thirst trap he's texting.
"What?" I'm already halfway to the door, ready to peel out to Taylor's place myself, when the stairs creak.
Kentaro appears at the landing, and I sigh in relief.
"Yo, when'd you get back?" Cody asks.
Kent is flat. "Before you," he says.
Cody shrugs. "Well excuse me. Somebody's grumpy," Cody mutters, and I bite the inside of my cheek.
Cody's basically waving a red flag at a bull here, but damn if it isn't funny watching him poke at Kent like this.
"Where's Taylor? Is she okay?" I move toward Kent.
He lets out this long, annoyed sigh through his nose. "Yeah, she's fine. Too fine, apparently. So fine she decided to crash in my bed." He sounds like it's the biggest violation known to man.
My brows shoot up. "Wait—your bed?"
Kentaro scowls. "Yeah. Walked right in, made herself comfortable. Said she couldn't wait in your room anymore because, apparently, 'your girl's back and she doesn't want to cause drama.' Whatever the hell that means. Now she's passed out in my space. On my pillow."
He huffs again, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable."
I blink at him, honestly thrown. Kent's never been the type to share his bed. Hell, the guy doesn't even let his roommate Simon bring girls into their room—total iron-clad rule, no exceptions.
It's like there's been a neon sign on his door for years screaming: No woman allowed.
And yet Taylor somehow waltzed in there, kicked him out of his own territory, and knocked out on his mattress. That's... wow. Didn't think I'd see the day.
Kentaro runs a hand down his face, still grumbling. "I don't know what's worse—the fact that she took over without asking, or the fact that now I've got nowhere to crash. Unbelievable."
I rub the back of my neck, guilt creeping in. "Sorry about that. I'll go wake her—she still needs to file a report at Campus Safety anyway."
That gets all four of them looking up at me, brows pulling tight. Liam's the first to speak. "Campus Safety? Why? What happened?"
I hesitate. It's not really my story to tell. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense that they should know. If Kirk's not backing off, it's better they're all on alert too.
So I tell them. About Kirk Michaels—her psycho ex who graduated last year.
Cody cuts in, eyebrows climbing. "Kirk Michaels? As in the tennis player?"
I nod.
"Figures." Liam snorts. "That guy's a grade-A douche. Walked around like he was God's gift to the world."
"Yeah, never liked him," Luke mutters, eyes narrowing.
I run a hand down my face, jaw tight. "He couldn't handle the breakup, so he kept coming back here, harassing her. Then it turned into full-on stalking—showing up where he knew she'd be, blowing up her phone, the whole thing. And today..." I swallow, heat burning in my chest.
"Today he cornered her. Jumped on her. She fought back—there was a full-on scuffle." My jaw locks, the words coming out sharp, clipped. "He even choked her. It was bad. That's why she has to report it to Campus Safety."
The room goes still. No more trash talk, no more button mashing—just four guys with the same look on their faces. Tight jaws, clenched fists. The kind of anger that simmers low but sharp.
None of us can wrap our heads around it. That some asshole thinks he has the right to put his hands on a woman.
"Unbelievable," Liam mutters, his knuckles cracking as he grips the controller like it's Kirk's neck. "Guy deserves to get his teeth knocked in."
Luke shakes his head, face red with fury. "Nah—forget his teeth. Bastard needs his whole body rearranged. Who the hell does that?"
Cody exhales hard, leaning forward, his usual grin wiped clean. "I knew Kirk was an arrogant piece of shit, but this? This is next level. I swear, if I ever see him around here again—" He cuts himself off, snapping his phone shut like the thought alone makes him want to break something.
I nod slowly, jaw clenches, because yeah—same. Every word.
The only one not saying a thing? Kentaro. He's just standing there, arms crossed, face carved from stone. Nothing. Not a flicker. And that silence from him says more than all our words combined.
"She's probably too banged up right now. Let her sleep it off. You can take her first thing in the morning." Cody says.
He's not wrong.
As much as I hate the idea of waiting, I can't shake the image of her earlier—how terrified she looked, the way her body wouldn't stop trembling no matter how hard she tried to hold it together.
Maybe rest really is what she needs first.
I glance at Kentaro. "Then I'll move her to my room and you can have your bed back."
I start to head upstairs, but Kentaro stops me with one flat, clipped line: "Just... leave her."
I blink. "Really?"
He gives me the faintest nod, deadpan as ever. "She's already in there. There's no point waking her up just to swap beds."
I stare at him for a beat, surprised. "...Thanks, man."
"I'll crash at Elijah's or something. You can take my room tonight," I offer.
Kentaro's already walking toward the kitchen, muttering a bored-sounding, "Yeah, whatever."
The rest of us trade looks, all of us thinking the same damn thing as we watch his back disappear down the hall. He's pretending not to care.
Acting like Taylor's just an inconvenience in his bed. But the guy who doesn't let anyone cross his bedroom threshold—suddenly letting Taylor take over his space?
Yeah. Kentaro's full of shit.
I bite back a laugh, because he's trying so hard to keep the act going.
And honestly? Watching him huff around like she's the biggest inconvenience to ever cross his path is almost cute.
*****
The next morning, we're packed into the weight room, while a couple of players are grinding it out in the cardio room next door.