Chapter 7
SEVEN
Beckett Harrington
Theo turned out to be a lifesaver. Five minutes at his side and my panic over textbooks evaporated. He pulled up the campus bookstore on his laptop, scrolling with the ease of someone who’d done this before, and every book I needed sat there waiting.
Even better, they were digital books—something I hadn’t known existed. Father and his assistants probably thought I was incapable of finding them myself, and thought physical books would be easier.
Wednesday came quicker than expected.
Four classes total. Two before lunch, two after. Animal Science first, then Intro to Film, followed by Chemistry I. By the time Film Theory rolled around, my last class of the day, my brain was humming but eager. I’d been looking forward to this one.
And the best part? Asher wasn’t in a single class.
With our schedules no longer overlapping, he faded to the edges of campus life.
Before, when we started business courses together, it felt inevitable.
Same hallways, same classrooms, the same too-close proximity.
As if the universe had a cruel sense of timing.
I still remembered how excited I’d been the first time we met, rehearsing my introduction, convinced we’d click.
I had seen him in class. Bickered with him playfully, both of us vying for the attention of our professors, too quick to raise our hands to be the best.
Instead, he barely looked at me. A shrug. A dismissive glance. Rude words as he brushed me off. And just like that, the version of him I’d imagined collapsed into something sharp and unpleasant.
In that moment, I hated him. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way, but in the quiet, simmering sense that settles behind the ribs.
No one had ever dismissed me like that. Every interaction after only fed it, each shared assignment turning into a silent contest, both of us clawing for the top.
Late nights, sharper comments, grades compared without a word spoken.
I told myself it was about excellence, about ambition. But really, it was about him. About proving I could stand on the same intellectual ground.
It never worked. Somewhere along the way, the rivalry hollowed out, and I stopped caring how well I performed in business courses. The numbers, the case studies, the rigid frameworks all dulled.
My attention drifted toward something that sparked instead of scraped. Still, the question lingered. Without competition breathing down my neck, would the drive disappear too?
Even my apartment slipped down the list of things that mattered.
My days would be spent crossing campus now, familiar paths between the arts building and the sciences building.
Back and forth. Ping-ponging between worlds that barely touched.
At least the gaps between classes were generous enough to duck into a cafe, warm my hands around a paper cup of hot chocolate, steal a moment to breathe.
Film Theory sat at the end of the day like a reward.
I’d been looking forward to it since morning.
The night before, I’d fallen down a research rabbit hole, tabs open until my eyes blurred, determined not to walk in clueless.
My education had always lived in clean lines and concrete answers.
Science. Math. English. Film was something else entirely.
Messier. Subjective. And after everything I’d learned the night before, I wanted to learn more.
I walked into class at one sharp, confidence intact until I spotted the only open seat in the room. And the person beside it.
Asher. Fucking. Montgomery.
Of course it was him. My punishment for stopping for a brownie. My personal curse disguised as film theory. There was no logical, academic reason for him to be here. He didn’t belong in this space. Not with me. Asher was all brains, no fun, while I was a mix of both.
He noticed my presence at the same time I did.
His gaze locked onto mine and darkened. A scowl carved itself across his face, sharp and unmistakable. Like I’d inconvenienced him simply by existing in his line of sight.
I hated that flicker in my chest. Hated the way my body reacted anyway, heat coiling low when his eyes dragged over me with that familiar, assessing intensity. Unwanted memories surfaced. His voice. The things he’d said while Theo filmed.
I groaned quietly and scrubbed a hand down my face. Get it together.
There was nowhere else to sit.
I took the seat beside him, heart pounding in my chest as I approached.
The class hadn’t started yet. The air between us felt too tight, stretched thin as wire.
I turned to him. “What the hell are you doing in Film Theory?”
It came out sharper than intended, but he deserved it. This felt like a class he’d take just to weaponize vocabulary and feel superior about it.
“I actually enjoy films. And analysis.” He scoffed softly, eyes sweeping over me like I’d wandered in from the wrong building. “What are you doing here?”
The disbelief in his tone grated. Something in my chest twisted, old and familiar. I straightened anyway.
“I’m figuring out my future. My advisor suggested film classes since I care about movies.” I paused, then added, because I couldn’t help myself, “Especially obscure ones.”
I waited for something. Approval. Surprise. Anything other than dismissal. I hated that I cared.
He saw only what he wanted to see. The parties. The hookups. The easy grin. He never noticed the grades, the discipline it took to keep up, the way I worked just as hard as he did without locking myself away from the world.
He huffed. “Right. Well, if you think this is an easy credit, you’re wrong. This class requires thought. Something you’re not capable of.”
He looked pleased with himself, smug satisfaction curling at the edge of his mouth. I should’ve been irritated. Instead, a laugh slipped out.
I shook my head, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Nice one, Montgomery. And here I thought the only thing funny about you was your ulnar nerve.”
I turned away before he could fire back, pulse still ticking too fast for an argument I claimed not to care about.
A moment later, a young professor in overalls and thick-rimmed glasses entered the room, the conversation dissolving as she took her place at the desk.
But I could still feel his eyes burning me.
The hour crawled by in familiar misery. Asher and I circled every question like predators, hands shooting up, voices overlapping.
Every time I spoke, he followed with a counterpoint, polishing his disagreement just enough to sound brilliant.
Not wrong. Just superior. The kind that earned nods from the professor.
So much for this semester being different. Same classroom. Same war.
That was when the idea struck. Clean. Elegant. Dangerous.
If I couldn’t outthink him, I’d distract him.
If I couldn’t change his mind, I’d get under his skin.
Sex had always been my sharpest weapon, and Asher was already halfway there, whether he admitted it or not.
If he stopped seeing me as competition, maybe he’d stop seeing me at all.
Or better, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about me.
We packed up as class let out, the scrape of chairs loud in the sudden freedom.
“Theo said you’re coming to the party Friday,” I said casually. “I was surprised. Didn’t think you’d want to slum it with the rest of us peasants.”
“Of course I would.” His mouth curved, slow and smug. “If Theo asks, I’ll say yes.” He winked.
My hands curled at my sides, knuckles tight. I’d already hit him once. The memory lingered, along with the faint shadow of bruising I’d noticed afterward. Satisfaction twisted with regret, neither one winning.
His gaze dropped, following the tension in my fists. He shook his head, not startled, not impressed. Just disappointed.
“For someone who insists he’s different,” he said, “you work very hard to prove me right.”
I had nothing ready. No clever comeback. No sharp retort. He turned away before I could find one.
“See you Friday,” I called after him.
“Can’t wait,” he tossed back, dripping sarcasm, never once looking over his shoulder.
And I would. Friday night. Friday afternoon. Three days a week after that. Plus filming with Theo. Plus the inevitable run-ins at his apartment.
Fantastic.
***
I thought Thursday would be better.
I was spectacularly wrong.
Thursday managed to outdo every other disaster of the week.
I woke up at ten, already bracing myself for the quiet of an empty apartment.
Lucas should have been in class by then.
Instead, the living room glowed blue from the TV, game sounds crackling through the air.
He was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, swearing at the screen as if he had nowhere else to be.
I didn’t get the chance to ask what the hell was going on. He paused the game, set the controller down with too much care, and looked at me the way people do when they’re about to ruin your day.
“We need to talk.”
I sat beside him, clutching a lukewarm sausage biscuit I’d microwaved and stolen from his stash. He had dozens tucked away in the freezer. He had savings. I felt no guilt.
“I have some bad news. And before I say it, I want to say I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark and not saying anything sooner,” he said.
“About Dad; or about what you’re going to say next?” I interrupted.
“Both. I’ve been dealing with my shit in the wrong way, and putting Ian ahead of you, but he’s younger. I shouldn’t have let you stay so spoiled, but it’s not too late for our brother,” he explained, somewhat offending me.
The words stung because they landed cleanly. I didn’t argue. Recent weeks had beaten the denial out of me.