Chapter 33 Orion
Orion
After the post-race wrap-up from Coach, I showered and changed into designer plaid pants in brown and beige, and a cream-colored Loewe hoodie, and then hurried back to Atlas Hall to oversee the party prep in the center courtyard and connecting lounge.
The caterers, decorators, and DJ I’d hired were all hard at work, setting up tables of food and drink, stringing up lights and sound systems, and lighting up the fountain in the center of the courtyard with a rainbow of changing colors.
As I’d predicted, my last name meant that the Academy administration turned a blind eye to all of it, and our regatta win sealed the deal.
Because we’d done what was expected of us: We’d won.
The crate of booze I’d gotten from a guy who knew a guy, however, was discreetly kept out of sight. No need to push it, after all.
I usually didn’t partake much myself, but after the adrenaline rush of the race had faded, a lot of thinking had swooped back in, and I wasn’t in the mood for thinking. Time was racing out from under me just like the Narragansett waters, carrying me to my future.
Not bloody yet, thank you very much.
So as the partygoers began to trickle in, I began to sample the product.
For quality-assurance purposes, of course.
The punch was sickly sweet and yet bitingly strong with vodka.
I downed one Solo cup of the concoction and then another, and that was all it took for me to become buzzed enough that thinking could bugger off for the night.
My crewmates surrounded me, and Tucker wasted no time passing around a flask that he’d already half drained.
“Orion!” he shouted, draping a heavy arm over my shoulders. “Thizzparty is the shit,” he slurred. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Rhett eyed me coolly, saying nothing. On his best behavior lest I toss his arse out. Before I could reply, Xander Ford strode right up to Tucker, snatched the flask from his hand, and turned it vertical.
Then he handed it back and wiped his mouth. “Thanks. I needed that.”
I met Tucker’s glance, and then we both busted out laughing.
“Ford, you’re a goddamn madman. This is the best fucking crew in CHA history!”
Xander was jostled and hugged, and more drinks went around. I tossed back another just as Harper approached slowly. Warily. Watching the boys as if they were a pack of hyenas. She looked so beautiful in a green dress with small red flowers, her hair falling softly around her shoulders.
My goddamn heart.
“Harper!” I said, and she flinched and studied me, disappointed. “I’m shouting, aren’t I?”
“Just a little.”
“Apologies. I’ve had a wee bit to drink.” I drank her in, drank her up. “God, you are…so fucking beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You look amazing too, and your race was incredible. But I’ve hardly seen you all week. I was hoping we could talk, but I guess not.”
She glanced down, and I wasn’t too drunk to notice the sadness in her eyes. The uncertainty and the questions and everything we’d left unsaid needing to be said. I owed Harper so much; I owed her more than jokes and deflections, and now I was too bloody drunk.
The guilt bit me hard and sharp, and so of course, I got silly. Stupid. A selfish jackass, still clinging to later.
“Tonight is supposed to be fun. Come, come,” I said. “Have a drink.”
“No, thanks,” she said as I fumbled for a Solo cup at the punch table.
“But it’s a party.”
“I said, no thanks. My mother does enough drinking for the both of us.”
“Oh, right.” I set down my cup and pulled her to me. “What’s wrong? You have a line. Right here. A cute little worry line…” I traced the little furrow between her eyes with a finger. “Let me guess. Bills piling up.”
Harper’s eyes flared, and she shoved away from me. “Will you keep your voice down? Jesus, Orion.”
“I’m sorry, love,” I said. “But I hate how hard everything is for you. I know, I know, you don’t want me to help, but let me cover whatever you owe. You have your pride, but what’s the alternative? You become homeless?”
She stared at me as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, the words spewing out of me on a tide of vodka and defensive nonsense. She crossed her arms, tears standing out in her eyes, but her gaze was unwavering.
“Oh, we’re doing this right now? Okay, let’s say I let you help me, Orion,” she said. “Then what? How long will you continue to pity me, long after you and I are nothing? Will you deposit money into my account every month? For years? Until you get married? I can’t imagine your wife will approve.”
“My wife… What are you talking about?”
“You’re going back to the UK at the end of the year, aren’t you?”
I took a step back, pushed by her words.
You bloody wanker, you’re fucking it all up.
“So what happens to us?” she continued. “Who am I to you when we graduate? The girl you once dated? Your charity case? You and I will be finished, but I’ll have this debt hanging over my head. Just what the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
“No, I…” I stammered like a fool. “That is not how…”
“All this time,” she said, her voice hard but quavering.
“All this time with the I love yous and the romance and the taking me to meet your family, and I was such an idiot. I told myself not to let anyone in. That I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with my mother’s bullshit, and the pressure, and everything else to give my heart away.
But I thought, ‘No, he’s different. This is going somewhere, and he’s too talented to give up his music.
He won’t…’” Her voice cracked. “‘He won’t give me up.’” She tilted her head up.
Defiant. Strong. “But I guess I was wrong.”
“Harper…” I said helplessly.
“Have a nice life.”
Then she turned and walked away.
I stared in drunken incapacity, watching her go. I didn’t know anything. Not my future, not what was going to happen next week, or what I was going to say to my parents or Cambridge or Juilliard or any of it. The only thing I knew was that the best thing in my life just walked away.
I started after her when a scream ripped through the noise of the party. A bloodcurdling scream that made hearts stop and the DJ cut the music.
Sierra Hart was on the ground with Dean, his head in her lap. For a strange, panicked second, my brain told me that he was sleeping or had passed out. But I already knew in the deepest part of me that was a lie.
No…
A crowd had started to form, and Xander Ford collapsed on his knees beside our friend.
My incapacity vanished, and terror like I’d never known lit me up from the inside, burning away the alcohol.
I shoved through the people, screaming for an ambulance.
I lay Dean flat and started chest compressions.
There was no thought in my mind, nothing but adrenaline and denial.
Because this couldn’t happen. I would not allow this to happen. I could not let Dean be dead.
But he is. Oh God, help me, he is…
Xander grabbed Dean’s jaw and gave him a shake, demanding he wake up.
He blew air in his mouth while I pressed both palms over his heart, but Dean wasn’t unconscious, and we both knew it.
Xander met my eye and for a second—he and I were locked in the same helpless communion.
An understanding of the truth and a fierce rejection of it at the same time.
I shook my head, and Xander made a sound I never wanted to hear again in my entire life.
An agonized cry erupting from deep in his chest.
“No!” he bellowed, and slapped Dean across the face and blew more air while I pressed on his chest until my shoulders ached.
Finally, help arrived, and we were pushed outside the circle.
Helpless. Sierra was screaming. Harper was in Xander’s arms, clinging to him, crying in his shirt, while I watched the EMTs work on Dean. Cold. Numb.
Because it was too late.
He’d fallen through the ice.