Chapter 35
The party is already in full swing when I maneuver my car into an empty spot by the side of the road.
For a moment, I just sit there, hands on the steering wheel, staring motionlessly through the windshield.
Flickers and flashes of light break through the darkness around, luring the guests to the water.
The music carries over the top of the trees, bass so heavy it vibrates in my chest.
Kappa Nu parties are the stuff college movies are made of—wild and iconic, with countless bodies grinding against each other, a bottomless well of booze, and at least one major scandal.
This will be my last chance to attend their annual lakeside summer party, yet I’m tempted to restart the engine and vanish into the darkness.
I think of Linden and his promise to wait for me back at the Nook.
We could have spent the night together, or I could have at least asked him to accompany me.
He’s not the party type, so we would have disappeared into the woods along the shoreline, maybe ducked into our hiding spot from weeks ago.
Back when his blowjob sent nothing more than thrills down my spine, just one more thing to tick off our sex list. Now, my stomach flips whenever I think back on him.
The unreasonable urge to hide in bed together consumes all my thoughts.
At some point during our summer, it became so normal to feel his body next to mine in bed, to always have him around me, with his snark and pink cheeks, that I feel almost incomplete now.
“You’re here for Seb,” I remind myself quietly.
He hates parties, he hates this fucking frat, and he had one hell of a bad week at practice. The least I can do is be there for him, shoot the shit with the team, and keep his frat bros at bay. I glance into the rearview mirror, giving myself a small nod before I kill the headlights.
Warm night air engulfs me as I step out of the car and close my door with a soft thud. Vermont summers have a special smell—the scent of pine mixes with lake water and gasoline. A soft breeze caresses my naked arms, carrying the smoke of a bonfire.
Gravel crunches under my sneakers as I lock my car, then roll my shoulders against the stiffness in my back. My shirt is clinging to my skin. It’s still humid out here, even this late.
The path to the lake is narrow and barely visible in the moonlight.
I almost stumble over a set of exposed roots, then round a couple so entangled with each other that I can’t possibly say where one of them begins and the other ends.
With every step, the music grows louder, echoing in my bones and competing with my heartbeat.
Laughter and the babble of voices worm their way through the forest, the air buzzing with bad decisions and good memories alike.
As the trees thin out, the beach comes into full view.
A huge bonfire spits sparks into the dark sky, illuminating the crowd around it.
Towels and picnic blankets are scattered on the sand, groups of students sitting together like little islands in the ocean, some of them shouting along to the lyrics, totally off-key.
A wooden makeshift bar is the centerpiece of the party, with the Kappa Nu logo displayed on a white panel in the background. String lights loop between the countless bottles while topless frat brothers hand out red Solo cups to their guests.
I spot Evander among them, nodding at him in greeting, but then shake my head when he holds up a beer can. I don’t plan to stay long, and I need to drive.
He shrugs, handing it to the next person instead.
“Wise decision. In Germany, we have dishwater stronger than that shit.”
I laugh when I recognize Felix next to me, several shot glasses in his hands. He bumps his elbow against mine, then grins.
“Hey man, have you seen Seb?” I ask. Nearby, a gaggle of guys and girls hoots at the sight of Felix and the drinks in his hands. I gaze over at them, realizing they’re a bunch of exchange students.
“Uh, yeah, he’s dancing.”
There’s something in the way Felix pronounces the word dancing that makes my stomach drop with unease. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I face the crowd of grinding bodies in the dark. From here, they seem like one big creature, winding and coiling.
I spot my best friend before he sees me.
Kappa Nu cap flipped backward, tattooed arms snaked around two girls at once, a carefully curated grin on his lips. He leans down to whisper into a blonde’s ear—tiny white dress, sunburnt shoulders, cute—and she laughs like he just told the best joke.
I’m sure he didn’t; he never does. He lowers his voice and lets those stupid dimples show.
It works like magic. Every. Fucking. Time.
The other girl, a tall brunette, hooks her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and he lets her. Lets her pull him closer, allows her hands to roam up his broad chest.
It’s too dark to actually see his face, and yet I can sense him go rigid for a second.
I’ve gone through enough of these choreographed dances with him to know how he recoils when strangers touch him unexpectedly.
I also know how much alcohol he needs to start something, how his genuine laughter sounds, and who he’s really watching when he thinks no one is paying any attention.
This isn’t Seb, my best friend. This is Sebastian Davenport, legacy quarterback and first-round draft pick.
Seb’s gaze flicks up as if he could hear my thoughts, our gaze locking across the makeshift dance floor. The play of light and shadow distorts his face, his grin dropping for half a second, giving me a flicker of my best friend in desperate need of an out.
Then his features settle back in place, and he presses a kiss to the brunette's throat like he’s proving a point.
He’s beckoning me with two fingers, silently urging me to join in. No, not urging—begging me. Begging me to come and start running our familiar playbook: take over, give this whole charade direction, build a story around it that will give him a way out.
An excuse or an opportunity to silently disappear while I lead the girls to a less crowded place, then take them back to my car.
We’ve done it for years, hundreds of times, the perfect team.
Seb attracts them. I entertain them.
The quarterback calls the play; the tight end scores.
But not tonight.
My stomach cramps up at the mere thought, every cell in my body revolting.
Linden is waiting for me back at the Nook, probably curled up under his blanket, the beat-up copy of Keeping Noah cracked open while he scours the pages for something we haven’t tried yet.
My feet carry me over the short distance, but every step feels wrong, like I’m walking through quicksand.
The girls notice me before I’ve reached them, the blonde’s eyes lighting up with excitement when her gaze flicks between Seb and me.
The brunette’s grip on Seb tightens, long fingernails gliding from his chest to his biceps, as she examines me.
I almost laugh at the gesture—I’m not here to steal her prize. But of course she doesn’t know that; can’t know that.
“There he is,” Seb says, his voice smooth and controlled, yet I hear the crack beneath it, thin like a hairline. “Ladies, meet my boy Micah. Best tight end in the Conference.”
“Hi.” The blonde’s eyes roam over me, inspecting every inch of my body.
I think of Linden again, how he laughed and told me not to wear this shirt.
For a split second, I wonder if this is my future.
Kissing Linden goodbye behind closed doors, then walking out into the world with a beautiful woman on my arm.
A media-approved, beautiful woman.
You won’t have Linden, a tiny voice in my head reminds me. Linden will be with Colin. You’ll have football. A career. Money. Safety.
I can’t do this, I realize. Not tonight, and not with Mike and Mia either. Not for attention, not for a draft spot, not even for Seb.
“Bastian,” the brunette chimes in, and I raise a brow at the nickname. Seb gives a small shrug. “Was just telling us all about you.”
I bet he was.
I force myself to smile at her, my cheeks hurting from the fake gesture as I step in. Not close enough to join their dance, just so I can reach for Seb’s lower arm and pull him toward me.
“Sorry, ladies, I just need to borrow my boy for a second,” I tell them without waiting for an answer.
“What are you doing?” Seb hisses at me through gritted teeth, his free hand hovering over my hip.
“I can’t,” I murmur into his ear, my voice so low it barely stays above the beat of the bass. I can still feel every thump going through my body. “Not tonight.”
“Micah—”
“I’m serious.” I lean back a little, my eyes searching for his, willing him to understand. “I can’t. And you shouldn’t, either. You told me you were done with this, remember? You said you were seeing someone.”
Something flickers over Seb’s face—guilt maybe, or fear.
His jaw tightens, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when he swallows.
“Things changed,” he presses out, and I want to groan in frustration.
Of course they did; they always do when Seb is about to take the smallest step back from his mother's reach.
“What changed?”
He opens his mouth, but no sounds escape. Instead, he’s trying to pull back. As I tighten my grip on his lower arm, he lifts his free hand, absent-mindedly scratching his neck.
“Seb,” I murmur. Behind him, the brunette is trying to regain his attention, her hands gliding over his shoulders, then down his back.
“Is this about your family?” I ask, although I already know the answer. His silence is confirmation enough. “Seb—”
“Not here,” he interrupts me, his voice strained. “We can’t do this here.”
“Then come with me. Let’s get out of here and—” I don’t get to finish that sentence, either. Behind us, a slurred voice rises above the thumping music.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is.”