Leaning against my door, I'm suddenly exhausted. "James met with him secretly. He was considering taking money to break up with me." The words stick. Swallowing doesn't help. "He had a recording. It sounds real."
"And you believed him?" Gavin asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. "Over James?"
"I—" My words stop. Why did believing the worst come so easily? Because it confirmed my deepest fears? Because it was easier to be angry than afraid? "I don't know."
"Do you believe it now?" Drew presses.
The question forces me to confront the hollowness in my stomach. "No,"Oh god, what did I do?"I think my father manipulated me. Again."
"So what will you do?" Drew asks.
"I don't know." The walls of the hallway suddenly seem too close. "James made it pretty clear he's done."
"People say things they don't mean when hurt," Gavin says. "Trust me, I'm an expert."
"Maybe. But I need to figure out what happened first, what my father did. What James did or didn't do."
Drew nods, understanding. "Take the time you need. We're here for both of you."
The support from these two, my frat brothers, hits me harder than I expected, a lifeline I didn't know I needed. For all my initial resistance to the idea of fraternity "brotherhood," it seems I've found something genuine here after all.
"Thanks." There is a lump choking my throat, and I'm not able to say more without maybe falling apart right here.
They seem to understand, retreating with promises to check in later. As they leave, I finally enter my room, closing the door on the world outside.
Alone at last, I sink onto my bed, and everything that happened today crashes over me in waves. James's face when I accused him. The hurt in his eyes giving way to cold anger. The finality in his voice when he told me to leave.
My phone buzzes with a text, and for a wild, hopeful moment, I think it might be James. But of course it's not.
Father
Let me know if you need anything, son. I'm here for you.
The careful concern and the strategic timing are all so perfectly calculated. He got exactly what he wanted. A terrible feeling burns up from my stomach like seven cups of coffee with no food, and a cold, clear anger fights against my sadness.
I see no reason to respond to the text. Instead, I pull up my contacts and find a different number, one for the family lawyer who handled my trust fund when I turned twenty-one. The one person with access to my father's records who doesn't report directly to him.
This isn't over. Not by a long shot. If my father manipulated us, there would be evidence. And I'm going to find it.
But as determined as I am, I can't shake the empty feeling underneath. Because even if I prove my dad lied, even if I clear James's name, I'm not sure it'll make a difference. Some things you say can't be taken back. Some doubts, once you put them out there, can't be erased.
I believed the worst of him. Didn't even question the recording, didn't ask for context, just went straight to James and blew everything up.
And here's the really pathetic part: it only took me twenty minutes after leaving to realize Father had manipulated me. Twenty minutes to remember that James doesn't give a shit about money, that he'd already told Father off once. Obviously, there was more to that conversation than what I heard.
But twenty minutes was too late. The damage was done. I'd already proven to James that I don't trust him, that I'm another Huntington waiting for everyone around me to betray me.
He was right about one thing: people from different worlds probably should stay in their lanes. Because apparently I can't spend five minutes in mine without turning into my father.
Chapter 26
Gingerbread Therapy
CALEB
Walking through the frat house is like navigating a minefield. Every conversation stops when I enter a room. Guys who normally punch my shoulder in greeting now nod solemnly, asking how I'm doing in hushed tones usually reserved for funeral homes. It's been two days since James and I broke up, and the entire fraternity is treating me like I might shatter at any moment.
It's exhausting.
