Chapter 16 #2
Sinewy muscle expands and contracts as he sucks in shallow gasps, his hands white and knuckling the frame of the boat.
My eyes catch on the slopes of his lean shoulders, momentarily occupied by taut curves and smooth skin.
Wind whips through deep honeyed strands of hair, and when he tries to push them from his face, they only fold back into place. His jaw clenches, tense.
Somehow Sumner aligns the boat beside his. A strong exhale tickles the back of my neck.
“I’m in need of assistance,” William offers uneasily.
“Yeah,” Sumner rasps. “No shit.”
I ignore him. “How did this happen?”
“They insisted it was tradition,” William says as he rubs his hands together to create warmth. “I assumed I was meant to do what they asked.”
There are a few seconds of shuffling as Sumner removes his olive jacket and tosses it to William.
“Here,” he insists, eyes ticking from me to him.
“I’m going to move in front of you.” He steers us a few inches ahead.
“See that there? The bow ball? If you can grip it with both hands, I can tow you back to the dock.”
I glance behind me. William stuffs his arms inside Sumner’s jacket and then secures his grip on the sphere lodged on the narrow end of our boat. Sumner’s eyes swoop to mine, pausing as he senses something.
“What?” The word is flat and lifeless.
“You just”—I can’t stop the childish grin—“kindly asked he grip your ball.”
“My phrasing,” he emphasizes pointedly, “was much less crass.”
Sumner’s labored breaths hitch from behind me as he guides us toward the dock. It takes us longer since he’s hauling William this time, but eventually he eases us next to the sturdy post.
He steps out first, then lends me a hand. Without his jacket, he’s only in a gray Ivernia tee and worn jeans. Another faded equation is scrawled across his wrist. Sweat beads around his hairline. I am, admittedly, a little impressed. Not that I’ll feed his ego by saying so.
Once I’m stabilized on the dock, we each reach for one of William’s arms and hoist him up, the armor clattering on the wood as he awkwardly pushes himself into a standing position.
A hint of soft skin gapes through the slender opening of Sumner’s jacket, revealing the waistband of his boxer briefs hanging on his hipbones.
I’m briefly preoccupied by the tight muscles of his abdomen, and my throat works around a swallow as I turn away.
Is this my fault? Because I told William to try blending in? It must have been all too easy to get him to agree to this.
“Thank you,” he breathes, resting a palm against his chest.
“I told you they’ll leave you alone if you’re a good sport about it,” Sumner says. “It happens to everyone in Segner. And this is way better than having to climb a tree to retrieve an entire drawer of your underwear.”
My gaze darts toward Sumner as William begins tugging at the plate armor on his thighs. “That happened to you?”
“Jared’s idea, actually.” Sumner arches an eyebrow. “Stop picturing me in my boxer briefs, Carmichael.”
I click my tongue in my cheek, ignoring this. “Jared wouldn’t do that.”
“Yes. He would.” He smirks. “It’s how we became friends.”
Guy friendship will forever remain a mystery to me. I don’t know how you go from light hazing with a side of personal property invasion to best pals.
“That’s—” I shake my head. “Jared’s not mean.”
He’s not like Luke Stelmak and Justin Lee and the rest of the cocky, dick-swinging rowing team, which now includes Sumner, I guess.
Jared’s not a self-centered jerk who punches down.
He’s a giant nerd who collects handmade gaming dice and studies computer programming, someone who wants his first tattoo to be some Legends of Light reference. He’s not a bully.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Sumner says. “This? It’s an initiation. A test of your character. If you squeal to the administration and get everyone in trouble, you’ll make things worse for yourself. But if you can take it? Then you’re fine.”
Boy logic. Stupendous.
“Ah,” William says as the final piece of armor clatters on the dock. “I see.”
I don’t. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I don’t know,” Sumner muses. “I’ve heard dumber things from Stelmak.”
“Right,” I snort. “Your new best friend.”
Sumner narrows his eyes. “Didn’t realize my friendships required your approval.”
“Maybe they should,” I say casually, “considering they’re the type to do this.” I gesture to William’s lip. While the swelling is gone, there’s a faint brush of deep mauve near the outer corner. “Who ended up swinging, anyway?”
William’s brows furrow. “The stocky one.”
“Montfort,” Sumner clarifies.
Julian Montfort. The team’s captain. Of course everyone has his back.
I narrow my eyes. “How would you know?”
Sumner tugs the hem of his tee and reveals a greenish-yellow bruise just below his rib cage. “Who do you think broke it up?”
This surprises me. Not that I think Sumner’s one to gang up on William, but it’s hard to defend someone who’s gone around calling people boisterous and ungovernable, although that maybe doesn’t warrant a jab to the face. I blame the testosterone. And general idiocy.
We take turns pitching the rest of the armor out of the boat. William gathers it in his arms and swivels toward us, damp hair dangling near his cheekbones. My heart flutters—there and gone so fast I convince myself I imagined it.
I meet his gaze. “You should get that back before the teachers discover it’s gone.”
Sumner grabs the helmet from William’s overstuffed arms. “I’ll be there in a minute.” William nods once, then starts down the dock. Once he’s out of earshot, Sumner starts to speak, but I get there first.
“You told him to go along with it?” I fume.
“I know it goes against whatever better judgment you assume you might have, but you’ve got to trust me on this,” he says. “It’s how he’ll earn respect.”
I am still decidedly uncertain when something in Sumner’s expression shifts.
“Listen, I found something last night.” He grabs his phone from his pocket and, after a few taps, faces the screen toward me.
“It’s a local article on Beaumont Guidry—Charles’s grandfather, the one who recently died.
And when I looked into it, I found out Ivernia continued to stay in William’s family until his son’s granddaughter married Beaumont.
That’s how they’re connected. And it sucks because Charles has every right to the land, but look at the comments. ”
He scrolls to the bottom. An anonymous user says Charles has plans to sell the property to a developer, who will then transform Ivernia School into a resort.
A resort.
It’s like I’ve taken a bowling ball to the stomach, the feeling knocking the wind out of me.
It’s not enough to inherit Beaumont’s fortune, but to use that fortune to generate even more wealth makes me nauseous.
He’s shutting down an educational institution that’s been around for over a century like it’s nothing.
To him, it’s meaningless. A slice of property that’s rightfully his.
Analiese is coming toward us. Sumner slides his phone in his pocket and tucks the helmet under his arm.
A surge of unexpected appreciation fills me, a conflicting emotion in his presence.
Because he’s done what he said he’d do. Taken a beat to research and report back while guiding William through the nuances of modern life, and, somehow, he’s managed to outrank me.
But he’s shown up, and that counts for something. I can’t do this on my own.
“Meet me tonight,” I say. “We have a lot to figure out.”