Chapter 7
Sloane
New England moves past me in a blur when I look out the car window, trying to find the sea that lies somewhere beyond all this concrete.
With this little daylight left hanging in the sky, I can almost imagine we’re on our way to Jekyll Island.
Crack the window and it’s almost like the top of my car is down, like I’m eighteen again—impossibly naive.
The Jekyll house is where we celebrated our impending adulthood: me, Clemmie, Grant, all our friends.
The freedom was so close, tasted prematurely sweet; I didn’t know what I was going to do yet, but I knew with everyone else starting college I’d have the time to figure it out.
It’s how I ended up in California, how I ended up at Francis College; it’s how I wound up in Elliot’s seminar just a few years later.
Impulsively, I open my school inbox like I’ll find evidence of him.
An old syllabus, maybe one of the dry emails he sent me before things changed between us.
Clementine deleted all of it, so all I find are the unread messages that remind me I haven’t logged any activity and am at risk of expulsion.
I scroll through them, annoyed at their incessance, before stopping at an out of place subject line.
LET’S TALK
I’ve never seen the e-mail address—h.cooper@—but the tone feels overtly familiar.
My finger hovers over the message for a second before I realize “the journal” is The Journal, a national news publication, and swipe to delete it.
The press can kiss my ass; talking to them is the last thing I would ever gift those nosy idiots.
“Can you?” Grant asks, nodding to the window noisily leaking salty air into his pristine car. One hand on the stereo dial, he turns the music to a dull murmur as the street lights glitter against the otherwise dark road. “Promise me—” he starts to say, but I already know.
“I won’t flirt with any of your little boyfriends—”
“Teammates,” Grant corrects, his voice stern as he stares at the long winding path that takes us to whatever restaurant this ‘team dinner’ is at.
I was surprised when he invited me. Typically, Grant is what some may describe as private.
Because I call it like I see it, I know he’s just got a stick up his ass.
I assess his profile, studying him like the angle of his brow might tell me if he knows that I saw Andy the other night. Not that it should matter, because nothing happened.
“Already had this conversation, remember?” I clear my throat.. “So…what am I walkin’ into? Are the Lions a house divided?” I jeer, only for his jaw to twitch. He hates conflict.
The car jolts against the onset of cobblestone as he pulls in a heavy sigh, rotating his head like he needs to crack his neck. “You could say that.”
I can just see it: the loyalists standing by Will versus the traitors who hopped at the chance to be on Ben’s good side.
“But they’re brothers? Maybe your coach should make them do therapy. Actually—” I turn in my seat. “—you guys should go on a retreat! Wait, I could plan it. I’ve got nothin’ better to do. There’s this—”
“Sloane. Please.” My brother shakes his head, a tired chuckle escaping him as he drags a hand down his face. “Look, when we get to this dinner please just…be cool. Don’t be…you know.” He raises his eyebrows sarcastically.
“No. I don’t know. Please, enlighten me.
” I cross my arms over my seatbelt in defiance even though I do know.
I have a way of stirring shit up, and while Grant sees it as one of my more unfortunate qualities, I have found that meddling is usually pretty helpful.
If I hadn’t texted Gen, for example, Grant would’ve still been secretly pining over her.
“Just don’t talk to anyone.” He nods to himself as if this will solve his problem and I gasp a laugh.
“You want me to sit at a table, with your entire team, and not say a word?”
“If only…” he says wistfully, giving me a smile, and I punch him in the arm. “For real, though. Don’t leave with any of them—we had a deal.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes.
“Your bar for me is really that low?”
I know I shouldn’t be offended because technically I’ve done it before. Slept with his teammates. Thought about sleeping with his current teammate—but I didn’t.
“The bar’s in hell, Sloane.” With that he turns into a busy parking lot, many a sports car parked precariously in spaces that verge on too small. It could be a luxury dealership.
“Don’t forget your jacket.” His voice is firm as we step into the cool October air.
“Jacket?” I wince, because no, I did not bring a jacket to cover up the short red dress I have on. It honestly didn’t even occur to me.
“Christ,” he grumbles, and I roll my eyes, linking my arm with his.
“I promise to be good.” I nod, smiling politely as if the option to be anything but is completely out of the question.
“No, Grant is actually the best roommate. It’s like living with a house keeper. I swear, I didn’t have to touch a dish the entire time we lived together.” Ben’s smile is wide as we both take turns making jabs at my brother.
“I promise you he was secretly resentin’ you the entire time. Just wouldn’t say anything because he’s a big ol’ baby.” I poke Grant’s forearm and he makes a dramatic ha ha sound, but I can tell he doesn’t mind our teasing.
“Okay fair, fair. But he didn’t think I was that bad, did he?” Ben’s hands are up in surrender.
“Sure, if you don’t count the time you vanished out of thin air only to come back years later, like nothin’ happened,” I say, scooping artichoke dip onto a chip with precision.
Grant stills, his drink mid air, and I feel him side eye me for saying too much.
Ben pauses for a second too, the air heavy, almost suffocating, before he finally barrels over with laughter.
Grant snorts a laugh, whiskey coming out of his nose.
I shriek as the liquid drips all over our bread plates and all three of us, plus a few of the other team’s members, die of laughter, the sound wrapping around me like a hug.
For the life of me, I don’t know what he was so worried about, and I make a mental note to thank him for including me in this later.
We are all so preoccupied, we seem to miss the couple who just made their way into the private dining room.
It isn’t until an expertly coiffed brunette clears her throat across from Grant that I look over.
Ben’s still saying something to Grant across me, his arm slung around the back of my chair.
The familiarity seems to be jarring to the girl openly gaping at us.
My stomach sinks, like maybe I did something wrong, although I can’t fathom what.
But then I see the man beside her. I notice his eyes first, green, like money.
So green, I want to paint them. His jaw is hard, but it’s not flexed; it’s like someone hammered it right out of stone.
Broad shoulders, his physique sitting somewhere between Ben and Grant’s and I instantly know who it is.
Gen’s beautiful face flashes in my mind as I clock the similarities between the man before me and his brother.
Ben’s mouth, Ben’s height, Ben’s eyebrows, but somehow more bold, more severe.
Ben’s arm slides off my chair, so naturally that from a distance, you’d never guess at the tension in the air. I don’t miss the way his eyes lock with the woman standing next to his brother.
“Hey, Will.” Ben’s smile is tight as he adds: “Olivia.” He nods and I can tell there’s something happening here. Something I can’t put my finger on but nevertheless feel the need to extinguish.
“Hi,” I say, letting my southern twang move to the forefront of my mouth, knowing it usually makes people feel a bit more at ease.
Olivia’s face remains stoic, her eyes sliding to me as if just noticing I exist. She looks like a young Brooke Shields, her dark brows framing her eyes in a way that takes her from pretty to stunning.
It’s not hard to tell what kind of girl she is, or is trying to be, I should say.
The straight line of her mouth makes her weariness obvious to me, and the harsh indifference of her gaze makes it clear she wants to stay at arms length.
“I’m Sloane.” I reach out my hand, but she doesn’t take it; to recover, I act like I’m going for her sweater, feeling the soft fabric as I run it between my fingertips. Her eyes widen at the contact. “Where did you get that sweater? I absolutely love!”
She pulls back a little and I fall back into my chair, trying not to laugh at the sheer terror flashing through Olivia’s eyes.
“Uh…Veronica Beard, over on Newbury.”
I watch as her eyes glance over at Ben, just for a second, but I see it. There is something there.
Interesting.
I nudge Grant with my elbow, grabbing his arm as it falls off the table.
“Remind me to stop at Veronica Beard when we go to Newbury tomorrow. I have to have that sweater. Do they have it in anything less…dreary?” I watch the girl stiffen and Grant rolls his eyes, clearly seeing that I’m fucking with her a little bit, but I can’t help it.
Her discomfort is palpable and I’m drinking it up.
“I see you’ve met my sister…” Grant chimes in and I watch the girl put two and two together, realizing who I am and why I’m here. Her shoulders unhinge slightly as she relaxes in her chair. Curiosity claws its way up my spine.
“Sorry, I was just so distracted by how soft your sweater looks!” I try to genuinely smile at the girl but her gaze has changed from guarded to sad.
“I’m glad someone likes it. This one thought it was just fine.
” Her head tilts toward Will who barely looks her way at the mention.
All her previous hardness softens slightly and it’s clear that all of that was an act, a way to protect herself.
Again, tension fills the air, Ben’s stillness a signal that he’s somehow involved in whatever is going on.
I glance at Grant, his head down as he spreads butter onto his bread. Pussy.