Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
CHANCE
I dive into the water with Jett, swimming a few laps before Coach and the rest of the team arrive.
It’s nice to have someone to swim with, to push myself against. Jett is almost as good as me, but he has a bit more training to do.
With the way he’s going, though, I think he’ll catch up in no time.
He’ll end up in the Olympics, representing Meadowbrook.
After we swim a few laps, we stop and pull ourselves out of the pool to warm our muscles.
We sit on the bleachers, drying our limbs. Looking over at Jett, I ask, “Your summer was good?”
“Yeah,” he says, though his eyes look tired. “I spent most of it working at the grocery store, then the fast food restaurant in town, then on the farm. But it was all worth it. I have enough to pay for this semester and next. I’ll find a job here when swim season is over to pay for my last year.”
We’re only in our early twenties. Jett shouldn’t be working himself to the bone just to get an education.
I only found out he had a partial scholarship a few months ago, something he’s hiding from the entire team since he’s already getting enough shit for not coming from money.
He’s avoiding taking out loans unless absolutely necessary, saying he doesn’t want to start his post collegiate career in debt.
The amount of money I have sitting in my trust from my grandfather would pay for not only Jett’s education here at Meadowbrook, the most expensive college in America, but several generations of his descendants as well.
And could probably still have some leftover for a few semesters for any kids after that.
It’s not right, but I plan to at least do my part.
Grabbing my phone from my bag, I shoot off a quick text to my grandfather, asking if he can pay Jett’s tuition with money from my trust, telling him I’ll explain later. He sends back “ok” and I slide my phone back inside.
“Somewhere around here?” I ask, picking up the thread of conversation.
He shrugs. “Maybe. There’s a bar for old folks nearby that I heard someone talking about. They’re always hiring and the older people tip well. That would help.”
“Before you do that,” I say, wrapping an arm around him, “we should go out one weekend. Just me and you.”
He nods but looks uncomfortable. He has an issue with handouts, especially here. People hear that he’s from a working-class family and automatically assume that he wants to use us for our money.
Jett doesn’t even like me buying him a stick of gum, so I’m not worried.
“Maybe,” he says. “I should have some extra cash.”
Before I can tell him to cut the shit, we can hear the conversations of the rest of our teammates.
“We’ll plan later,” I say.
Ari—another of my frat brothers—and Priest come over and plop down. Priest boxes Jett out, sitting in front of him and turning his body into me. I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Jett just shakes his head at me and slides over.
Still I say, “Move. We were talking.”
Priest looks at Jett, then scoffs. “I’m sure it was very important,” he says sarcastically. “Giving him some Olympic advice?”
I glare at Priest until he fidgets beside me. Most of the time, I don’t let my attitude bleed through, but I’ve had enough of him and how he treats Jett. Jett is a good person, never bothers anyone and tries to stay small. If I didn’t step in, he’d just sit there and take this kind of crap.
Before I can lay into Priest like I want, Coach shows up and we all snap to attention.
“Okay, looks like the times for the invitational were shit.” He glares at Priest, whose pale cheeks are now pink.
“Did any of you, besides Ari, Jett, and Chance even look at a damn pool the entire three months off?” He pauses for effect, but no one answers.
“Now we gotta shake up the relay team so we can qualify for nationals. I’m bringing home that damn medal, boys, you hear me? ”
“Yes sir!” we shout.
“Chance, you’re taking starting position.”
“Me?” I ask at the same time Priest stands up and shouts, “That’s my position!”
Coach glares hard enough to evaporate the water from my skin. “You almost cost us the race at the invitational because you’re out of shape and lazy. You expect to get special treatment for doing nothing? Not on my team. You got a problem with it?” He points to the exit. “There’s the door.”
They stare at each other, the moment tense.
Then Priest huffs and sits down, but not before shooting me a glare of his own.
Like I asked to be lead. I’m anchor. I’ve always been anchor and it’s paid off.
Now, I have to work harder than I already am to adjust to a new position because Priest couldn’t be fucked to train this summer.
I huff and cross my arms, but don’t bitch to Coach about it.
He continues with, “Ari, you’re second, Priest, third and Jett, you’re anchor.”
I look at Jett with wide eyes, watching him audibly gulp. He’s usually second leg, picking up slack for whoever Coach sticks in starting position. This is huge for him, especially as a junior.
But Coach is right; this lineup is solid. Even if both Ari and Priest fuck up, I can get us a good start and Jett can pull it all together. It’s not a bad switch, but Priest will give me no end of shit for taking his spot. Like I asked for it.
Priest looks like he’s sucking on lemons, but it’s his own fault. He parties too much. If Jett can work two jobs, help his family on their farm, and still have time to practice, Priest with all his money and resources, could do the same.
Coach lines us up and we do our drills, practice moving quickly once I’m in the water.
Once we’re finished, I’m fucking exhausted, but I can’t so much as go home to shower. My first class starts in thirty minutes.
As I head to the shower, my towel clutched around my waist, Priest corners me, irate. “You took my spot.”
I give him an incredulous look. “How did I do that? I’m not Coach, I don’t make the rules.”
“Yeah, but your dad probably called. Gotta make sure the golden boy gets all the shine before the Olympic trials.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’m not fucking going to the goddamn Olympics, but his dad works for mine, and he’ll end up telling my dad before I want him to know.
I just give him as bored an expression as I can. “You think I would ask my father to get me a position? Or do you think it’s because I’m better than you?”
He blusters but doesn’t answer. He knows he can’t because Olympics or not, I’m better than him.
“Get out of my way. I have class.”
After he gives me a dirty look, he steps aside and I brush past him, not in the mood for his bullshit.
As I duck my head under the water, I let the conversation run around my mind. There might be some merit to it, as my father isn’t above calling the coach if he’s unhappy with something. I’ll have to call and make sure he didn’t meddle, so I can feel better about the change.
Once I wash the smell of chlorine from my skin, I get dressed and push out of the door without waiting on anyone, needing to be alone right now.
It’s my last year of college and everything is so…
upside down. I don’t know if I’m coming or going half the time.
Classes are fine, but my uncertain future looms over my head.
I know what I want to do, but I can’t if I don’t pull off separating from my father.
I’ve never been able to keep shit from my dad.
With his experience as a CEO, he has a way of grilling me and pulling information out of me, even if I’m not ready to share.
If I don’t make a plan for myself soon, he’ll know I’m trying to distance myself from him and the family name and try like hell to get me back under his thumb.
He forbade my mother from having more kids once he learned I was a boy. He said he’d never leave his fortune to a daughter and that I would be whatever he molded me to be. I need to thwart those plans and branch out. I can only do that if he’s clueless about my plan until it’s already in motion.
But what is my plan? Other than using my own money to pay for my last year of school, what else do I have?
Fuck all.
“Chance?” I hear in a small, shy voice. I snap my head up and an involuntary smile crosses my face. I’m always happy seeing Warren, but this morning he looks really good.
He’s started wearing his bright red hair in that wavy style I like, bringing all kinds of attention to his plump lips, luminous green eyes and that constellation of freckles that dots his face.
I’ve never used the word breathtaking when I speak about anyone, but man. He’s pretty fucking close.
I try to contain my smile but fail. “Hey Professor.”
“Hey. You okay? You looked…worried.”
Just like that, it’s like cold water is doused over me. Thoughts of Priest, my father, my trust, my plan all come flooding back.
Sighing, I grab his elbow and pull him under an alcove where we can have some semblance of privacy. Even if we’re standing close, conversing, it won’t look like we’re doing anything wrong.
Warren looks around, then leans back against the bricks. “What’s up?”
“A lot,” I say simply. “Probably too much to talk about right now. But the most pressing issue is my position for the relay team was switched up and the guy whose spot I took is a frat brother. He thinks I had something to do with it.”
“Why?” Warren asks, a cute dip in his brow.
“It’s something my dad would do—call in a favor with my coach to get me in the best position to look good for the trials.”
“But you’re not going, right?”
I shake my head and look around, making sure no one is around that could have overheard that. “No, and no one knows that but you and my mom. I’ll tell Thorne soon.”
My cheeks heat when I think of the last time I was alone with Thorne. My mind is still reeling.
I’ve heard plenty of men brag about how good oral sex is, how it makes you see stars and your toes curl and wanting to sign over rights to your firstborn. I didn’t believe them. But whatever Thorne did to me made me a fucking believer.
Warren tips his head to the side, assessing me. “Did you get a Thorne visit, too?”
“Yeah. Weekend before last. Frat party. You?”
“Last weekend. He broke into my house.”
“He…what?” I bark a laugh, even though that shouldn’t be funny. “He’s crazy.”
Warren nods but grins softly. “Yeah, but he’s ours…right?”
Lightness fills my chest and it takes effort not to pull Warren to me and kiss him senseless. Instead, I smile back. “He is.”
“Remember these numbers, then text me as soon as you walk away, okay?” he says. I nod, paying rapt attention to every syllable that comes out of his mouth. He rattles his number off quickly and I repeat it twice to make sure I have it.
Smiling, I hold my hand out and he slides his into mine. “See you in class, Professor.”
I love the slightly breathy way he says, “See ya.”
As soon as I bend the corner, I pull my phone out and text him.
Me: It’s Chance
Unknown: Got you. Thorne says we have to keep each other company while he’s gone. What do you say about coming over this evening? We can talk about what’s bugging you.
A goofy smile is pasted on my face as my fingers move quickly across the screen, adding his contact before texting him back.
Me: Tell me the time and address and I’ll be there.