That night.Fuck.I’ve played it over and over in my head. What I could have done differently—everything. For starters—not stealing a car to impress Evan. Secondly—not calling him when shit hit the fan. Leaving him out of it. I can’t change the past. But I can be here now. So that’s what I’m going to do.
I wantto avoid anywhere someone from the frat or tennis team might grab me and take over my evening, so I go back to my mom and Bryce’s house to study and get a bit of peace.
They’re not usually home during the day. Bryce works crazy CEO hours, and Mom’s social calendar is always full, so my heart sinks when I spot Bryce’s black Mercedes SUV parked in the driveway. Hopefully the fact he hasn’t parked in the three-car garage means he isn’t planning on staying long. I might still get the house to myself for a few hours.
He's in the kitchen on his phone when I come in and put my bag down.
“Nathan,” he says when he hangs up. “What are you doing home?”
“I just wanted to get some studyingdone in peace.”
I wait for him to ask me if the library isn’t peaceful, but to his credit, he doesn’t.
“I’m heading out in a few minutes, I just had to pop back for some papers. How’s school?”
“Good.”
I pick an apple out of the fruit bowl and give it a squeeze to make sure it’s real. I’ve been fooled by my mom’s expensive fake fruit before.
“And tennis? You think you’ll make it to regionals this year?”
“We’ve got a good shot.”
“Nathan, I want you to really focus on school this year. Mason Mathews doesn’t offer just anyone business advice.”
“I know that, and thanks. I appreciate you helping me out.” My neck heats as he scans me.
“I know tennis is fun, but you’re not going to be a professional. Don’t let it get in the way of your studies. That’s where your future lies.”
“I know.”
I think he’s done with me and am about to excuse myself to go to my room when he speaks again. “And Nathan.”
I spin on my heels.
“I understand why you felt the need to attend the funeral of your old friend’s father, but your mother’s worried you’ll be tempted to pick up your communications with him.”
My heart sinks. My face flushes. Does he know I’ve been seeing Evan? Surely he wouldn’t have me followed?
“Trust me when I tell you, the circles you’ll be running in when you graduate won’t tolerate smudges on your reputation. When you leave the fraternity, your brothers will become your competition and the margins of error are tiny. You all have an Ivy League education and you’ll all haveexcellent grades and extracurriculars on your resumés. Don’t let a little thing like a bad rep get in the way of putting you ahead.”
I just stare at him, trying to think of something to say. What a depressing picture he just painted. My fraternity brothers becoming my competition. So what’s the point of building up fraternal spirit with these guys if I'm planning to elbow them out of my way as soon as the opportunity arises?
Thankfully, his phone starts ringing and he turns away from me to answer it.
I try to study,but even after I hear Bryce’s car pull out of the driveway, I can’t get his words out of my head.The circles you’ll be running in when you graduate won’t tolerate smudges on your reputation.
What if Bryce finds out I’m seeing Evan? Will he tell Mason Mathews not to work with Ben and me on our business idea? I’ve never openly defied him, so I have no way of knowing how he’d react. If he was angry, how far he’d go to protect his reputation. And this isn’t just me we’re talking about here. This affects Ben, too.
I think about not texting Evan. It’s not like I’m ghosting him—he’s made it clear he’s only barely tolerating me. But then I think about how much it hurt when he didn’t reply to my messages back then. And how it was my fault everything went down the way it did. I think about him working in a warehouse somewhere to pay his bills. How alone he must have felt when his dad was sick and his best friend was nowhere to be seen. And who was there for him after I left? I didn’t notice anyone filling my spot. I can try and be there for Evan without fucking things up withBryce. Bryce doesn’t have to know. I take a deep breath, typing the message.
Can you still hang out?
My heart pounds as I wait for a response. Is he going to ghost me like last time? Would I still deserve it now? Finally a message comes through:
My place.
I pack my shit up straight away and head out.
