“None of it means anything now anyway,” he continues. “Mother thinks I should be institutionalized, you’re livid with me, and Father is moving forward with things as if I did nothing last semester at all.”
“I’m not livid with you,” I say softly, though the last part of his confession sends an uncomfortable chill through me. “But what do you mean Father’s going forward with things?”
“Didn’t he come see you when he was on campus?”
“He didn’t mention anything about plans.” I release a long breath. “What was he doing here when you saw him?”
“Fuck if I know. He didn’t tell me anything either, just made me help him walk around because he can barely do it himself. Dean Bauer was foaming at the mouth, though, so I’m sure that’s not a good sign.”
My stomach churns, nausea erupting in the cavity.
“He knows there are three Andersons here,” he says, glancing at me. “We ran into that girl—the student, whatever her name is?”
“You had a thing for her brother but don’t know her name?”
“I thought Asher was hot and wanted to fuck him. I didn’t feel the need to learn his entire family history. The dean introduced her to Father, so I’m sure he’s in deep shit for allowing them to enroll. Makes me wonder what the plan is.” Sighing, he leans back. “Imagine how much simpler things would’ve been last semester if Asher and his girlfriend had just accepted my offer for a threesome.”
“Christ.” I shoot him a look, scrubbing a cold hand over my face. “I don’t get you.”
“Not sure you’d want to.”
Agony pierces my chest. “Want me to talk to your professors? Get you reenrolled in classes?”
“Nah. You’re right. I could use a break. Figure out what I want now that the stuff IthoughtI was planning for is basically unattainable.”
“Opportunities do exist outside the Curators, you know. Outside Avernia and Fury Hill, even.”
“For you, maybe. You’ve got acting and directing experience, philanthropic endeavors, and our name under your belt. If I’m excommunicated from the family line, where does that leave me? I can’t network with my peers or otherwise, and my friends are…”
Dead.
He doesn’t say it, but it’s true. Of the three people who died in the caves last semester, two were his Curator underlings—one a Blackwater whom he’d known since they were born.
Founding family kids don’t generally make many friends outside the inner circle. Bellamy was an exception—she collected friends like trading cards, soaking up attention and warmth wherever she went.
Like Beckett, I was mostly isolated, aside from Zachary Westwood and my twin. When the latter died, the former moved out west, and it was as if my world had crumbled too.
Here I thought getting involved with the underbelly of founder shit would be enough to protect my brother from a similar fate, but it’s clear now that I’ve been neglecting him in the process.
No wonder Jean-Louis reached him so easily.
It’s my fault. Again.
“Anyway. It’s not a big deal,” Beckett tells me. “I’ve got a couple of online classes that shifted because there weren’t enough students enrolled, so I’ll just focus on finishing the program so I can get my degree at the end of the year. Don’t worry about me, Sutty. I’ll be just fine.”
“I have to worry,” I reply, flicking the back of his head. “You’re kind of a fucking mess.”
He smirks, almost looking like the old Beckett for a split second. “Oh, you should be worried…just not about me.”
25
ELLE
“So school is going well?Nothing odd to report? No kidnappings or violence?”
Mom’s voice has its usual soft tone, though I can sense the worry even through the phone.
While she talks, I notice Quincy’s brown cardigan is unraveling at the sleeve. As she leans forward, picking up the mug of steaming hot tea on the study table between us, the fraying fabric catches my attention and refuses to let go.
