Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Charles
Charles Arthur Levine the Third. I hate my stuffy name and all the expectation that goes with it. My name has always been a point of contention, and Zeke’s “Chuck” isn’t much better.
Grampy was my idol growing up because we shared a name.
He always paid attention to me, taught me things, spent time with me when Gran was bottom-deep in a bottle of wine.
But the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve picked up on the signs.
The stiffness between him and my dads, the disinterest, the pressure on me to find a good girl from a good family and live up to my surname.
My cousin is going into politics, which left me the path of the law.
And I fucking hate it.
The thing about Grampy is that he’ll shower you with attention when you’re doing what he wants and cut you off completely if you’re not.
The rest of our cousins barely get a second of his time, and his will is heavily weighted with favorites.
As a kid, it’s hard to wrap your head around why your idol randomly refuses to look at you, let alone send a word your way, and the withholding of attention trained me early on which things would get me on the good list and which would have me ostracized.
It’s so deeply ingrained by this point, I’m not even sure what I do for him and what I do for me anymore.
“Does this make sense?” Peter asks, and I turn to the work he’s going over. Peter is a freshman studying international relations on a full-ride scholarship. He’s one of three other freshmen I tutor, and even with my coursework at an unachievable level this year, I refuse to give it up.
I don’t do it for the money—I don’t charge them.
I do it because … well, teaching gives me something I don’t get from anything else. Seeing the moment someone struggling makes sense of the work fills me with purpose. With being needed.
But telling Grampy I want to be a professor? Unacceptable. It’ll be the thing that makes him turn his back on me and my dads for good.
I read through Peter’s notes and add a few dot points and questions he needs to elaborate on in his essay, but otherwise, he’s covered most of the information on foreign policy.
“Okay, that looks good.”
He puffs out a breath of relief. “Thanks, Char. I don’t know what I’m going to do once you’re gone.”
I aim for a reassuring smile I don’t feel. “You know the work. You’re just not getting deep enough into it.”
“That’s what she said.”
I grin despite myself. Stupid saying. Stupid saying that reminds me of the Sigmas, which reminds me of Zeke. I pat Peter on the shoulder. “Like I said, you’ll be fine.”
We pack up and go our separate ways. Like every time I leave a tutoring session, my good mood lasts long enough for me to reach the library front doors, and then the real world crashes in again.
The amount of coursework I have is clawing under my skin, and even though I’m good about keeping on top of most of it—and pulling all-nighters when I need to—I’m starting to resent the amount of work I’m putting in on something I don’t love.
I drop onto a bench in the courtyard and lean back into the wall. I’m supposed to be heading to the house to check the philanthropy calendar for the next month and make sure all my brothers are pulling their weight, but I don’t want to move.
Sure, there are easy things I could cut out of my week, like sending Sam to meet with Zeke, but … I can’t. I’m being an idiot, but clinging to these weekly meetings feels like a small act of rebellion. A thing that’s all mine. The thoughts I have about Zeke would make Grampy red in the face.
Even if last week I had to sit through our meeting knowing it had been less than twelve hours since Zeke saw my dick. The frustrating part was that he didn’t bring it up at all. There were no smirks, no weird looks. Just his usual, steady gaze over his laptop as he took notes while I talked.
Sometimes, he’s so calm and collected, I want to shake him to prove he has the same loose, messy pieces inside of him as me.
Unable to stop myself, I open the Dirt like an addict.
Since sending the last post to Zeke, we haven’t spoken any more about it, but there are a lot of comments.
Some people are claiming recent grievances, others date back years, but the one thing in common is there’s a definite pattern of hazing.
It turns my stomach to read some of the claims, and I’m on the fence about whether to believe them.
False claims are common, but this many? By so many people over so many years, and no matter how I feel about Zeke, it has even me questioning whether they’re true.
Sigma Beta Psi has always been so outspoken about hazing, but was it all a front?
Is the Zeke I think I know secretly some sadistic monster?
Once again, my mind returns to Hush Hush and his soft hands and gentle voice.
It’s all I have to hang on to as a reminder that he isn’t some idiot frat brother.
Not that any of it matters anyway because I said I wasn’t getting involved in this, and our hookups are over, so Zeke and I are … nothing to each other.
Ouch.
Okay, that thought hurts more than it should.
I rub out the ache in my chest and try to distract myself with other things, only before I can close the app, another comment pops up.
Anon7136: Sigma house sent their own risk manager to the hospital.
Was he against the hazing and they were teaching him a lesson?
Or did he get caught up in it? What’s worse, they tried to blame Kappa house for it, then started attacking its members.
Stand-up bunch of dudebros. Kick every last toxic one of them out.
Uh-oh. Dread creeps over me. I remember the exact event this person is posting about, and it was actually our fault.
Even if one of their pledges made things more dangerous than they should have been, we’re the ones who went through with the prank.
That fucking day won’t stop coming back to haunt me.
I feel as sick as I did back then, while I waited for news on whether Brandon was okay.
Now it’s being dragged back out into the open, even after everything we did to try and keep the gossip around it contained.
Zeke and I made sure every member of our houses kept it quiet—how the hell is it coming out now?
Unfortunately, nothing stays a secret for long on Greek Row.
I’m contemplating whether or not to text Zeke again that this had absolutely nothing to do with me when my phone starts to ring and his name shows up on my screen.
A sudden twist hits me behind the navel, but I try to stamp that feeling way down deep and answer the phone as normally as possible.
“Hi-llo.” Dammit. I curse whatever pathways exist between my brain and mouth.
“Ah, yeah.” Holy shit, his voice. “So, that post is still gaining traction.”
I clear my throat and speak carefully. “I saw. I’ve been, umm, keeping an eye on it.”
“Why?”
A flicker of annoyance helps my confidence. “Because this doesn’t just affect you, you know.”
He chuckles softly. “Calm down, Chuck. Did you see you guys were mentioned?”
“Yes. And it’s total bullshit. That had nothing to do with you and everything to do with us.”
“Great. So you’ll set the record straight.”
I’ll … what? “I certainly will not. Owning up to that would be akin to admitting we’re the ones not following the rules.”
“But you did it.”
“And all of you have done a lot worse, but you want me to take the bullet for you.”
My words are met with silence.
I soften my tone. “Zeke?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m … not sure what to do here.”
“If we admit to it, we’re basically giving legitimacy to every claim on there.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I’ll help, but it would be an empty offer. Even if I wanted in on this mess, I don’t have the time. “I’m sorry.”
“Mmm …”
“Do you, umm … we can meet for coffee. If you need to talk, or whatever?” My nerves are going haywire.
But again, silence. “Thanks.” The word is so close to how he sounds in Hush Hush it does things to me that aren’t appropriate for this courtyard. “But, nah, I better get back to the house. I’m going to have to fill the guys in, so …”
“Yeah, no, obviously, of course.” Mouth. Stop. Now. “Catch ya on the flip side.”
Oh, holy shit, that’s a thing that I just said.
“Later, Chuck.” I hear him laugh before the call ends.
Normally I’d berate him for calling me Chuck because I have to keep up pretenses that I hate it when I don’t, but I’m too busy kicking myself over how incredibly stupid I am around him.
This crush is getting out of control. I don’t want to be in lust with him, especially since college ends so soon, and from what he’s mentioned, he’s going to be on the other side of the country in only a few months.
Oh, and the fact he has no actual interest in me probably doesn’t help my chances either.
No. It’s good he’s keeping his distance. There’s no reason for us to be anything more than friendly acquaintances, and hoping for more than that is leading myself to a world of frustration.
I wish I could switch focus to someone else.
The problem with that line of thinking is there’s never been anyone else.
I’ve hooked up—it’s been a long time since I’ve been a virgin—and those experiences were great.
I had fun. I’ve dated a little. But no one has ever ignited my blood like Zeke.
No one has ever made me tongue-tied and full of butterflies, and this goddamn ridiculous longing is something that’s only ever been for him.
I’m drawn to him. I can’t help it.
And it’s so incredibly messed up that the one person I want more than anything … has had me and doesn’t want more.