Chapter 19 #2
His family is famous for not just going after the people who betrayed them; they go after everyone and everything that’s ever meant anything to the person, then they exact their revenge on them after they’ve destroyed everything else in their lives.
There are lots of rumors about Anthony dealing with people after they made the mistake of getting on his bad side, and if any of them are even marginally true, then Derek has every reason to be scared shitless right now.
“They’re not mine,” he stammers, glancing between Anthony and me, his eyes wide with panic. “I’m not in charge of them.”
“Don’t care,” Anthony says simply. “You brought them to West’s attention, so you’re now responsible for what happens to them.
Either they’re shut down by the morning, or you and everyone else taking part in them is going to learn why it’s a bad idea to capitalize on your frat brother’s misfortune instead of minding your own fucking business. ”
Derek goes deathly pale as all the blood seems to drain out of his face at once. “What if I can’t get them to shut them down?”
“I guess you’ll learn the consequences if you fail.” Anthony takes a half step closer to him and shifts so he’s slightly in front of me, like he’s putting himself between Derek and me. “Are you going to fail?”
Derek shakes his head, still looking scared enough to piss himself.
Anthony gives him a long, assessing look, then ticks his chin in a clear move of dismissal.
Derek scurries away like a cockroach after you turn the lights on, and I don’t know whether to laugh at how ridiculous everything is or run back into my room and never come out.
“Don’t worry about those assholes. We’ll take care of them if they don’t listen to him.” Anthony claps me on the shoulder in a very “bro” way.
“We?”
He motions for me to follow him. “Me and the boys.”
I fall into step with him. “Why would they want to help me?”
It barely makes sense that Anthony would stand up for me like that. Why would Connor or Hazen or Rath give a shit if people are making bets about me?
“Because that’s what we do,” he says simply.
“Because you’re going to be the leaders next year?” I ask as we stop in front of his door.
“No, not because of that.” He shoots me an amused look and opens his door.
“Then why?”
“Because we take care of our own.”
I follow him inside his room. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” he assures me. “Where do you want to sit?”
I’m still confused by what he meant by his earlier comment, but I drop it and make a beeline for his couch. I don’t need to be anywhere near his bed right now, thank you very much.
I’m just sitting on the far end of the couch when I notice a pair of dip bars and a Bosu ball on the floor between his bed and his desk.
“Those things are evil.” I point to the Bosu ball. “I can do squats on them no problem, but any time I try to add weight it turns into a tilt-a-whirl and yeets me right off. Does that happen to you?”
He chuckles. “Not anymore.”
“One of the guys on my team used to do this weird warm-up every time we did team lifting in the weight room,” I say, or more accurately, babble.
“He’d set up in the corner and spend twenty minutes balancing on one leg like a flamingo while he watched something on his phone.
Never told us why he did it, not once in four years, even though we asked.
” I tuck my fingers under my thighs so I don’t start fidgeting with my hoodie strings.
I really need to shut the fuck up, but I’m still riding the high from verbally letting loose on Derek like that, and it’s like I can’t stop until I’ve burned all that energy away.
“You know, now that I think of it, that’s probably why he didn’t tell us,” I continue like a dumbass.
“He was a goalie, so it kind of made sense. Aren’t hockey goalies weird, too?
I mean, you’d have to be at least a little bit weird to want to use your body to block a tiny rubber disc coming at you at eighty miles an hour.
” I wince, but I still can’t shut up. “Obviously he did it for balance, but he would never just say that and would pretend like it was some big secret.” I huff out a strained chuckle.
“Wow, that was a lot of words to say nothing at all. Guess that’s what I get for hiding in my room and not talking to anyone for two days.
” I clear my throat, more to sideline my babbling than because there’s something in it.
“Do you use it for balance or strength training?” I ask, circling back to the Bosu ball as I desperately try to salvage the conversation so he doesn’t think I’m completely insane.
“Both,” he says, looking amused instead of exasperated, which is always a good sign. “But I don’t really use it the same way as most people.”
“What do you mean?”
He stands up and pulls his phone and ID card out of his pocket. “It’s easier if I show you.”
Curiously, I watch as he walks over to the Bosu ball, which is essentially half of an exercise ball attached to a hard, flat platform, and stands behind it.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting him to do, but him bending over and putting one hand in the center of the platform definitely isn’t it.
There’s no way he’s going to balance on his hands while on that thing, right?
Anthony shifts his hand around like he’s searching for just the right spot, then he holds his other arm out so it’s at a ninety-degree angle with his body and slowly lifts his feet off the floor.
Just holding himself up with one arm and his feet off the ground like that is impressive as fuck, and I watch in utter disbelief as he slowly lifts his feet until his legs are extended above him as he balances on one hand.
He holds the pose for about fifteen seconds, which probably feels like an eternity when you’re doing a one-handed handstand on a Bosu ball, then slowly lowers his feet until he touches down on the floor again.
“Holy motherfucking shit,” I blurt when he stands up. “That was so fucking hot.”