As I pluck at the hem of my jersey, guilt assails me. “How didn’t I know that?”
“The Rhos went out of their way to bury it with the dean’s assistance.”
“Why would a fraternity get involved in a cover-up?”
His lips quirk. “You’ve never been in a sorority, have you? It’s kinda their MO.
“But Dyers and Sanders’ daddies are alumni, big donors. They can make anything go away.”
I slump in my seat. “I hate this world sometimes.”
“Money talks,” he agrees. “But this kind of power is something else.”
“You know a lot about them, huh?”
“I’ve been approached as a legacy. My dad was a Rho.”
Something dark whispers into his tone. Bitterness. Hurt. Hatred.
“You won’t accept the invitation?”
“No. That’s not my scene.”
“Should you be talking about this?”
“Scared that the three ex-presidents who are also Rhos brothers might send special ops in to assassinate us?”
Ordinarily, I’d laugh.
But he’s still using that tone of voice…
“Maybe?” I squeak because he sounds serious, but… he can’t be. Right?
Slinging his arm behind the back of the seat beside him, he chortles at my discombobulation. “Sanders was silently moved to another school with an associate chapter, but Dyers’s potential meant Oakwood wanted him to stay here.”
“Potential? He sucks.”
“You’re only saying that because Zach, ergo you, doesn’t like him. His stats last season were pretty impressive.”
“Who says ‘ergo’ in a sentence?”
“Me.” He reaches for more popcorn and I let him.
“Sounds like you’re prime material for the Rhos.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“How is Dyers allowed on campus if he’s a sex offender? It’s not right.”
“One more strike and he’s out. NHL be damned.”
Fascinated, I ask, “Are the Rhos the bad guys?”
“Probably, if my dad was one of them.”
There’s a lot to unpack there, but unlike me, Callan doesn’t tend to overshare. “Any other zingers for me? What do you know about me?”
His grin’s sheepish. “Mostly what you already told me.”
