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TWENTY-SEVEN

SILAS

L evi and Kai’s bikes aren’t in the driveway when I jog back to the manor. They must’ve gone out riding together—probably to blow off some steam. I push open the heavy front door, the familiar creak echoing in the empty house, and lock it behind me. I head up the stairs, flipping on the light switch as I go, leaving it on for Dayton and Sable whenever they get back from the library.

I didn’t mean to interrupt them, but I hate being the third wheel sometimes.

And it’s fun to ruffle some feathers.

Things have been tense behind the scenes ever since the allegations against Levi came out. It’s like a storm brewing on the horizon, and no one knows when it’s going to hit. I called my father yesterday, hoping he’d have some answers, but he refused to tell me much. Typical. Always keeping me in the dark, like I’m still some kid who can’t handle the truth. But after talking to Levi, I know in my gut it’s not him. It can’t be. Levi’s Dayton’s stepbrother, and Dayton’s basic blood to me. If Levi was responsible for terrorizing an entire school, I’d know.

Hell, I’d be pissed if I wasn’t part of it.

But we aren’t murderers.

Terrorists, debatable.

The truth is, we are the Horsemen. Not because we bring destruction or death, but because we’re a force to be reckoned with. The four of us—Levi, Kai, Dayton, and me—we’re unstoppable. Sure, Dayton and I kill it on the lacrosse field, but it’s more than that. Each of us has something to bring to the table, something that makes us stronger together. It’s why our frat is the most respected in all of AGU. Even with the president of PSI being the son of the actual President of the United States.

The guy walks around like he owns the place, with the secret service tailing him and his sister like shadows.

They pretend not to notice, but I see them.

I see everything.

I push open the door to my room and immediately kick off my sneakers, letting them land wherever. My feet burn from the seven miles I just ran, the muscles aching in a way that’s both satisfying and painful.

“Ugh, Fuck.” I groan, stepping in front of the mirror.

I’m fucking deteriorating.

My hair is a sweaty mess, plastered to my forehead. I blink hard, trying to clear the grit from my eyes, but the exhaustion is bone-deep, and no amount of blinking is going to fix that. Every muscle in my body screams as I pull off my shirt, the pain in my shoulder flaring up instantly. It’s a reminder of how broken I am. The fights have been taking their toll, and I know I shouldn’t push it. I could end up worsening the injury, maybe even needing a total shoulder replacement. But what does it matter? I can’t play lacrosse anymore, so if I want to punch the shit out of some asshats to feel something, then I’m going to do it.

I sit on the edge of my bed and reach up to massage my shoulder, trying to ease the tension that’s settled there like a permanent weight. Today was supposed to be a rest day, so I stuck to light cardio, but even that was a struggle.

I’m fucking broken .

I sink back onto the bed, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, cradling my head in my hands. I shouldn’t have listened to Coach during that game. I should’ve done what Kane, our captain, expected me to do—what I knew was right. But for once, I listened to Coach, and it cost me everything. My entire career, gone in an instant because of one bad decision. Lacrosse was my haven, the one thing that let me escape the suffocating responsibilities of being a Morgan.

Now, with Dayton gearing up for practice every day in a few months, what am I supposed to do?

Sit here?

Manage the team like Coach suggested a month ago?

Be the fucking equipment bitch?

I have a year and a half of freedom before I am shackled by my last name to my father, and I couldn’t feel less free at this moment.

I close my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they keep coming, relentless. I think about Levi and Kai out there on their bikes, Dayton and Sable together at the library, and me—alone in this room, falling apart piece by piece. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything’s fine. I don’t know if I even want to.

But I do know one thing: I’m not going to let this be the end of me. I’ve been through too much, fought too hard to let this injury define me. I’m going to figure out a way through this, even if it means reinventing myself completely. Because the alternative—the thought of being nothing more than a broken athlete—isn’t something I can live with.

So, I’ll keep fighting.

Because that’s what Horsemen do.

We fight. And we win.

Even if it kills us.