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“It’s—”

“Awful. I know.”

“No. It’s—”

“Stop.” I gesture to the coffee. “Got extra?”

It takes him a second to drag his eyes away from the abomination that is my head, to thrust the cup toward me. “Oh, it’s for you.”

I take the cup, feeling the heat burn through the paper. “Really.”

“I figured you probably had a hard night.”

I narrow my eyes at the word ‘hard,’ wondering if that’s a double entendre. He stares back blankly, and I sigh. “Why would you think that?”

“I went through Zeta Sig initiation, Reagan. It’s mid-gauntlet. I know what happens.”

Does he though? Does he know what I went through? A girl forced to watch twelve guys wank into a cup. A novelty cup from a discount store? My cheeks heat just thinking about it and tears prick in my eyes. At the time, it was about survival, but now…

“Hey,” he says, expression softening, “what is it?”

“Nothing.” I wipe at my eyes and stare at the floor.

His hands cup my face, and he tilts my chin upward. “Tell me what happened.”

“What’s the point? I didn’t get any proof, so why does it matter?”

“The more information we have, the better, Reagan. I need everything.”

I look past the glasses into the dark brown of his eyes. There’s not a trace of meanness there and, right or wrong, it makes me feel safe. This whole week is about bonding and brotherhood. I’ve never felt so disconnected and unstable.

Grayson brushes a tear off my cheek with his thumb and I tell him everything that has happened the last few days—well, the official things. I still haven’t told him about Miller knowing my identity. As I describe the cocktail, the muscle in the back of his jaw tightens. He seems repulsed, maybe a little angry. The more I talk, the more horrified I feel. God, how could I sit through that? Why didn’t I leave?

“It was disgusting,” I finish, leaving out the part about Miller making me masturbate.

“But Royer didn’t make you drink it?”

I shake my head. “No. They beat the time.” I laugh darkly. “Literally.”

He doesn’t laugh with me. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’ve heard about this ritual, but I always thought it was just an urban legend. It never happened in my four years at Zeta Sig.”

“You know Royer,” I say, “he wants to be the best at being terrible.”

“So far, it seems like he’s succeeding.”

“Well, it’s over. I survived one more day. Four more to go.” I take a sip of coffee. The liquid warms my stomach. I look up and see him watching me. “What?”

“You’re pretty brave, you know that?”

I’ve been called a lot of things, but brave isn’t one of them. “It doesn’t feel brave. Every time I don’t walk away, I feel like I’m the world’s biggest idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re strong, Reagan.” The wide curve of his hand cups the back of my head and rubs over the shorn hair. “And believe it or not, I like the hair.”

I squirm away from the sensation and roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really.” His eyes skim down my face. “You look badass and beautiful.”

The sincerity in his voice forces me to look at him, and his expression matches his tone. My skin prickles and the air in the room grows thin. I should step back. The space between us is a little too narrow, but my feet are glued in place.