CHAPTER THREE
EMERSON
APRIL
FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE
I pause to glance around the house when we walk through the doorway. The place is packed. Music is playing—Jack Harlow’s voice dialed up—with the bass pulsing through the floor. Furniture is pushed against the wall, making a space for dancing, and there are plenty of bodies gyrating against each other in the middle of it. Off to the side, a dining room is present, but it houses a ping-pong table instead of a place to eat.
Right now, it’s the site of a fierce game of flip cup. It’s boys versus girls, and by the looks of it, the girls are getting demolished. I don’t know why women ever think they can outdrink a bunch of jocks. Most of those guys can imbibe anyone under the table by muscle mass alone. Plus, they seem to train for it weekly. But by the tipsy grins and twirling of the hair, the women don’t seem to care that they are outmanned.
“Let’s grab a drink,” my sister yells over the noise.
Her hand collapses around my wrist, and she drags me through the dense crowd. I stare at the back of her bleach-blonde head as she paves the way. She’s wearing a clingy cotton dress that barely covers her ass. And it dips so low in the front that she’s very likely to have a nip slip tonight because, of course, she isn’t wearing a bra. But she doesn’t need to. Not after the enhancement she talked our parents into funding for her eighteenth birthday. Her boobs are unnaturally high and tight all on their own.
My older sister by three years, Eve, is in her element tonight. She likes to party. She always has. She fits in perfectly with this scene. I, on the other hand, don’t. I’m not sure how she talked me into being her wingwoman. But here I am. What can I say? I guess I have a soft spot for her. One she exploits every chance she gets.
We make a pit stop in the kitchen, where she grabs two seltzers cooling in ice, handing me one. I roll my eyes but take it anyway. I rarely drink. My sister would know that if she paid any real attention to me. To say she’s self-absorbed is an understatement. But as I glance around at the masses, I don’t think I can take an entire night here, sober, among the savages. When in Rome …
I pop the top and take a sip, grimacing when the bitter taste hits my mouth. Eve downs hers like it’s water and she’s dying of thirst. She drinks the entire can before discarding it and grabbing a second. I raise my eyebrow.
“What?” she scoffs before looking up at the ceiling. “I thought for one night, you could loosen up, Em.”
“You know very well how uptight I am, Eve,” I quip, unbothered by her assessment. “Dragging me to a rager won’t change that.”
Where Eve likes to party, I’m more of a Netflix and chill kind of girl. If you find me out, it’ll be at an open mic night or when an acoustic band is playing at some obscure place. Or maybe an art opening. Not exactly the wild Friday night that most of my peers would prefer. But I’ve never been one to follow the crowd. I march to the beat of my own drum—I always have. And I don’t need anyone’s approval, not even my big sis’s.
When we were younger, Eve and I were thick as thieves. Our parents barely noticed our existence, so we became each other’s family. I looked up to her. I wanted to emulate my big sister. Where she went, I followed. It was us against the world for a time. And then puberty hit, and everything changed. I became a boring nuisance. An annoying little sister that Eve tolerated rather than liked. And she became boy crazy—a condition she still hasn’t outgrown. She followed a boyfriend to college but dumped him within the first week on campus once she saw the variety of options at her disposal. And I trailed her here for two reasons. The first was the stellar art program at the university. And the second was to keep her out of trouble. The art department has lived up to its reputation. But I’ve failed miserably at protecting Eve from herself. I should’ve learned a long time ago that a tornado cannot be contained. It spins out on its own, destroying everything in its path, until it loses steam and dies out. Eve still hasn’t lost her steam.
I was surprised when Eve showed up on my doorstep tonight, begging me to come out with her. I can’t remember the last time we attended a party together, which is probably why I agreed to come. I’m usually not really her speed. She’s zero to ninety in thirty seconds, whereas I’m more of a leisurely stroll. But as different as we are, I love Eve and all her craziness. Well … most of her craziness. We’re family, and that means something to me.
“Isn’t that Emily over there?” I ask, pointing to a blonde across the room.
Eve glances over, then away just as quickly. “Yep.”
I narrow my eyes. Emily is one of Eve’s best friends. “Should we go say hi?”
She shrugs and takes another drink of her seltzer.
“Trouble in paradise?” I ask.
Eve sighs dramatically. “We aren’t exactly talking right now.”
Ah. So, that’s the reason she asked me out tonight. I was her last option.
I ignore the ache in my chest at that thought. As much as Eve irritates me at times—and she does—she’s still my sister. I love her, shallowness and all. And part of me wishes we could be closer, more connected again. I guess it’s the same part that tries to protect her from herself all the time.
“What happened?” I say, feigning nonchalance, like I always do. It’s easier that way when I’m dealing with Eve.
“She got mad because Aaron was flirting with me,” she explains.
“Who’s Aaron?”
“Her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now, I guess.”
Her blue eyes are wide and innocent. But I know better because I know her . She’s far from innocent. With her bombshell figure, the platinum-blonde highlights in her hair, and our contrasting personalities, people are often surprised to find out we’re related. Eve is all fillers and makeup and glam, whereas I go for more of a natural look. She’s big hair, tight clothes, and a huge personality. She spends hours getting ready. I run my fingers through my locks, and I’m ready to go. Like I said, we’re opposites.
“Why is she mad at you for something he did?” I’m asking the question, but I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
My sister has a track record, and it isn’t good. She makes female friends easily but has a hard time keeping them. In her mind, it’s because they’re always jealous of her. But the reality is, my sister prioritizes men over friendships. And if Emily isn’t speaking to Eve, it’s likely there’s more to this story. A lot more. And I doubt my sister is the victim in this tale.
“Beats me.”
I give her a knowing look, eliciting another sigh from her.
“Fine,” she breathes out. “He might have shown up at my place one night, and I might have let him in.”
“So, you slept with her boyfriend,” I surmise.
“He came onto me,” she insists defensively.
I don’t bother arguing with her or pointing out the error of her ways. It would just go in one ear and out the other anyway. My sister doesn’t think like normal people. Her conscience is basically nonexistent. I learned that a long time ago.
She grabs my arm as her cheeks flush with excitement. “Sam is here,” Eve announces breathlessly.
Emily is instantly forgotten. So is her boyfriend— ex -boyfriend—whoever he is.
I glance over to see Sam Anderson, a popular forward on the hockey team. I’ve spotted him around campus and on some of the posters advertising the team. He’s a freshman, like me, but he looks older. Maybe it’s those broad shoulders and that square jaw. He’s a known fuckboy, popular with the ladies, and he’s currently living up to his reputation. He has a girl secured under each arm and a beer dangling from one of his hands. From the glassy look of his eyes, that isn’t his first drink of the night. Probably not even his fourth or fifth.
Eve has always harbored a crush on Sam. It started when we were in high school. We went to a private academy in the city, and Sam played on the high school hockey team that rivaled our own across town. He was always lauded as a great athlete but was rumored to be egocentric and full of himself. He had a reputation for flitting from one girl to the next, leaving plenty of broken hearts in his wake. I know Eve tried to put herself in his path more than once, showing up at parties and events when he was rumored to attend. But for whatever reason, she’s never landed him. I’m sure the challenge only makes her want him more.
“And he’s not alone,” I point out, though it doesn’t deter my sister in the slightest.
It’s beyond me why anyone would want to compete with other women for the attention of one man. I’ve never been tempted to do that. I just don’t see the allure. Especially a smokeshow like my sister. She could snap her fingers and have practically any guy here. But I think part of the draw for Eve is the chase. She likes to conquer the unconquerable. For bragging rights probably. Plus, everyone knows Sam is destined for professional hockey. And with that comes a fat paycheck, making him even more desirable to those who value money.
My sister narrows her eyes as she takes in her competition. “That’s Stacy Reeves and Ari Wisen. Sophomores .” She sneers the last word like it’s a bad thing. Like her being a senior automatically gives her a leg up on the other girls.
“Excuse me,” I say indignantly. “I’m a freshman. So is Sam.”
Her expression softens when I mention the hockey stud. I refrain from rolling my eyes again.
“But look at him …” she says wistfully. If she were a cartoon, she’d have hearts in her eyes.
I watch as another guy hands Sam a shot. He dislodges from one of the women long enough to down the alcohol. The blonde steps right up when he’s done and runs her fingertips along his chest. She sticks her tongue down his throat in the next second to whoops and hollers from surrounding observers. The spectacle is so stereotypical that I feel like I’m caught in the middle of a bad teen movie.
“I’m looking,” I murmur. “Still not seeing the appeal.”
Eve’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “What are you talking about, Emerson? He’s pure fire.”
“Just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he’s attractive. There are plenty of pretty men around this campus. And a lot of them have substance as well.”
“So, you admit that he’s hot,” she counters, totally ignoring the rest of my statement.
“I’m not blind,” I say, pausing to take another sip of my seltzer. “But other than a pretty face and the ability to put a puck in a goal, what does he have to offer? I’d say his ego likely downgrades him by at least two to three points on a scale of ten.”
I can tell from across the room that the athlete thinks his stuff doesn’t stink. I can smell his arrogance from ten feet away.
“Which would still make him an eight,” she says smugly.
Eve tips her can until it’s empty before snagging mine. I happily let her have it. It’s still three-fourths full.
“Seven. At best.”
She sticks her tongue out at me but smiles. I laugh, enjoying this playful side to my older sibling. I glance around the crowded space and ask Eve if she knows where the bathroom is. She directs me to the second floor when the one on the first floor has a line five deep.
I leave my sister to ogle Sam and weave through the thick crowd. It takes me a few minutes to reach the staircase, but everything thins out on the second floor. I guess it’s too early in the night for all the hookups that are bound to take place in the upstairs bedrooms later. Luckily, when I reach the bathroom, the door is open and unoccupied. I walk inside and lock it behind me, muffling the sounds of the party from downstairs.
After using the facilities, I stare at my reflection in the mirror while searching for any resemblance to my sister. Light-brown eyes stare back at me, framed by wavy chestnut hair that falls to my shoulders in messy layers, lacking the bottled enhancement of Eve’s. Her strands are the same shade as mine underneath all the bleach she gets to lighten them every four weeks. The features of our faces are similar with wide-set eyes and small, rounded noses, both of us resembling our mother. My bottom lip is full with a thin but shapely upper lip. Eve’s are thicker and plumper than mine. She’s been getting filler for a couple of years now.
I prefer minimal makeup to Eve’s bolder style. I’ve been told that I look plain next to my sister more than once. It stings when people say that, but I’m used to Eve stealing the spotlight with her good looks and dynamic personality. She’s always attracted attention, just like she’s consistently lured men. I don’t even resent her for it. I used to when I was younger. But over time, I learned not to desire the type of attention she drew. It was shallow and fleeting, much like all her short-term boyfriends have turned out to be.
Despite the downsides, I love Eve. I’ve never known life without her. And watching her has taught me a lot about myself. What I want and what I don’t want from the world. Part of me envies her free-spirited nature and spontaneity. She’s fun, plain and simple.
But I’ve also watched her suffer the consequences of some of her choices. I’ve comforted her as she cried from betrayal when friends have turned their backs after something she did. I’ve seen how conditional people can be, discarding Eve as soon as she’s messed up. And maybe she deserved it. But Eve is a person who puts up a good act, pretending not to care too much about anyone or anything. She portrays someone untouchable. Buried beneath her flighty exterior, she can be incredibly soft and sensitive, which is a side of her that not many have seen. Even vulnerable. She wants to be loved and admired more than anything.
And I vowed a long time ago never to desert her, no matter what she does. I won’t contribute to the hard, conditional, judgmental side of life, even when she’s earned it. I want to be her soft space to fall, if she ever does. Maybe that makes me complicit in her bad choices. Maybe I’m enabling her. And maybe someday, my feelings will change. But right now, I don’t care. She’s my sister, and I love her, faults and all. Even if we are as different as night and day.
I’m lost in thought when I leave the bathroom, my eyes on my feet, so I’m unprepared when I see the object of my sister’s affection leaning against the wall across from me. Sam. I stop short at the sight of him. His head is pressed back, and his chin is lifted. His eyes are hooded but lasered on me as I stand in front of him.
“I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to come out of there,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t sound accusatory or like he’s annoyed. It’s more conversational and slightly slurred.
“Sorry, Sam,” I apologize. “I didn’t realize anyone was waiting.”
He chuckles. “There are three bathrooms in this house, dozens of people, and enough liquor to give everyone alcohol poisoning. And you don’t think anyone else needs to use the bathroom?”
I narrow my eyes. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“I shouldn’t have to,” he sneers.
I scoff out a mirthless laugh, surprised that I can fit in the hallway alongside his giant-sized ego. “Oh, that’s right … I’m standing in the presence of greatness. The talented center on Sinclair’s hockey team. The freshman phenom everyone bows to …”
He straightens a little more with each mock accolade, finally reaching his full height, towering above my five-foot-three frame with a cocky grin on his face. “I don’t know about phenom …”
There isn’t an ounce of humbleness in his expression as he totally misses the sarcasm in my words. Or maybe he just ignores it. He wobbles on his feet, reminding me that he’s intoxicated. Regardless of his current state, his arrogance makes me want to knock him down a notch.
I tilt my head for greater effect. “Well, I guess if you were truly a phenom, the team would’ve made it to the Frozen Four.”
I match his arrogant smirk as his expression turns stormy.
Seems I struck a nerve.
I don’t follow hockey, but everyone across campus knows about the playoffs and the recent loss.
His jaw twitches like he’s grinding his teeth. He slowly reaches out. My spine stiffens, but I resist the urge to shrink away, refusing to back down when he traps a strand of my hair between his finger and thumb. His gaze trails my body, taking in my clothing. I’m wearing a casual shift dress that falls just above my knees and Mary Janes. I am mostly covered, contrasting with the rest of the females at this party. And I’m comfortable in what I’m wearing, but I look far from seductive.
“What’s your name?” he murmurs.
I debate whether to answer for a moment before I finally speak. “Emerson.”
“Emerson …” he drawls.
I hate to admit that my name sounds sexy, coming from his gruff voice. He leans closer until his warm breath is fanning across my cheek. He reeks of liquor and beer.
“Well, let me tell you something, Emerson. I’m guessing you don’t know anything about hockey. And you don’t know shit about our team.”
I step back to create distance between us, forcing him to drop my hair. He’s openly glaring at me now.
“And you don’t know shit about me,” I counter.
“One thing I do know is … between the two of us standing in this hallway … you already knew my name.” He shoulders past me and slams the bathroom door shut.
A beat passes as I stand there before uttering, “Asshole,” beneath my breath.
Sam Anderson just proved every bad thing I’d assumed about him. He is an arrogant jock who thinks the world revolves around him. He’s a lousy drunk. And he does think he’s God’s gift to the world.
As I’m stalking back down the stairs while still incensed from our hallway meeting, I see that the crowd has doubled in size. I didn’t think it was possible to fit this many people inside a home. The air is stifling and hot, smelling of cheap beer, liquor, and vape smoke, and it turns my stomach. I search the room for Eve, but don’t spot her. I make my way into the kitchen, but she’s no longer there. I watch a game of beer pong that has overtaken the ping-pong table where flip cup was played earlier. No sign of my sister.
I bump into Emily. She doesn’t smile at me.
“If you’re looking for Eve ”—she sneers her name—“she just disappeared upstairs with Logan Phillips.”
I only nod in response. I’m not surprised that Eve found a willing partner for the night. She typically works fast.
My sister’s former friend doesn’t say another word as she stalks away, but I can feel the disdain radiating off her. I guess I’m guilty by association.
I pull my phone from the purse that I’m wearing across my body, and sure enough, there’s a text from Eve, basically blowing me off for the rest of the night. This isn’t the first time. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. At least she bothered to message me this time.
I glance around at the debauchery and spot Madison and Oakley standing next to the wall. They live in the same dorm as Suki and me.
“Hi,” I say with a smile as I approach them.
“Hey!” Oakley exclaims enthusiastically.
She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes before Mads does the same. We’ve become friends over the past few months, though we run in different social circles.
“Venturing out to a hockey party, huh,” Mads says with a smirk. “We’ve finally lured you over to the dark side.”
I laugh. Mads has invited me out several times in the past few weeks. I always declined.
“My sister dragged me here.”
Both girls glance around.
“Where is she?” Oakley asks.
“God only knows,” I murmur.
Oakley’s face lights up when she spots someone across the room. “Chase is here. I’m going to say hi.”
“Come with us,” Madison invites me as she takes a step to catch up with her best friend, who is already moving away.
I take a look around the room and decide I’m better off going home. A pair of comfortable sweats and a love seat are calling my name.
“Actually, I was just leaving,” I admit.
“You sure?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches. “It’s early …”
I nod. “I’ll see you later,” I promise.
“Okay.” I watch as Madison’s blonde head disappears into the crowd.
Just as I’m making my way toward the front door, I catch sight of Sam stumbling down the stairs. I know he dated Oakley at the first of the year, but I didn’t really know my dormmate well then. We’ve only become better friends over the last few weeks. It’s difficult for me to picture Oakley with him. She’s so sweet, and he’s so … him .
A few people are shouting Sam’s name. Someone hands him a drink. Women surround the hockey stud. They treat him like a celebrity.
Sam and I make eye contact right before I reach my escape at the front of the house. He smirks at me like he caught me staring, has the gall to wink, and tips his fresh drink. My eyes narrow, and my lips automatically curl as I salute him with my middle finger. It only causes his smirk to deepen.
Arrogant hockey players. They think they own the world.
I turn and disappear out the door, happy to never see Sam Anderson again.