“Dude, chill.” Charles, wearing a stupid lacrosse hoodie like always, grinned lazily at him. “Or does getting owned by a sixty-year-old make you a little uptight? Bet it sucks knowing your girl likes old dick better than yours.”
Mint dropped the tape dispenser. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
All the brothers laughed. They wereenjoyingthis, enjoying the sight of him laid low. They were wolves circling, eager to see the alpha ripped to shreds.
“I’ve gotta say, Garvey might have more game than Mint.” Trevor’s eyes sparkled. “He’s actually got afewgirls on rotation.”
“Damn,” said Palmer, a fuckingpledge. “Mint’s getting sloppy seconds from a teacher.”
Everyone laughed, a few of them so hard they dropped their decorations. Trevor pounded on the wall.
The fire inside Mint burst open, shooting him forward, but then his phone rang. It was his mom. He eyed it. Normally he wouldn’t pick up while he was with the guys, but lately every time she called it was some new emergency. And it was probably best to get the fuck out of here anyway.
He spun on his heels and flew out the front door, slamming it behind him, cutting off the sound of their laughter.
“Yeah, Mom,” he bit out. “I’m here.”
“Mark.” Instantly he knew something had happened. His mom’s voice was charged. He stopped in his tracks, in the middle of the street outside the frat house.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your father.” She took a deep breath. “We finally found him and told him about the takeover. He took it hard—”
“What takeover?”
“I’m taking control of the Minter Group. Me and Boone.” Boone—not the board member she’d cheated on his father with. There was no way this man would be allowed to take his father’s wife and his company. “The board passed a vote of no confidence in your father and ousted him this morning. It’s for the best. But—”
“When were you going to tell me?” Mint wasn’t proud of the way his voice cracked, but this couldn’t be happening.
His mother’s voice turned cold. “I’m telling you now, Mark. This is the apocalypse. You want a company to run one day? You want to inherit some goddamn money? Then you need me and Boone in charge. We’re the only ones who can fix the royal fuckup your father left us.”
“What happened to Dad? You said he took it hard.”
It was strange, really, how your entire life could change just like that, from one second to the next. And there was no fireworks show, no dramatic tilting of the world on its axis to signify how everything had suddenly flipped upside down, and nothing would ever be the same.
“I won’t sugarcoat it. Your father tried to kill himself last night. He took the coward’s way out.”
Mint was vaguely aware that he’d dropped to his knees in the street. That a car had swerved to avoid him, honking.
“How?” he whispered.
“An old-fashioned throw-yourself-out-the-window.” Her voice was grim. “Like a goddamn investment banker in the Depression. So dramatic. Don’t worry, he survived. Couldn’t even get that right.”
The world, spinning and spinning.
“You’re being quiet, Mark. Say something.”
He tried to speak but couldn’t get words out past the utter destruction, the firestorm of anger collapsing his chest.
“You can visit your father starting a week from now,” his mother said. “He’s in Mount Sinai. Send my assistant an email if you want to go, and she’ll book you a ticket—”
Mint snapped his phone shut and dropped it on the pavement.
He died right there on his knees, in the street in front of Phi Delt. The tidal wave of rage he’d been holding burned him to ashes, from the inside out. And so the person who staggered to his feet, who strode through the front door of the frat house, who grabbed Trevor Daly by the collar and lifted him nearly off the floor, who hit him, over and over, feeling the skin split under his knuckles, the bone snap, who ignored the hands pulling at his shirt, the raised voices, the shrill scream of the freshman pledge—that person was someone else, someone new, a creature born from fire.
Chapter 39
Now
