Chapter 6 Orion
Orion
I crawled into Saturday morning on my hands and knees. One short week of classes and my brain was already exhausted from the workarounds. It was a relief to go down to the docks for crew tryouts.
I wasn’t too worried about making the team. Coach Daniels liked me. I was a strong two seat with the proper weight and skill set. Not big enough for the power needed in the middle of the shell, and not as important as bow or stroke. I figured I was safe.
I stood on the dock and listened as Coach bellowed instructions to newbies who’d never rowed before in their life, the poor bastards. Tucker, Rhett, Brent, and a few other veterans snickered, cocky as hell.
One new guy was a Bender in glasses and a sweatshirt from some school in Maryland. When Coach Daniels went down the line taking names and positions, this guy announced himself as Xander Ford, bow seat.
Xander.
This must be the “fresh meat” with no car.
Given how Brent, last year’s bow seat, was giving Xander the stink eye, I assumed he was one and the same.
Bow seat meant Xander would be sitting right behind me if he got a spot. We watched together as the first bunch of guys went out in a shell and proceeded to make complete arses of themselves.
“What a bloody shit show,” I muttered.
Xander nodded. “Agreed.”
Coach Daniels started calling out names for the next group. “Orion Mercer.”
“That’s me.” I turned to Xander, and we shook hands. “Let’s give ’em hell, mate.”
We got into a shell with Rhett, Tucker, Kai Thornton, Henry Moore, Knox Whitman, Justin Wu, and Dean Yearwood as coxswain. We were the best of the lot by far, and I would’ve bet a king’s ransom this was going to be the final team.
Back on dry land, Xander caught some shit for likely stealing Brent’s bow seat right out from under him.
“Don’t worry, Brent,” Tucker said. “Your position is safe. Ford won’t be able to afford the race goggles, never mind the uniform.”
“Ease off, yeah?” I said. “Let’s have some fun tonight and not worry about the roster.”
One benefit to my popularity was it acted as buffer between the guys when they got too rough with the Benders.
That night, I met Tucker, Emery, and the gang at Cassidy’s, a burger joint on the north side of Castle Hill, near the Bend. We took a booth big enough for all of us, but Elowen squashed herself up against me, tits flush with the shoulder of my black Armani bomber jacket.
The talk turned to the upcoming Halloween festival up at Bennington Farm—the second-biggest social event of the year with music, a costume contest, and prizes.
“Everyone got their costumes?” Elowen asked. Under the table, she trailed a finger along my thigh. “You’d make a fantastic Alfie.”
I gritted my teeth and roughly brushed her hand away. Too rough. I had to make up for it. “What’s that, love?”
As predicted, her eyes lit up at “love.”
“From the show Emily in Paris? You’d make a fantastic Alfie.”
“Never seen it,” I said, knowing where this was going. She was one breath away from suggesting she go as Emily. Best Couple’s Costume at the Halloween festival was a coveted prize, but the last thing I wanted was to get roped into a pairing.
“And I already have a costume,” I said, pushing aside thoughts of chemistry partners who barely tolerated me. “I’m going as Mr. Universe, and this”—I gestured at myself—“is my costume.”
Elowen giggled and gave me a playful shove. The conversation moved on to Tucker’s and Emery’s costumes. They were going as Ken and Barbie and probably would win Best Couple, though Emery looked slightly green.
She looks like how I feel when Callister asks me to read aloud in class.
Gideon asked about crew tryouts, and Tucker’s and Rhett’s expressions darkened.
“Coach is going to shit-can one of our guys and replace him with a Bender,” Tucker said. “The new guy, Xander Ford.”
The waitress arrived, setting down milkshakes and sodas.
“Thank you so much,” Rhett said, his smile oily. When she was gone, the smile vanished. “I bet that’s Ford’s mom.”
“Probably,” Tucker agreed. “We should make sure to tip her extra. If he makes the crew, he’ll need the cash.”
“Bloody hell,” I said. “You’re monsters, the lot of you.”
“Or maybe we shouldn’t tip her,” Tucker said. “It’ll keep her son from stealing Brent’s seat.”
“I humbly dissent,” I said, keeping my smile bright, like a politician. “As two seat, I can tell you Ford is loads better than Brent. He’s stable and smart. I could feel the difference having him at my back.”
“Traitor,” Rhett said. “I’m going to tell Brent you said that.”
“The fuck do I care?” I said. “Do you want to win or do you want to defend your boyfriend?”
I clocked Gideon’s immediate flinch, and something inside me recoiled with shame. Rhett laughed and tossed a packet of salt at me. I deflected it back with a grin, marveling at how easy it was to be as much of an arsehole as Tucker and Rhett. To be who they liked me to be.
As a kid, I once read a book about doppelg?ngers, creatures that could change appearance to blend in with their surroundings.
I could go the festival as one of those, I thought. I wouldn’t need a costume at all.
***
At the Castle Hill Lighthouse—long abandoned—the bonfire was the same scene as last year and the year before: everyone drinking various hard teas out of coolers and harder liquor out of pockets. Parents paid off the cops to keep an eye on us and allow us our fun.
Tucker and the guys wasted no time getting pissed out of their minds. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I thought about doing the same, to wash my mouth of the shit I’d said at dinner. Or to drown out what Ezra Wolfe had said at our first piano class.
My first time touching the keys in three years.
Why I’d picked Rachmaninoff, one of the most difficult piano composers of all time, was beyond me. To see if it was all still there, maybe. And it was.
Like coming home.
But harsh as he was, Ezra Wolfe had been right.
I played without emotion because I’d buried it all, down in the depths and automatically, the way my family buried everything that wasn’t fine.
Losing control was an embarrassment waiting to happen.
Even taking the class was a risk. Touching the keys again felt like breaking a rule I’d never been brave enough to question.
Why now?
I shoved the uncomfortable thoughts away with practiced ease and spotted Harper standing with Dean Yearwood and Xander Ford on one side of the bonfire, talking and laughing.
When Emery Wallace headed to the lighthouse alone, Xander followed.
I sent a silent prayer for his continued good health and well-being.
That is to say, for Tucker to remain occupied elsewhere.
That left Dean and Harper. They made a good couple.
They made sense. Perhaps the same way Elowen and I made sense.
I don’t know what she’d get out of being with me—she didn’t know me, but who did?
Being with her would be like scratching an itch, I supposed.
What could I give her outside of an epic fuck and a laugh?
Not bloody much.
In moments, Dean was pulled away too, and Harper was alone.
She wore a long maroon dress with some kind of gold pattern on it, and a sweater that was far too thin for a cool night on the Atlantic.
She hugged herself, watching the black waves crash under a silver moon.
I couldn’t leave her by herself. Chivalry demanded I join her.
That’s a proper excuse, right?
I approached slowly, hands up to show they were empty. “No assignments to be graded. No tests anywhere in sight.”
Her eyes flared, and I could’ve sworn for half a second she was glad to see me. Or maybe it was a trick of the shadows.
“Sorry?”
“Just wondering if I’m allowed to be myself or if I have to be on my best behavior.”
“Funny how being yourself and being on your best behavior are two entirely different things.”
“Walked into that one, didn’t I?”
Harper’s expression softened, grew beautiful in the moonlight. “I’m sorry I was awful to you yesterday.”
I waved my hand. “Water under the bridge.”
She studied me. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Forgive and forget so easily?”
“Should I hold a grudge? Doesn’t seem karmically healthy. And I was rather dickish after piano.”
“You had every right.”
“Nah. It’s not my way.” I cocked my head. “Do you hold grudges? Will I be paying for my terrible first impression for the rest of the year?”
“You didn’t make a terrible first impression,” she said. “A confusing one, maybe.”
“Confusing? Me?”
“Yeah, you.” Harper studied me, started to say something, then changed her mind. A short silence fell, and my usual banter and flirtation that came so easily with most girls became tongue-tied and lost with this one.
“What do you think of Professor Wolfe?” I asked. “He’s quite the character.”
“I don’t like him at all. How he spoke to you was completely uncalled for. You played beautifully.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But I steered this conversation directly into compliments about me, which was my plan.”
Harper rolled her eyes but gave a small laugh too. A win.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Why would he say you had no feeling or passion? And why would you agree?”
“Because he’s probably right. I hadn’t played in years.”
She stared. “You haven’t played in years, and so you just bust out with Rachmaninoff?”
Shit, fuck, bollocks.
“An exaggeration.” I waved a hand. “I wasn’t exactly in a stellar mood that day.”
“Because I was a total bitch to you, as we’ve established.”
“Ah, so you’re the sole arbiter of my moods, Bennett? Aren’t we full of ourselves?”
She gave my arm a shove. “Come on…”
“Maybe Wolfe picked up on something.”
“Such as?”
I shrugged. “Something. Nothing. Who knows? He was drunk off his arse—”
“Okay, sure.” Harper sighed, frustrated, and started to go. “Anyway, I should get back—”
I threw up my arms. “What the bloody hell have I done wrong now?”
“You haven’t done anything. I just can’t figure you out, Orion.”
That makes two of us.
“Are you trying to figure me out, Harper?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t get all cute with me.”