Page 38

RILEY

The bass from Collins’ speakers thumps hard enough to shake the floor beneath my feet. I’m clutching a Red Solo Cup filled with something fruity and suspiciously strong, hanging out with Imani and Katerina, who are already tipsy. The party is packed with bodies weaving in and out of the small living room that’s more like a sardine can lit with a teen boy’s attempt at mood lighting.

Imani’s wild curls bounce as she dances enthusiastically with Malik. Katerina is in mid-argument with some guy whose name I can’t remember, and she’s totally not interested in. I don’t know why she’s bothering to waste her breath.

Meanwhile, I’m hanging back near the makeshift snack table, fighting the urge to flee. I should be at home studying or making a new Icing the Cake edit that will bring in some more funds, not wasting my time at a party for someone I don’t even know well for the sake of being social.

“Riley!” Imani waves me over, her eyes bright from either alcohol or excitement, or both. She really is like a butterfly, flitting from place to place, bringing joy with her beauty and inner radiance. Be more like Imani, I think to myself. But it’s not as simple as that.

I shake my head subtly, forcing a smile. “I’m good here!”

It’s not like I’m avoiding my friends. It’s just... complicated. The Draytons are here somewhere, and as much as I want to find them, I know I can’t. Not tonight. We agreed to keep our relationship on the down-low, at least until we’re ready to come out as a poly group. Even though there have been others on campus with relationships like ours in previous years, even large groups, I’m not ready to deal with being the focus of the rumor mill. More importantly, the boys can’t risk any scandal, particularly after Shawn’s indiscreet photo debacle. All eyes are on them, and witnessing how quickly that image made it from some underground R-rated puck-bunny site to mass social media is humbling.

Our actions can ruin our futures, and preserving our privacy has to be a top priority.

I shiver at the memory of seeing the image of Shawn with two other girls for the first time, raw and unfiltered. The jealousy was like a punch to the gut that elicited an internal cry for violence so strong that it shook the fabric of my self-perception. I didn’t think I was the kind of girl who would ever declare that I’d fight for my man. Turns out, I’m a girl who’d scalp and dismember for my man, gouge eyes, and bitch-slap anyone who dared to claim him. I’m still reeling at the revelation.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of what we have in any way. When we’re together, it’s beautiful. All the amazing things about a relationship with one man are magnified by three. They’re good men: kind, caring, funny, protective, intelligent, affectionate, loving, even. The way I feel about them, all soft and gooey inside, has taken me by surprise in the best possible way, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of how people will judge us, or me, more specifically.

Men can get away with a lot that women can’t, and even though it’s wrong, I don’t want something so good to affect us all negatively.

Even so, knowing they’re here and not being able to touch them sucks balls. I want my man candy so badly, and no amount of drinking or dancing is going to pull me out of my funk.

“What do you think of the party?”

The voice comes from behind me, and I turn as Bryan Forester approaches, his smirk too cocky, his gaze lingering a little too long.

“It’s fine,” I reply, taking a step back to put some space between us. My gaze drops to his hands, which held me so tightly at that stupid frat party and refused to let me go.

“Just fine?” He leans in, lowering his voice. “Where’s Hayes? I thought I saw him around somewhere. How come he’s left you out here all alone?”

“I’m here with my friends,” I say sharply, my pulse quickening like my instincts have detected something worth fearing.

“Right.” He chuckles, but it’s not a pleasant sound. It’s more of a grating of metal on metal in an engine that’s unaligned. “Friends. Sure.”

Before I can respond, the air shifts. A loud voice cuts through the noise, and I glance toward the center of the room, my stomach lifting, then dropping.

It’s Shawn, and he has his arm around Malik’s neck. They’re tipping their heads back to sing along to the music and laughing raucously, making it obvious that they’re both drunk.

Malik’s gaze sweeps across me and then returns as he notices Forester standing close. “Hey, Riley. Get over here.” I wave my hand back and forth to indicate I’m all right because I’m nowhere near drunk enough to get in the middle of the mess on the dancefloor, and in that state, Shawn is likely to forget that we’re not kissing and hugging in public, but Malik isn’t having any of it. “Riley, get your ass over here,” he yells. And then to Shawn, he says, “Have you seen Riley’s ass, dude? It’s fucking poetry.” The other men erupt into whoops and raucous laughter, and I freeze, my cheeks flaming as I watch Shawn shove Malik’s shoulder, his movements jerky and unsteady. It’s a kind of a jokey, friendly warning, but one that has the capacity to easily flip into something more.

“Don’t fucking talk about her ass, man,” he slurs.

“Hey, dude.” Malik raises his hand, palms out, his eyes wide. “Riles is cool. She knows I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Don’t talk about her ass, man,” he repeats, his attention laser-focused on a confused Malik. All his usual humor has left him, and he’s braced like Jacob would be for a fight.

“You got something going on with her I don’t know about?” Malik asks. “Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes.”

“I thought you were with Hayes.” Forester doesn’t look at me but watches Shawn with a fox’s smile.

“I’m none of your fucking business.” I step aside to put some distance between us, but Forester sidesteps so he’s close enough to talk to me again.

“You the meat in some kind of Drayton sandwich?” he asks, his grin even slyer with the edge of cunning that contracts his cheeks, almost grimace-like.

Before I can answer, Jacob and Hayes are there, holding Shawn’s shoulders with gentle warning. I don’t understand what’s going on. Sweet, funny, chilled-out Shawn has turned into a possessive alpha with a few beers in his system, a few beers, and the lingering guilt of the explicit photos. If he’s worried about making it up to me, defending my honor like a caveman isn’t the way.

“She’s not just a fucking ass, Malik,” Shawn slurs, pointing a wobbly finger at him. “She’s. Mine.” Then, realizing his brothers are there, he quickly corrects himself. “Ours.”

Malik’s nervous laughter dies instantly, and Forester’s begins, deep, rumbling, and pleased. So pleased it makes me sick to my stomach because the reality is, Shawn’s drunken confession wouldn’t have mattered if it was just our friends here, but Forester’s been looking for a way to get back at Hayes and me since the first frat party where he was forced to let me go.

And now he has his chance.

Malik, coming back to himself, laughs again, waiting for Shawn to confirm he’s joking, and this has all been a huge prank, but he doesn’t, and Hayes’ eyes find mine, filled with regret and apology. He has nothing to apologize for, but it doesn’t matter. What is now out in the open is going to affect us all. I knew I should have stayed at home tonight.

Malik looks stunned for half a second before barking out a laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

But before Shawn can answer, Forester’s grin widens like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Oh, this is gold.”

“Shut your mouth, Forester,” Shawn snaps, but it’s too late.

Forester’s already pulling out his phone, his fingers moving over the screen. “People are gonna eat this shit up.”

My breath catches, panic clawing its way up my throat.

Shawn struggles to release himself from his brothers’ grip, but they hold on tightly as he realizes in increments what he’s done, and his fierceness shrinks before my eyes.

The damage is done. People are whispering, their gazes flicking between Shawn and me, trying to piece together the scandal in real time.

I don’t wait for more. I can’t. I push my way through the crowd, ignoring the looks and the murmurs, fighting the threat of tears.

***

By the time I make it home, my tears have dried, and a cool sense of inevitability has replaced my initial swell of mortification. I tell myself our secret would have had to come out one day, and gossip has a way of rising like the tide and retreating just as fast. We might be a source of fascination for a while, but we’ll become boring in time. That’s just the way of the world.

I messaged on our group chat to let them know I’m okay, and Hayes tried to call me, but I couldn’t pick up. I’m not mad, but too frazzled to go over what happened before I’ve had some time to process.

I turn the key in the lock and step inside, finding the apartment quiet. It’s late, and Dad has a routine where he’s in bed by ten most days. I head to the kitchen for a drink and find my father perched at the counter with his phone in his hands. He’s dressed in his pajamas, ready for bed, and the TV is on, muted, so it’s clear he wasn’t watching it. When he turns, his expression is grim.

Shit. Shit. Double shit. With a fucking cherry on top.

Does he know? I don’t want to have this conversation right now.

“Riley,” he says, his tone heavy with disappointment.

I pause in the doorway, my heart sinking. “What?” Please let this be about the state of my bedroom or that he picked up one of my romance books and realized how much sex was in it. Please be something about the state of my grades.

“You know I follow the Eastern sports social media channels, and some of the players.”

The sinking sensation turns into a plummet.

My diaphragm freezes, stalling my breathing, my whole body taut.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true, Dad?”

“Are you involved with all the Draytons? Because the internet thinks you are, and they have an opinion on it.”

I cringe, my face heating. Words form and die before I can utter them because how does a person explain to their father that they’re dating not one, not two, but three of the men they used to call son?

“Is it true?” he repeats.

I could lie. Maybe I should. But what would be the point? I have to tell him eventually unless I decide to break it off, but even the thought of not being with Hayes, Jacob, and Shawn is too hard for me to take without wincing in pain.

“Yes.” I whisper.

“How?” His expression is wide with incredulity, and he shifts to the edge of the stool, waiting for my answer.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, after all. “We didn’t plan it, but something was there… like we recognized each other and the rightness between us.”

“You recognized each other because you knew each other,” he says. “This… it can’t be real, Riley. What you’re chasing is an echo of the past. The links you formed when you were tenderly aged, confused into something…”

He doesn’t say ‘more sordid,’ but that’s how my mind completes his sentence.

“It isn’t, Dad,” I say. “It’s real.”

“Real.” He shakes his head. “When you get to my age, you realize that not much is real . Mostly, we’re tricked by our hormones, and being in a certain place at a certain time with wants and needs that another person works out how to satisfy.”

He’s not talking about sex, but he must realize how he sounds because color leaches from his face, leaving him palid and still.

“It’s not like that,” I say, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak. “We’ve found something. Something good.”

“Relationships are hard, Riley. They’re hard with two grown-up people working at them, let alone four kids.”

“We’re not kids,” I say, feeling very childlike, standing in my father’s kitchen, getting reprimanded for not being sensible enough.

“You’re kids,” he says. “And those boys… they’ve been through a lot. They lost their family… maybe they’re looking for something to replace it.”

“You’re saying they’re using me as an emotional crutch?”

The suggestion hurts, but an echo of truth takes me by surprise. Is that what our relationship is based on? Their need to replace something they lost. My need to reclaim something I wanted in the past and couldn’t have.

Maybe it is. And maybe that’s okay. Human beings aren’t islands. We can’t exist in a vortex without emotion. We need connection, love, and unity to base our lives on. We need a strong foundation and people we can rely on. If I’m that person for Jacob, Shawn, and Hayes, then I’m happy because they’re returning that stability and affection in droves.

“We care about each other, Dad. We care about each other so much.”

“Then you still have time to walk away,” he says. “Before care turns to love, and it’s too late.”

Walk away? The suggestion is like a knife to my soul. “NO.”

Dad flinches and presses a hand flat onto the counter. “Will they fight for you as hard as you’re fighting for them?” he asks. “Because where are they? When you’re all splashed over the internet, where are they?”

“I left them at a party. I needed some time.”

“And they let you leave.” He shakes his head. “When the going gets tough—”

“They haven’t gone anywhere,” I interrupt. “None of us intended for this to become common knowledge. Not now, anyway.”

“And the pictures of Shawn?”

“From before we got together,” I say. At least that softens Dad’s expression. He must have thought that Shawn was being unfaithful.

“Riley, I’m not saying they’re bad guys. But this? It’s messy. Complicated. And you’re the one taking the brunt of it.”

He must have read the comments, and as I predicted, it’s going to be me who takes the hit. For Shawn, two women in his bed made him a stud to be celebrated, even revered. Me having three men in mine is about to unleash the full weight of hell’s judgment.

I look away, his words sinking in like stones.

“Just... think about it,” he says, standing. “Think about whether this is worth it. Because if it’s not, you need to walk away before it hurts you more than it already has.”

***

In my room, the weight of his words presses down on me. I risk a look at social media and find everything I expected. The speculation. The vitriol. The disgust.

“This is gross. I can’t believe the university is letting this slide. They’re supposed to be role models.”

“Three brothers and one girl? Sounds like a recipe for disaster. Hope they’re ready for the fallout.”

“Riley playing 4D chess while the rest of us are stuck on Tinder.”

“The Draytons out here proving teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Anyone else thinking how stretched out she must be?”

“Coochie like a wizard’s sleeve.”

I cringe, mortified that my vagina is now the subject of speculation. And worse, there’s footage of Hayes and Forester facing off, and barely avoiding physical violence. There were too many people on both sides who stopped it before it could escalate.

My ego is bruised, and the varnish that protected our relationship has been well and truly tarnished.

The love, the connection, the passion with the Draytons is real, but so is the scrutiny, the judgment, and the whispers that’ll follow me.

It takes a long time for me to find sleep.