Chapter 55 – Waylon
chapter
fifty-five
Waylon
I heard the tires before I saw the car—too fast for a residential street, gravel spitting under the wheels.
By the time I reached the Kappa Nu porch railing, half the house was outside.
Trace was there, and Ryder, still in his skate socks, and two sophomores who used to laugh at everything Marcus said stood with their arms crossed.
The black Range Rover parked crooked across two spots, KANE 1 on the plate. Dalton was about as subtle as his son.
Josie’s hand closed around mine on the railing. She didn’t say anything. Neither did I. We watched the front door.
Marcus came out a few seconds later, and I almost didn’t recognize him.
He’d lost the polish and the walk that said every room belonged to him.
He looked like he hadn’t slept. His duffel bag had been packed badly—hangers sticking out, a Kane Capital hoodie dragging, his skates hooked over one shoulder by the laces.
Dalton stood at the bottom of the steps. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“Get in the car.”
“I’m not finished explaining—”
“You are finished! That’s the point.” Dalton didn’t even look at the bag. “The school called me this morning. Then my lawyer. Then a reporter. A scholarship review is one thing. Our name in a stalking headline is another.”
“He’s lying.” Marcus looked past him and found me on the porch, Josie beside me. Relief flashed across his face. Now he had somebody else to blame. “Ask them. Ask him. He’s the reason—”
“I heard the recording, Marcus.” Dalton’s voice never changed. “I heard how you spoke to her. If a man spoke to your mother that way, I’d bury him. You did this because Miss Washington didn’t want you. I’m done making excuses for you.”
“Dad—”
“Get in the car.”
Marcus threw the duffel bag. It hit the Range Rover hard enough to leave a mark. For a second, I thought he might swing at his own father. His fists came halfway up. Josie’s grip tightened, and I stepped in front of her before I thought about it.
Dalton didn’t flinch. “Go ahead,” he said. “Give the reporter a photo to run with the article.”
Marcus’s hands dropped. He looked scared. For once, the Kane name, the money, and the phone calls weren’t going to fix this. Ryder saw it. So did the sophomores who used to laugh at every damn thing Marcus said.
His eyes found me last. “This is your fault.”
“No.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “It really isn’t.”
He looked at Josie, mouth already opening, but Dalton caught him by the elbow and steered him to the passenger side. Marcus got in. The door slammed.
Dalton paused before he walked around to the driver’s side. He looked up at Josie beside me. His jaw tightened. He looked ashamed.
“Miss Washington.” He said her name carefully. “What my son did was inexcusable. Your scholarship will be restored. He won’t contact you again.”
Then he got in, and the Range Rover peeled out too fast for a campus street, and it was just us and a lawn full of guys who didn’t know where to look.
“Well,” Trace said, into the silence, “that happened.”
Somebody let out a low whistle. Ryder shook his head and went inside. The others followed, leaving the porch to us.
Josie was shaking the same way she used to after a race. I pulled her against my chest and held her until her breathing slowed.
“He’s gone,” she said. She sounded like she needed me to confirm it. “He’s actually gone.”
“Yeah.” I kissed the top of her head. “He’s gone, Flash. We’re still here.”
She laughed and kissed me back, right there on the porch, where everybody could see.