The Jekyll house is where we celebrated our impending adulthood: me, Clemmie, Grant, all our friends. The freedom was so close, tasted prematurely sweet; I didn’t know what I was going to do yet, but I knew with everyone else starting college I’d have the time to figure it out. It’s how I ended up in California, how I ended up at Francis College; it’s how I wound up in Elliot’s seminar just a few years later.
Impulsively, I open my school inbox like I’ll find evidence of him. An old syllabus, maybe one of the dry emails he sent me before things changed between us. Clementine deleted all of it, so all I find are the unread messages that remind me I haven’t logged any activity and am at risk of expulsion. I scrollthrough them, annoyed at their incessance, before stopping at an out of place subject line.
LET’S TALK
I’ve never seen the e-mail address—[email protected]—but the tone feels overtly familiar. My finger hovers over the message for a second before I realize “the journal” isThe Journal, a national news publication, and swipe to delete it. The press can kiss my ass; talking to them is the last thing I would ever gift those nosy idiots.
“Can you?” Grant asks, nodding to the window noisily leaking salty air into his pristine car. One hand on the stereo dial, he turns the music to a dull murmur as the street lights glitter against the otherwise dark road. “Promise me—” he starts to say, but I already know.
“Iwon’tflirt with any of your little boyfriends?—”
“Teammates,” Grant corrects, his voice stern as he stares at the long winding path that takes us to whatever restaurant this ‘team dinner’ is at. I was surprised when he invited me. Typically, Grant is what some may describe as private. Because I call it like I see it, I know he’s just got a stick up his ass.
I assess his profile, studying him like the angle of his brow might tell me if he knows that I saw Andy the other night. Not that it should matter, because nothing happened.
“Already had this conversation, remember?” I clear my throat.. “So…what am I walkin’ into? Are the Lions a house divided?” I jeer, only for his jaw to twitch. Hehatesconflict.
The car jolts against the onset of cobblestone as he pulls in a heavy sigh, rotating his head like he needs to crack his neck. “You could say that.”
I can just see it: the loyalists standing by Will versus the traitors who hopped at the chance to be on Ben’s good side.
“But they’re brothers? Maybe your coach should make them do therapy. Actually—” I turn in my seat. “—you guys should go on a retreat! Wait, I could plan it. I’ve got nothin’ better to do. There’s this?—”
“Sloane. Please.” My brother shakes his head, a tired chuckle escaping him as he drags a hand down his face. “Look, when we get to this dinner please just…be cool. Don’t be…you know.” He raises his eyebrows sarcastically.
“No. I don’t know. Please, enlighten me.” I cross my arms over my seatbelt in defiance even though I do know. I have a way of stirring shit up, and while Grant sees it as one of my more unfortunate qualities, I have found that meddling is usually pretty helpful. If I hadn’t texted Gen,for example, Grant would’ve still been secretly pining over her.
“Just don’t talk to anyone.” He nods to himself as if this will solve his problem and I gasp a laugh.
“You want me to sit at a table, with your entire team, and not say a word?”
“If only…” he says wistfully, giving me a smile, and I punch him in the arm. “For real, though. Don’t leave with any of them—we had a deal.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes.
“Your bar for me is really that low?”
I know I shouldn’t be offended because technically I’ve done it before. Slept with his teammates.Thoughtabout sleeping with his current teammate—but I didn’t.
“The bar’s in hell, Sloane.” With that he turns into a busy parking lot, many a sports car parked precariously in spaces that verge on too small. It could be a luxury dealership.
“Don’t forget your jacket.” His voice is firm as we step into the cool October air.
“Jacket?” I wince, because no, I did not bring a jacket tocover up the short red dress I have on. It honestly didn’t even occur to me.
“Christ,” he grumbles, and I roll my eyes, linking my arm with his.
“I promise to be good.” I nod, smiling politely as if the option to be anything but is completely out of the question.
“No, Grant is actually the best roommate. It’s like living with a house keeper. I swear, I didn’t have to touch a dish the entire time we lived together.” Ben’s smile is wide as we both take turns making jabs at my brother.
“I promise you he was secretly resentin’ you the entire time. Just wouldn’t say anything because he’s a big ol’ baby.” I poke Grant’s forearm and he makes a dramaticha hasound, but I can tell he doesn’t mind our teasing.
“Okay fair, fair. But he didn’t think I was that bad, did he?” Ben’s hands are up in surrender.
“Sure, if you don’t count the time you vanished out of thin air only to come back years later, like nothin’ happened,” I say, scooping artichoke dip onto a chip with precision.
Grant stills, his drink mid air, and I feel him side eye me for saying too much. Ben pauses for a second too, the air heavy, almost suffocating, before he finally barrels over with laughter. Grant snorts a laugh, whiskey coming out of his nose. I shriek as the liquid drips all over our bread plates and all three of us, plus a few of the other team’s members, die of laughter, the sound wrapping around me like a hug. For the life of me, I don’t know what he was so worried about, and I make a mental note to thank him for including me in this later.
