Chapter Eighteen
Jonas .
The night before the funeral, a vigil is held by the student body president, Edith Mayes, a beautiful golden dark woman with a relaxed perm that falls around her shoulders.
Her entire demeanor says she’ll most likely be the first female president or die trying her hardest to be her.
I’d vote for her. She’s great. She gives a heartwarming speech into a small microphone behind a podium that barely sounds rehearsed.
Beside her, is a blown-up action picture of Chase in his football uniform, mid-run to which she hardly glances at.
Chase broke Edith’s heart our freshman year after taking her virginity. The soft female sobs around us reminds me… well, that’s just what Chase did.
We stand on the practice football field, over four hundred white candles have been lit, at the base of the goal post, there are thousands of flowers, notes, pictures of Chase, stuffed animals, footballs, tequila shots and bottles of tequila nestled in.
It’s… fucking sad. If this were anything else, it would be beautiful.
Chase Prescott, dead at twenty-three.
When Paris… when that whole thing happened, Chase was there. He and Riordan, well, mostly Riordan who let me vent and cry on his shoulder. Riordan who’s cerulean eyes are currently staring daggers at my arm draped over Raven’s shoulders.
It’s like looking at a ghost.
________
The funeral is, well, a funeral.
Except, it’s not raining like it does in the movies.
I remember reading once… or maybe I heard it in a movie.
That when it rains during a funeral, even God cries.
Except God isn’t crying today. In fact - nobody is.
The students are gone. There are no co-eds or football buddies or rivals remembering Chase Motherfucking Prescott.
No. This is a private, Syndicate matter.
Raven is not here beside me. Axel isn’t either, but it’s probably because he’s a whole state away since he transferred to Hartford after Raven’s accident to be closer to her.
I stand by Riordan, taking his hand in mine, and he shirks it off but not before tensing up. Public displays of any kind of affection or support are not exactly appropriate.
I didn’t cry at Paris’ funeral. I was to maintain stoicism. But she had been my betrothed. She had cheated on me with her own stepbrother. I remained stoic because I had wanted to puke having to face everyone. I kept having to swallow down bile.
Riordan is burying his twin brother. His other half. His protector…
Riordan and any and all Prescott’s, his mother included, are to express stoicism and gratitude for everyone’s kind words.
It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’m sure his mother had no issues. Riordan and Chase were mostly raised by nannies until Chase was caught fucking one at fifteen. She had been thirty-seven.
I asked Chase later on why he decided to fuck her, to ruin her life, to send her to prison.
His answer?
“It was either me or Riordan.”
Granted, it wasn’t until one drunken night, at the Sigma house, after a bad joke that Riordan told me the whole story.
See, there were good things about Chase.
There were bad things about Chase. Mostly any good thing that he did were because of or for Riordan.
Even then, sometimes those ‘good’ things, weren’t great.
No matter what the intention was behind them, Chase did awful things for those he loved even if it meant damning his own soul.
In a sick way, I know he’d understand me. This. What I’m about to do. I mean, it won’t be me doing it, but still.
I do feel a little queasy as we head back to the Prescott estate back in Salem.
The entire Prescott clan is riding in a limo ahead.
I’m riding back to Salem in one with my father and mother.
It’s quiet. Eerie. Nobody speaks and the silence is louder than Raven’s death glare.
As we cross over the body of water via bridge that connects Rayne-Moore to Salem.
My thoughts are on Tyler. On Riordan. On how Riordan never returned to my dorm after that first night. On how I’m to seduce Tyler.
I’ve never kissed a man before.
My thoughts flit to Raven and Damon, probably making really good use of that luxury hotel room they’re getting right now.
Raven had gotten a scarlet wig, a black dress that covered her tattoo and was to overdo her makeup.
I can still smell the perfume she spritzed on me before leaving to confuse him , she signed before spritzing me with my own cologne.
The plan is for Damon to get a room close to one of the penthouses.
By the time Tyler and I should be getting to Inferno, Damon will be leading Raven up to the room as one of the high-end escorts that work there.
When you drop over fifteen grand on a room at De Novo, people tend to look the other way at your extra-curriculars.
Now to lay on the Anderson charm from here back to Rayne-Moore.
“Son?”
My father, Henry Anderson’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Father?”
I let my eyes glide over to my adoptive father.
Getting on with age, he was still handsome as ever.
Big, strong, tall. All-American. A deadly silver-fox with brown-green hazel eyes.
He’s grown out his mustache which he still gets professionally dyed so he looks early-fifties instead of sixty.
The fact that I look like him was the reason my parents adopted me.
“I asked if you were going to be staying with your mother and I? ”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. With classes having been pushed back a week, I’m doing two weeks’ worth of homework for next week. It’s better if I just head back to the dorms and get started on that this weekend. They’re finally opening up campus so the library will be open as well.”
My father nods. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, I was told you were the one to find Chase.”
I shake my head. “I was simply the one alerted. I was the one that called the RMPD.”
Father puts his leathery hand on my knee. “Still, I’m sorry you had to see Chase in that state. He was a fine young man. I’m sorry for your loss.” Before I can reply he adds, “There were a lot of drugs in his system.”
I nod.
“You aren’t…” he clears his throat, “polluting yourself, are you? Still going to your therapist?”
“I’ve been seeing the campus therapist for weeks now. Every Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on my schedule. I’m fine.”
“Good, good. You’ll let us know… if it gets bad again?”
“Yes, father. I told you I would at the beginning of the semester.” The car thankfully comes to a halt outside of the Prescott’s estate and our driver opens the door and I climb out in a hurry, waiting on Mother so I can help her out.
Red-haired, petite, and green-eyed, Elena Anderson, my mother, is the epitome of sophistication in her classic, Armani sweetheart neckline black funeral dress.
Once she’s out of the car, I hold out my arm and her dainty little hand holds on to the crease of my elbow, her hand landing on my bicep.
“Thank you, darling. I know you want to run off and speak to your friends, check up on them, but your father and I just want to make sure that you aren’t spiraling. The loss of a friend…”
“Mother, I promise you. I’m fine,” Chase touched what was mine and was planning on doing so much worse. He deserved what he got. I don’t say. “But you are right about me wanting to speak to Riordan.”
“My good boy. Go, darling. Avoid the other Prescott’s.”
That sends a chill down my spine. “Why avoid the other Prescott’s? ”
“Something about the coroner’s report. We’ll let you know more when we find out more ourselves, alright?”
I was right. This is absolutely Syndicate business. I nod and lean down to kiss her cheek. “Okay, mother.” I bend to give her a hug. “Don’t leave me in the dark. Tell me everything you know.”
She gives a curt nod and kisses my cheek again before releasing me. “Always, darling.”
________
An hour into Chase’s repast, I find Tyler.
I keep him in my periphery, watching when he’s politely ignored by the brotherhood, he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat on a black accent chair in the corner of the large drawing room.
Not that he isn’t a member of the Syndicate.
He passed his initiation twice over and it would’ve been three if Raven had died.
It’s just… legacies that can’t provide heirs, naturally , aren’t at the top of the list. My parents had a son, Johnathan, then Cadence, who they almost lost during childbirth.
They lost Johnathan when he was ten to childhood leukemia.
They adopted me as a way to still keep their place in the Syndicate, to carry on their last name since Cadence would one day marry and change her last name. That part didn’t matter.
There are no women in the Syndicate. Only wives.
Tyler has barely changed. The famous prominent blonde hair, ocean eyes, resilient scowl, high cheekbones, and chiseled jawlines of the Prescott men is definitely strongest in Tyler.
If I ever thought Chase and Riordan looked like dirty-blonde Henry Cavill’s, Tyler looks like if a young Brad Pitt and a young Leonardo DiCaprio stepped into a DNA generator and shit him out.
It’s no wonder his father almost had a heart attack finding out he was gay. The genes in this man are incredible.
I find myself pouring him a neat scotch and walking over to him. I feel my cheeks flushing as I hand the glass tumbler to him. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“Thanks.” He takes it from me, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, takes a sip and I watch the muscles in his jaw clench as he breathes out slowly, letting the flavors of the old scotch settle on his tongue.
Christ, no wonder Axel could fuck this guy.
He just oozes sex appeal and that infuriating cocky confidence that all the Prescott men seem to inherit at birth.