I hadn't thought about that in years and the memory made me smile. "The one where you capsized the Sunfish?"
"I capsized it on purpose. Lockwood was being an asshole about who got to skipper and I decided if I couldn't have it, nobody could." He grinned. "Your dad was furious. My dad thought it was hilarious."
I nodded and started to laugh. "And your dad bought the yacht club a new Sunfish."
"That's how Caldwells apologize." His grin faded. "Remember the bonfire? You and me snuck out of the cabin and sat on the dock and you told me you hated sailing but you'd never tell your dad."
"I remember."
"That was the first time you ever told me something real." His voice had gone softer. Not the Marcus who made cutting remarks and traded in casual cruelty. The other one—the one who'd been my friend since we were eight. "I miss that, man. When it was simple. When we were just kids and the biggest problem was who got to steer the boat."
Something ached in my chest. Because he meant it. I could see it in his face—genuine nostalgia, genuine loss. Marcus wasn't performing sadness. He was actually sad.
"I miss it too," I said. And I meant it—not for what our friendship had become, but for what it used to be. Before Marcus learned cruelty from his father's world. Before I learned to perform from mine.
"Things got complicated," Marcus said.
"Yeah. They did."
He nodded. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. About the party. What I said about Remy. All of it."
I studied him. Looking for the angle, the play. And I couldn't find it.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't make it weird. I'm still an asshole. I'm just an asshole who's trying."
Marcus retreated back to his seat and rejoined a conversation with some of the other Kingswell guys. I wasn't sure of what to make of it.
Down the table, Hale was talking to one of the Riverside assistant coaches. I caught a fragment—"if they can do that in a double, imagine what we could build around that chemistry next season—" The rest was lost under Tyler's laughter.
The dinner wound down. Tabs settled, jackets grabbed. The two squads filtering out—some heading to bars, some heading back to campus.
Liam passed me in the doorway. Then kept walking. Not toward the bridge—toward the side of the building, away from the streetlight, where the brick wall met a narrow alley that led to the parking lot.
I followed. Couldn't help it.
He was leaning against the wall when I rounded the corner. Arms crossed. The cold air turning his breath to fog. He looked up when he saw me.
"Hey," he said. Soft. The real voice.
"Hey."
We stood there. The restaurant noise muffled behind us. The sidewalk empty. A streetlight buzzing twenty feet away, casting the alley in dim orange.
"What was that with Marcus?" Liam asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I saw you two. Laughing. Talking. He was sitting right next to you for like twenty minutes."
"It was nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing."
"He was just—" I stopped. Tried to figure out how to explain Marcus Caldwell being human for fifteen minutes without itsounding like I was defending him. "He was trying to make up with me, I guess. Apologized about the party. About Remy. Talked about when we were kids."
Liam's eyes went flat. "And you believe him?"
