Thiago
The cold doesn’t bother me; I can't even feel it with how hot my blood is running. The wind slices through my blazer, as my eyes track my best friend… My brother.
“Ezra,” I grumble softly, my ears ringing, heat gathering at the tips. Ezra doesn’t acknowledge me even though I know he can hear me; instead, he storms off. He brushes past Elijah and Wyatt, who look just as confused as I feel.
Anger simmers deep inside me, reaching its boiling point at the lack of answers.
“EZRA!” I shout, my voice raw from rage.
And still he doesn’t turn; he continues to walk away from the field and away from me. My feet move my body without a second thought, catching up to him and tackling him into the cold, brittle ground. Just like when we were little boys, we wrestled through the grass, both gripping at each other’s shirts, tossing and turning through the space with no real intention of hurting one another.
“You think you get to walk away after that?” I hiss, fisting his collar, and once I get a good grip, I straddle him, bringing his nose to mine. My heart is hammering inside my chest, the adrenaline surge making me jittery, and my fingers shaky.
Ezra's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Let go, Thiago.”
Of course, I don’t.
I meet his glare with one of my own. June was part of us, raised side by side with us, and he kept this from me.Me. His brother. His best friend. My grip tightens painfully as I battle the urge to bash his face in. A bitter laugh escapes my lips.
“Why?” I ask in almost a whisper.
He opens his mouth to answer before slamming it back shut into a firm and thin line. The look in his eyes is enough to let me know he’s holding back something that could shatter both of us. I see it. Worst of all, I feel it, and it makes me want to scream.
I shove off him, my breathing coming in short, ragged breaths. My hair is disheveled, and my blazer is twisted all around my shoulders when I stand.
“You lied to me,” I say, my voice shaking from the anger I’m holding back. “You lied about June. About everything.”
Memories of that night slam into me—June leaving his dorm, bruises adorning her neck. The look of shame on Ezra's face when he stepped out of his shower to find me sitting on the corner of his bed. The room smelled of perfume and sex. I was naive to believe my best friend wouldn’t lie to me, but this is what this world turns us into. Liars. Deceptors. And if he lied about June, what else is he hiding? The worst part is that he doesn’t defend himself, and even worse, he doesn’t deny it.
He silently rises to his feet and adjusts his uniform before gliding past me without a glance. Dirt streaks the back of his blazer, and my gaze tracks each step he takes towards theparking lot. He heads to his car, like this is over. Newsflash, it’s not. Not even fucking close.
By the time he reaches his door, I’m hot on his heels, opening the passenger door alongside him. His eyes shoot up to mine, and a silent understanding transpires between us. He doesn’t fight me as I sit, nor does he say anything as he presses the start button and puts the car in gear.
The drive is quiet, with only the soft hum of the song, “Stop Crying Your Heart Out,” by Oasis. Even though he hasn't said a word, I can feel the tension roll off him in giant waves that take me under. His jaw is locked tight, his grip on the wheel even tighter. Moving my attention to the window, I watch the city blur past us in streaks of light and people. Everyone is so oblivious to the infection spreading through Coastal Bay. The corruption is making its way past the campus of Villalargos and bleeding into their lives. I want to scream to keep my hands from shaking, or maybe punch the dashboard until it cracks.
But instead, I sit in silence, letting the lyrics bleed into the strain between us.
Ezra pulls into these high-rise luxury apartments near the marina—a monument of everything people aspire to have. Something I learned to hate. Power, legacy, and control. And none of it a man like me can avoid. Ezra parks in the underground garage, and without a word, he gets out of the car. I follow.
The elevator ride is suffocating. Ezra stands on the opposite side of me, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes fixed on the glowing numbers while mine remain on him. I think to myself, when did he change? When did he become like them? Did I miss the signs? Or was it me that left him behind? My lip's part to speak just as the elevator comes to a stop, and with ading, the door slides open. Ezra pushes past me in a hurry, and I let out a deep sigh.
One that empties my lungs before following behind. We come to stop right in front of Peter’s door, and when it opens, Peter is already waiting, dressed to impress. A burgundy Armani tailored suit that hugs his athletic frame, Tom Ford glasses on his face that give him a sophisticated yet nerdy look, and a whiskey in his hand, despite it being too early to be drinking.
I guess it’s five o'clock somewhere.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he says as he takes me in. He studies me, not in a sexual way, but like a predator, still unsure if he can trust me or not.
“He followed me,” Ezra adds flatly, before brushing past Peter, who takes two steps back with a grin on his face.
“Uh oh, trouble in paradise?” he asks, shooting a playful look my way. I don’t respond; I only step inside. Peter’s place is everything I expected—tall windows, high ceilings, and marble floors that echo with every step. It’s sterile and soulless, like most of us. Ezra walks towards a door and opens it. Stepping inside, like he owns the place, and I trail behind. My fists clench at my side, and my pulse races with each step I take, feeling Peter’s eyes on us.
“I’m actually happy you both are here,” Peter begins as Ezra takes a seat, right in front of the mahogany desk, folding his leg over his knee. He waits like an obedient dog for Peter to continue talking, and that he does. “I’m sure you’re both wondering what Ezra is doing here.”
Yes, I am.
I mean, I wasn’t supposed to be here, but color me curious anyway. Peter takes a slow sip of the amber liquid in his hand, savoring it within his mouth before swallowing it. His lips curl into a devious grin before he sits behind his desk and rests his elbows on the smooth surface. There’s a dramatic pause as he studies us with curiosity. Peter raises a brow and proceeds to talk.
“I want a merger…. Consolidation of power,” he says, like we don’t already know that. Ezra scoffs; it’s a low and pitiful sound that Peter ignores. “I have a plan, but for that, we need to form alliances, which is why I need you both to help me get rid of a problem.”
