Unbreakable (Thornhill University #7)

1. Cassie

Cassie

The thing about toxic people is that they rarely announce themselves. They don’t walk around with signs saying “I’m a bad person” or “I will hurt you.” They wear friendly smiles and act like they’re on your side until the moment they’re not.

Tyler Morrison is toxic.

Or at least, he was. I’m not entirely sure if people like that can actually change, or if they just get better at hiding what they really are.

I know this because I have a very detailed account of his toxicity in my private journal, the leather-bound one I keep locked in my dorm room that chronicles every shitty moment from sophomore year when Tyler Morrison was part of the group that made my life hell.

I hate him, there are no other feelings towards him but hate.

Not directly. That’s the thing that still makes my blood boil. He wasn’t the one making the jokes. Wasn’t the one spreading rumors. Wasn’t the one who laughed when his teammates called me names in the cafeteria.

He just… let it happen. Stood there while his friends tore me apart, said nothing, did nothing, acted like it wasn’t his responsibility to call out the toxicity he was standing in the middle of.

And that, somehow, is worse than if he’d participated in it. He still laughed, he still joined in the the rumors.

Asshole.

My phone buzzes a text from Lennox.

Lennox

Group dinner tonight. Carter’s place. 7 PM. You’re coming.

Cassie.

I have editing to do for the literary magazine.

Lennox

You’re coming. Non-negotiable. We’re celebrating Priya deferring Hopkins.

Cassie.

Lennox—

Lennox

No excuses. You’re part of this friend group whether you like it or not.

She’s right, of course. Over the past year, I’ve somehow become integrated into the friend group that orbits around Carter and the hockey team.

It just… happened. Lennox adopted me like a stray cat, decided I was worth protecting, and now I’m stuck in this weird extended family of athletes and overachievers.

The problem is that Tyler Morrison is also part of this extended family now.

Not as close as Carter or Ryder or Jackson, but close enough that he shows up to these things. Close enough that I’ve to see him and remember everything he didn’t do.

Cassie.

Will Tyler be there?

Lennox

Yes. And before you say you’re not coming because of him, don’t. You’re coming, you’re going to be civil, and you’re going to remember that he’s trying to be better.

Cassie.

He’s trying to be better at hiding what he really is.

Lennox

Cassie. He apologized.

Cassie.

An apology doesn’t undo what he did. Or didn’t do.

Lennox

No. But it’s a start.

I don’t respond because there’s no point in arguing with Lennox. She’s like a freight train once she decides something is happening, unstoppable and completely certain of her moral righteousness.

Which is why, at seven in the evening, I’m standing outside Carter’s apartment building, steeling myself to go inside and pretend I don’t want to strangle Tyler Morrison or maybe I could.

Carter answers the door with a beer in one hand and genuine happiness on his face. “Cassie! You came!”

“Lennox said I didn’t have a choice,” I moan.

“She’s right. You didn’t.” He pulls me into a hug that’s become familiar over the past year. “Come on, everyone’s already here.”

The apartment is warm and chaotic, and that happens every time this group gets together.

There’s Lennox on the couch, looking smug about forcing me to come.

Isla and Sebastian in the corner, talking about something that makes Isla laugh.

Marcus and Lilah arguing about something completely inconsequential.

Maya and Ryder wrapped around each other like they can’t stand to be more than a few inches apart.

Priya and Jackson by the kitchen, unable to keep their hands off each other now that they’re actually public.

And there, by the window, is Tyler Morrison. I can feel it inside, building, the rage to kill him.

He’s talking to one of the other hockey players, completely unaware of my presence. He looks different than he did sophomore year. More thoughtful. His hair is longer, his expression more serious. He’s wearing a henley that fits his athletic frame, and I hate that I notice these things about him.

I hate that my body recognizes him as something other than a villain. My body is stupid. Yes, he’s good looking, always has been, yes he has one hell of a body, but he is still an asshole.

“Cassie!” Priya sees me and waves me over. “Come here, we’re discussing gap years and life choices.”

I cross the room, turning my back to Tyler. “How’s the deferring going?”

“Terrifying and amazing,” she says. “Jackson’s trying to convince me to travel before the gap year is over. I’m trying to convince him that maybe I should at least look at my medical school options.”

“She’s going to do both,” Jackson says, kissing her temple. “Because she’s brilliant and brave and can do whatever she wants.”

It’s sickeningly sweet, and I would normally make fun of him for it, but the genuine affection in his voice makes it impossible to mock.

“You should travel,” I say to Priya. “Take time to actually figure out who you are before you commit to being a doctor for the rest of your life.”

“Says the girl who’s been writing since she was five and somehow ended up as an English major,” Maya says with a grin. “Did you even consider other options?”

“Of course I did. I rejected all of them in favor of my true passion.”

“Which is?”

“Calling out bullshit,” I say, and I feel Tyler’s eyes on me before I even see him. He’s moved closer, somehow, without my noticing. “In written form, mostly. Sometimes verbally.”

“I’ve noticed,” Tyler says, and his voice is different than I remember. Softer. Less cocky.

I turn to face him, my expression carefully blank, and I remind myself he is the villain and an asshole. “Have you?”

“Hard not to. You’ve written several opinion pieces for the campus paper about toxic masculinity in sports culture.”

“Observations based on lived experience,” I snap at him.

“I know.” He meets my eyes, and there’s something in his gaze that looks like regret. “I read all of them.”

“Good. You should.” He needs to know what people like him do to others, how it affects people. They don’t all get back up like nothing happened, they cry, they think things they shouldn’t, and he needs to know that.

Before he can respond, Lennox claps her hands together. “Dinner’s ready! Everyone to the table!”

She’s orchestrated this perfectly, I realize, and it’s too late to do anything about it. Forced us into proximity, but not forced us to interact beyond basic civility. It’s Lennox’s way of being helpful, pushing us together while giving us an escape route.

I sit across from Tyler, which is either a blessing or a curse depending on how you look at it. I can see his every move, can watch him interact with the group, and can observe the way he’s actually trying to be part of the friend group without dominating the conversation or making it about him.

Which is either genuine change or excellent acting. I haven’t decided which yet.

“So Cassie,” Marcus says, “how’s the literary magazine coming along?”

“We’re working on the spring issue. Taking submissions through next week. You should all submit something.”

“I don’t have anything literary to submit,” Ryder says.

“Neither do I,” Tyler adds.

I take a sip of wine. “Some people have the self-awareness to recognize their limitations.”

It’s not subtle. Everyone at the table catches it. Lennox shoots me a warning look. Carter suddenly becomes very interested in his food. Priya looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

Tyler, to his credit, doesn’t react defensively. Just nods and says, “Fair.”

Which somehow makes it worse.

If he’d gotten angry, if he’d made excuses, if he’d been a dick about it, I could hate him more comfortably. But he’s just… accepting it. Taking the hit. Acting like my anger is deserved.

Because it is deserved.

After dinner, while everyone’s in the living room watching a movie, I sneak into the kitchen to make tea. I need a moment away from the group, away from Tyler’s presence, away from my own complicated feelings.

Of course, he follows me.

“Hey,” he says, appearing in the doorway like a ghost I didn’t want to manifest.

“Hey.”

“Can we talk?” He asks looking over his shoulder to see if anyone is watching us.

“We’re talking.”

“Seriously. Can we talk? About sophomore year?”

I turn around, hands on my hips. “Why? So you can apologize again? Save it. I’ve heard the apology. It was noted. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I know it doesn’t-”

“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you think saying sorry is supposed to fix everything.

Like apologizing erases the fact that you stood there and did nothing while your teammates made me feel like shit.

” I take a step back, because if I get closer to him I might slap him, just to make myself feel a little better.

His expression doesn’t change, but I see something flicker in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “An apology doesn’t erase it. It doesn’t undo it. Doesn’t make it okay.”

“So why are you here? Why are you trying to be part of this friend group when you know I hate you?”

“Because I’m trying to be a better person. Not for you. Not to make you forgive me. Just… because I need to be.”

I want to laugh at that statement, I want to mock him for it. I want to tell him that his self-improvement project is meaningless to me. I want to maintain the wall of anger that’s kept me safe for the past two years.

But looking at him, I see someone who’s actually trying and that terrifies me more than his toxicity ever did.

“Fine,” I say. “You’re trying. Good for you. But trying doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t make us friends. It doesn’t make me not hate you.”

“I know.”

“And it doesn’t give you the right to expect forgiveness,” I add quickly.

“I’m not expecting forgiveness.”

“Good. Because you’re not getting it.”

I push past him, back to the living room, back to the safety of the group. My hands are shaking, and I can’t decide if it’s from anger or something else entirely.

Behind me, Tyler stays in the kitchen. Alone.

And I feel like I’ve won something, even though it doesn’t feel like a victory.