Chapter 5
NATHAN
I’ve lived in this big fraternity house for years now.
I almost stopped looking at it, like really looking at it, until recently.
Being back in my old neighborhood makes the smallest things stand out now.
Like the fact we have our own library with walls and walls of leather-bound books.
Or a chandelier in the entranceway. Things that Priestley Rosenthal wouldn’t bat an eye at, but things the child me would have found ridiculous.
After another meeting, I head toward the front door, getting stopped by about five different brothers on my way out. I have to smile and talk to them like I’m not in a rush.
After chipping away at Evan’s resolve last time, I made a vow to keep trying to break through with him. The first step was staying up late last night to finish a paper for my economics class so I’d have time to go to his place after our weekly Philanthropy committee meeting.
Second step is actually getting Evan to let me in again.
After I park the car at the bottom of the driveway, making sure not to block Evan’s mom in, I take a deep breath and knock.
Theresa opens the door in her work uniform.
She looks so grateful to see me, I feel like the worst person on earth.
What would she think if she knew I was the reason Evan and I got arrested back then?
That it was my stupid mistake that made him fuck up?
That he was only there because I called him to help me clean up my mess? Would she be smiling at me then?
“Come in, Evan’s still asleep, but he should be up soon.”
“Oh … I can come back some other time.”
She’s already turning, heading back into the kitchen. “Come on in, have some coffee. I was just about to put some on before work.”
I follow her through the house to the kitchen, still freaked out by how familiar the layout is to my own childhood home.
“How’s your mom, Nate?”
She talks with her back to me, filling the old coffee maker they’ve had forever.
“She’s good, thanks.”
My stomach flips at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
Evan’s probably going to be pissed that I’m in his house.
When I turn around, he still looks half asleep in the doorway in a pair of grey sweats with no shirt on.
The gold St. Christopher I remember him wearing when we were kids dangling between his collarbones. My mouth waters and I turn away.
“Hey, you’re up. Coffee’s on,” Theresa says. She doesn’t seem fazed that he’s half dressed. Of course she isn’t fazed. She’s his mom. She sees him like that all the time. But I haven’t seen him without a shirt since we were kids, and he looked a lot different back then.
He rubs his eyes before frowning at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Evan!” Theresa flashes me an apologetic smile.
“I didn’t know you’d still be asleep,” I explain.
“I worked a late shift last night.” He yawns, raising his arms above his head. Something gnaws in the pit of my stomach at the sight of fair hair in his pits. A faint hint of the way he’d smell whenever we curled up and fell asleep together.
“No classes today, Nate?” Theresa asks, obviously trying to get the conversation going.
“No, I had a paper due in today, but I finished it last night.”
She nods before taking a sip of her coffee. “What was your paper on?”
“The benefits of humane capitalism … ” My neck burns. I can feel Evan judging me from across the table.
Silence falls over the room and I wrack my brain for something to say.
“Where’s Stacie?”
Theresa answers. “She’s at hockey practice.”
“Ice hockey?”
“Yeah,” she laughs. “She’s a little bruiser, than one.”
“You shouldn’t let her play, she’s gonna get hurt,” Evan says.
Theresa rolls her eyes. “Mr. Protective over here.”
She takes a few more sips of her coffee and checks her little leather wristwatch.
“Is that the time? I’d better go.”
After dumping her coffee cup in the sink, she bends to kiss Evan on the cheek. “See you later, don’t make the house a mess.”
After the front door bangs closed, Evan and I look at each other. I offer an awkward smile and he looks down into his mug.
“I’ve got some shit to do today,” he says.
“Oh, okay. I can tag along if you want some company.”
There’s a split second where his eyes get wide, but he recovers quickly and I know he’s hiding something.
“It’s work stuff. You can’t.”
“Oh, okay.”
Didn’t he just say he did a late shift last night? And Theresa didn’t mention anything about him going back into work already. But I’m getting dangerously close to ‘mind your own business’ territory, so I don’t ask.
“Will you be busy later? Maybe we could do something when you’re finished with your work stuff?”
He looks intensely into his coffee cup and for a second, I think he isn’t going to answer.
“Listen, Nate, you don’t have to-”
“I know I don’t,” I cut him off. “Can you just humor me? Please?”
He shrugs. I take that as the closest thing to a yes I’ll get for now.
I write my number down on a legal pad by the phone where his mom or someone has doodled all over it with names and numbers. There’s medical-looking stuff on there too, probably about Evan’s dad.
I wonder if he’s grieved properly yet. If he’d lose his shit if he saw the notes on this pad, or if he’s not in that place.
I have no idea how to grieve for someone that close to you, I’ve never even lost a grandparent and I barely remember my dad.
As far as I know, he isn’t dead. I think I’ve been grieving for Joe, but it feels wrong, like I’m not allowed to.
I leave Evan to do whatever he has to do.
He was probably just trying to get rid of me.
I think about leaving him alone. Giving up.
I promised his mom I’d try and I tried. If he doesn’t want me around, I can’t force myself on him.
But then I pass that rusty hoop in the front yard and Stacie’s hopscotch board and I get a dragging feeling in my chest that is more than just nostalgia.
Making me feel like that kid again. The one who worshipped the ground Evan walked on.
Who looked at him like he was the fucking sun.
Because he was. And because I owe him this much at least.
That night. Fuck. I’ve played it over and over in my head.
What I could have done differently—everything.
For starters—not stealing a car to impress Evan.
Secondly—not calling him when shit hit the fan.
Leaving him out of it. I can’t change the past. But I can be here now. So that’s what I’m going to do.
I want to avoid anywhere someone from the frat or tennis team might grab me and take over my evening, so I go back to my mom and Bryce’s house to study and get a bit of peace.
They’re not usually home during the day.
Bryce works crazy CEO hours, and Mom’s social calendar is always full, so my heart sinks when I spot Bryce’s black Mercedes SUV parked in the driveway.
Hopefully the fact he hasn’t parked in the three-car garage means he isn’t planning on staying long.
I might still get the house to myself for a few hours.
He's in the kitchen on his phone when I come in and put my bag down.
“Nathan,” he says when he hangs up. “What are you doing home?”
“I just wanted to get some studying done in peace.”
I wait for him to ask me if the library isn’t peaceful, but to his credit, he doesn’t.
“I’m heading out in a few minutes, I just had to pop back for some papers. How’s school?”
“Good.”
I pick an apple out of the fruit bowl and give it a squeeze to make sure it’s real. I’ve been fooled by my mom’s expensive fake fruit before.
“And tennis? You think you’ll make it to regionals this year?”
“We’ve got a good shot.”
“Nathan, I want you to really focus on school this year. Mason Mathews doesn’t offer just anyone business advice.”
“I know that, and thanks. I appreciate you helping me out.” My neck heats as he scans me.
“I know tennis is fun, but you’re not going to be a professional. Don’t let it get in the way of your studies. That’s where your future lies.”
“I know.”
I think he’s done with me and am about to excuse myself to go to my room when he speaks again. “And Nathan.”
I spin on my heels.
“I understand why you felt the need to attend the funeral of your old friend’s father, but your mother’s worried you’ll be tempted to pick up your communications with him.”
My heart sinks. My face flushes. Does he know I’ve been seeing Evan? Surely he wouldn’t have me followed?
“Trust me when I tell you, the circles you’ll be running in when you graduate won’t tolerate smudges on your reputation.
When you leave the fraternity, your brothers will become your competition and the margins of error are tiny.
You all have an Ivy League education and you’ll all have excellent grades and extracurriculars on your resumés.
Don’t let a little thing like a bad rep get in the way of putting you ahead. ”
I just stare at him, trying to think of something to say. What a depressing picture he just painted. My fraternity brothers becoming my competition. So what’s the point of building up fraternal spirit with these guys if I'm planning to elbow them out of my way as soon as the opportunity arises?
Thankfully, his phone starts ringing and he turns away from me to answer it.
I try to study, but even after I hear Bryce’s car pull out of the driveway, I can’t get his words out of my head. The circles you’ll be running in when you graduate won’t tolerate smudges on your reputation.
What if Bryce finds out I’m seeing Evan?
Will he tell Mason Mathews not to work with Ben and me on our business idea?
I’ve never openly defied him, so I have no way of knowing how he’d react.
If he was angry, how far he’d go to protect his reputation.
And this isn’t just me we’re talking about here. This affects Ben, too.
I think about not texting Evan. It’s not like I’m ghosting him—he’s made it clear he’s only barely tolerating me.
But then I think about how much it hurt when he didn’t reply to my messages back then.
And how it was my fault everything went down the way it did.
I think about him working in a warehouse somewhere to pay his bills.
How alone he must have felt when his dad was sick and his best friend was nowhere to be seen.
And who was there for him after I left? I didn’t notice anyone filling my spot.
I can try and be there for Evan without fucking things up with Bryce.
Bryce doesn’t have to know. I take a deep breath, typing the message.
Can you still hang out?
My heart pounds as I wait for a response. Is he going to ghost me like last time? Would I still deserve it now? Finally a message comes through:
My place.
I pack my shit up straight away and head out.