My brow hikes up, a little baffled by this revelation. Not that he’s failing a class—I don’t think I’ve seen the guy carry a textbook in the year I’ve lived with him. It’s just weird he’s coming tomefor help with this.
“Okay…” I say slowly, still processing his request. “But doesn’t the team have some kind of tutor you have access to for this kinda thing?”
He runs his fingers through his hair and shrugs. “Yeah, I tried that freshman year, and it didn’t really work for me.”
“So what makes you think I can help you if they can’t?”
There’s a beat where Camden chews on the corner of his lip, appearing more nervous wreck than cocky D1 athlete, before he finally ignites my fuse.
“Well, Oakley mentioned you were good at the SATs and said maybe you could help.”
A sardonic laugh slips out, and I shake my head. Leave it to my brother to be a pain in my ass all the way from New YorkCity. Because, somehow, it always comes back around to Oakley.
And it’s enough to set me off.
“The SATs are different from college course exams.”
“I know, but—”
“Not to mention, we don’t take any of the same classes,” I cut in harshly. “Then there’s the fact that I’m two years behind you in school, so if it’s a higher level class, how the hell would I even know the material?”
“It’s Intro to Philosophy, so—”
“And let’s not forget,” I continue, on a roll with my heightened frustration morphing into anger, “I’ve lived in the same house as you for over a year now. I know exactly how you operate: sleeping around and partying rather than putting any effort into studying. So, no. Despite what my brother might think, even if I could help, I’m not going to. But I am gonna offer you a piece of advice, assuming your room-temperature IQ can process it: Stop acting like a fuckboy Neanderthal who only thinks about food, hockey, and getting laid, and maybe try rubbing your two brain cells together for classwork instead.”
Silence falls over us, quiet enough I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my chest from the verbal dressing down I just gave him. Somewhere in the middle of it, I became aware it may have been a little too ruthless; I just didn’t have it in me to stop. Because fuck him, fuck my brother, and fuck all of these people who treat them like gods on Earth—bending over backward to indulge them just because…what? They can skate around on ice with a stick and rubber disk?
It’s bullshit, and I refuse to play a part in it.
Unfortunately, my anger only lasts so long, and the second the haze of red leaves my vision, I catch Camden’s crestfallen expression from where he’s still standing across my room. I wish it made me feel the slightest bit better to see Leighton’s star goalie turn into nothing more than a kicked puppy before myeyes—knowing he’s finally gotten a taste of what it’s like to be treated as mere mortal—but my stomach drops instead.
The silence ticks on for a few more moments, our gazes locked on each other, before he finally speaks, calmly, in barely more than a whisper.
“I might not be the smartest person. I know that. Been called stupid, dumb, every other name in the book. But even a Neanderthal with two brain cells still has feelings.”
Shit.
Guilt swarms my gut like angry wasps around a nest, and though it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, my instinct is to retract my previous sentiments.
“Look, I didn’t—”
“You did, actually.” The words are clipped, though his voice remains soft. His attention shifts away from me, and he shakes his head. “Just forget I asked, all right?”
With that, he drags my door open, steps into the hall, and gently closes the door behind him.
And I’m left staring at the spot he disappeared from, feeling like a complete dick.
Three
Logan
“What crawled up your ass and died?”
I glance over my shoulder from my place on the couch later that evening to find one of my roommates, Willow, coming up from the basement. She’s rather done-up for a Monday night—her hair curled around her shoulders and wearing a full face of makeup—when she drops down on the couch beside me.
“What makes you say that?”
“The stank face you’re making right now, for one,” she says, twirling a manicured finger at me. “And two, because you’ve been sitting in that exact same position since I got home two hours ago.”
