Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Oh, give me a break. I respect all of the guys. Still want to win every single game we play this year.”
We shower off, toss on some clothes, and I walk out onto campus with Weston.
“This is it, Rayne,” Weston says as our shoes crunch on leaves scattered on the walkway. “Shit started out crazy this year, but we’re going to change that.”
“I agree. We need a good week.”
“Want to watch a movie in the main room tonight? Just us? If the other guys come in we’ll tell them we need our private time.”
I laugh and give him a shove. “For a straight guy, you’re more loyal than my own ex-boyfriend was.”
“How is shit with Mikael, by the way? Heard from his punk ass lately?”
“No,” I say, staring up at the trees. “I hope I never have to talk to him again.”
And I sure as fuck hope he doesn’t talk to you, after seeing my tongue in your brother’s mouth.
Luckily Mikael doesn’t ever talk to Wes, and neither does Tara.
My footsteps crunch over a few leaves on the sidewalk.
The leaves are just starting to change for the season. Green maple leaves are starting to become tinged with yellow and gold at the edges.
I can feel fall coming in the air, too.
It even smells different, at this time of the year.
Maybe it’s the smell of the leaves themselves, or maybe there’s just somebody grilling far off. But autumn always has its own scent.
“Hey. Uh, Rayne?” Wes says.
“What’s up?”
When I look over at Weston, I can tell he’s waiting to talk.
He looks hesitant, for some reason.
“I knew Mikael was wrong for you,” Weston finally says. “I should have warned you at the time. But I didn’t want you to…”
I lift my eyebrow as he trails off. “Want me to what?”
He sighs. “Didn’t want you to think I was butting in on your first real relationship.”
My heart aches a little, hearing him say it. “Wes.”
“What?”
“You’re too nice to me.”
He pauses again for a while, then shakes his head. “I just want what’s best for you. I always have. Since you were twelve years old and wearing those fucking shoes with holes in them.”
I remember it well.
Weston noticed, even when he was a kid, that I hadn’t gotten new shoes in way too long. My feet were still growing at the time, and one day, Wes showed up to school with a pristine shoebox with new ones inside.
A gift for me, for no reason.
Other than the fact that even as a twelve-year-old, Weston had access to more money than most adults ever do.
My heart goes heavy in my chest, thinking about what I found out in the computer lab earlier.
Honesty before everything.
Weston should know.
I want to say something about what I discovered.
I want to tell him that Hunter had ties to a fucking mafia family in London, because I usually tell Weston everything.
But every time I think I’m about to say it, I stop myself.
I don’t know why.
“Air’s starting to get chilly,” I say to him.
I’m next to my best friend in the world and now all I can talk about is the weather.
“I like it cold.”
I hum. “I don’t mind it, either.”
“Yeah. I know. I’ve watched you pelt people with snowballs enough to know you’re a pretty big fan of the colder season.”
I snort.
For a while, we lapse back into an unusual silence. Usually Weston and I never shut up when we’re together. The sound of the quad fills the space, and I listen to the snippets of conversation from other students walking by. A bird’s caw-caw, in some tree up above.
But there’s a question rattling around in me.
One that’s been growing with every passing day this year.
“Wes,” I finally say, focusing my eyes across the quad, looking at the old stone Economics building rather than looking over at him.
“Yeah?”
“Why weren’t you ever close with your brother?”
It feels weird asking. Even as a kid, I stayed out of whatever went on between them.
I was willing to throw punches for Weston, but we didn’t usually broach emotional subjects.
“You’ve met Hunter. Isn’t it obvious?” Weston says.
“I know he’s… intense.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Weston’s silent again for a while, and I can’t help but think of what Hunter said to me the other day.
You accept my brother’s condescending bullshit for a lifetime.
I’d never thought of Weston as condescending at all, but it was true that I had always gone along with him, rather than the other way around.
When we used to hang out, it was at his house.
Which was big, lavish, and practically a mansion compared to the tiny apartment where I used to live with my mom.
Weston played football, so I started playing it too, way back in middle school. He was also the one who was dead-set on going to Crimson College and joining Onyx.