Page 7

M y body’s aching as I roll out of bed this morning. The pain is doing little to kill the immediate thoughts of Alora, who has seemed to permeate more of my mind than I’d ever like to admit.

God, it would be so much better for the both of us if she stuck to her corner of the world and I to mine. This campus is big—big enough for us to not see each other as much as we have.

And now Asher is inviting her to a party at the Kensington mansion. Another part of my world that she’s forcing herself into.

But I highly doubt she’s going to show up. She never went to any of the hockey parties in high school, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed. Even though she clearly has.

This new attitude of hers needs to be checked. She thinks she can call this her game . She’s sorely mistaken.

I might have let her get away with that comment, but only because I haven’t decided if I want my teammates to know our real history. Of how badly I tormented her.

My teammates mean a lot to me—more than I ever expected. They’ve become my family in a sense, and I don’t want them to look at me poorly because of what I did to her.

But even I have a breaking point, and she does not want to shove me over the edge. At some point, I’m not going to give a fuck who knows what if she keeps pushing me.

There is a knot in my chest that appeared when I saw her again. One that won’t leave, no matter how hard I will it away. It’s fucking suffocating.

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Griffin pounds his fist on the door as he walks past my room.

Tapping the screen on my phone, I see just how right he is. Shit, we should have left, like, five minutes ago.

Rushing across the room, I grab one of my Legends hoodies and black joggers, quickly slipping on boxers and socks before putting on the rest.

After stepping into a pair of sneakers, I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my black hair. When I glance in the mirror for a brief second, my breath catches in my throat, slicing my heart with shards of glass.

The light-purple gaze glaring back at me has become one I don’t often look at.

They say having purple eyes is a rarity, something saved for less than one percent. Yet, somehow, my brother and I have the same eyes. And every time I look in the mirror, all I see is him. A memory, a ghost of what he looked like. I can’t see myself without seeing him, and I can’t bear to look upon his image without feeling like the world around me is going to crash and burn.

Tearing my attention away from my reflection, I stride across my room, grabbing my backpack and tossing a black T-shirt inside for after weight lifting.

Heading out of the room, I throw my door open.

“I’m coming!” I shout loudly, hoping it manages to travel through this stupidly large house to him.

Traveling down the long, winding hallway of the lower level of the east wing, I climb the few steps that lead me into the grand foyer, finding Blair and Griffin waiting for me near the front door.

“About fucking time. Sleep through your alarms?” Griffin asks, spinning his keys in his hand.

Lifting my hands up as I approach the front door where they’re standing, I plead my case. “Yes. But to be fair, if your house wasn’t gigantic and it didn’t take me ten minutes to get from my room to the front door, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

He opens the door, and we step out into the sunny day, the warmth happily welcomed. “So, you’re blaming your irresponsibility on the fact that my house—which you’re staying in for free—is too big ?”

Clicking my tongue, I wink at him. “Yeah. Of course. It could never be my fault.”

He laughs. “It never is, is it?”

“Now you’re catching on.” I chuckle, sliding into the back seat of his pickup.

Blair hops in the front, and Griffin gets in the driver’s seat.

I don’t typically ride to campus with them, but since there’s a party tonight, I didn’t want to have to worry about my car and getting it home.

“Ready for our first day in World History?” Blair asks the both of us.

“Nope. But it’s a good thing I have a really smart and hot girlfriend to be excited for me.” Griffin lifts their intertwined hands and kisses her fingers.

“You know what? I’ll just walk.” I groan.

Griffin turns his head and blinks rapidly with a straight face, calling my bluff.

“Shut up and drive.” I flip him off, and he turns back around chuckling.

This is really the first time that I’ve seen Blair since my Alora run-in, and I think of the words that Alora muttered to Asher.

“Hey, Blair. Question for you.” I sit up further, positioning myself between the two front seats as Griffin starts driving out of his private driveway.

“Oh God,” she murmurs, and Griffin laughs. “What’s up?”

“First off, rude. Secondly, do you know a girl named Alora?” My palms begin to sweat, and my body feels oddly uncomfortable when I say her name aloud.

Like talking about her with my closest friends is causing my body to have some kind of allergic reaction.

Blair turns her head, squinting and studying me for a moment, clearly deciding how she wants to answer my question. “Y-yes. I have a class with her. Why?”

“Don’t look so nervous. I was just curious.” With my hands planted on both of their seats, I push myself back until I hit the backrest.

She spins fully around in her seat, her eyebrows pinched tightly together. “Nothing with you is ever so simple. Why are you curious?” She sighs. “Malik, she seems so sweet, and I don’t want you to toy with her.”

Holding my hands up in defense, I scoff. “I don’t toy with people.”

Griffin cackles. “Malik, don’t lie to yourself. You are a grade-A menace.”

Sitting up taller, I meet his stare in the rearview mirror. “Thank you.”

Blair points her finger at me. “I’m serious.”

Blair’s automatic defense of a girl she just met signals everything in me to start locking down. It was this simple for her to take Alora’s side that easily. Like I don’t mean anything in comparison.

Stop, dude. Get out of your fucking head.

But the rage inside of me has already begun to swirl, slowly bubbling to the surface. “You had what, one class with her? You don’t know her, Blair.”

“And you do?” she challenges me with a feisty gleam in her eye.

“More than you’d think,” I mutter under my breath.

Shit. I need to learn to just keep my mouth shut. I didn’t mean to say that thought out loud.

She cocks her head to the side. “What?”

Her brown eyes holds mine as she waits for a response. But I don’t want to spend any more of my morning talking about this girl. She is occupying far too much of my damn time.

“No, I don’t.” Fuck, I shouldn’t have lied to her.

Griffin relieves me from the interrogation. “Baby, play that song you wanted me to hear earlier.”

Blair lights up. “Oh my God, I almost forgot.” She grabs her phone and connects to the Bluetooth of Griffin’s pickup.

A moment later, some new pop song plays through the speakers. I tune it out almost immediately, getting lost in the never-ending spiraling thoughts in my mind.

This isn’t going to end well. However this goes, Alora is going to crash my world to the ground with her pretty smile and kind words. She already stole Blair from my corner. Who’s next? Asher? Griffin?

Clenching my fists in my lap, I force myself to take a breath, realizing that this is getting out of control. I need to expel some energy before I explode.

Thankfully, we are almost to campus, and I can wear my muscles down in the weight room until I have nothing left to give.

Maybe I should just skip the party tonight. It’d probably be a smart idea, especially if Alora plans on attending. God, she’d better not though. She’s getting too confident. Like she’s forgotten our dynamic and who makes the rules.

Let tonight be a test. I’ll go. We’ll see if she shows up. She’ll choose her own fate. If she does, I’ll give her a reminder of our past together. A taste of what she ran far away from.

* * *

“Malik, are you coming back home or what?” Griffin asks me as we walk out of the locker room after practice.

“Yeah. I’ve got to shower quickly and change beforehand. Is Blair coming with us tonight?” I ask out of curiosity.

Sometimes, she comes out with us, and sometimes, she’d rather stay home, curled up with one of her books in that giant library Griffin had built for her at the end of last year.

“Yeah, she is. My best friend, Lumi’s coming too. He’s going to meet us at the house and ride with us.” Griffin dumps his backpack into the bed of his pickup and slides in the driver’s seat.

Griffin starts the truck as I sit down in the passenger seat and says, “Blair is staying here a while longer for another class, and Lumi will bring her home. So, it’s just us. Do you want to grab any food? I’m starving.”

“Sure, yeah.” My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything, aside from a smoothie, after weight lifting earlier.

His phone dings.

“Hey, Mrs. Potts is going to make us some food. She and Chip are on their way home now. If that’s good with you?”

Mrs. Potts and Chip live with Griffin. Mrs. Potts cooks and cleans for him. She’s been with his family for years. They're practically Griffin’s only family now.

“Yeah.”

Griffin starts driving and I get lost in thought, looking out the window.

I owe him a lot. More than I’ll ever be able to repay. It seems like there’s more people like that than ever. The list keeps building, as does my guilt for accepting the help.

He took me under his wing this past year. Let me move into his place so I wouldn’t have to worry about rent. He never lets me pay for groceries or anything when Mrs. Potts—his housekeeper and chef—goes shopping.

I have money, but it’s a drop in the bucket in comparison to him. He comes from money—like the kind where you never have to check your bank account, you buy a brand-new car just because, you live in a multimillion-dollar mansion, and your family is worth billions.

I know what he spares for me might be nothing to him, but it’s everything to me. And one day, when we’re both playing pro, I’ll pay him back.

Darius tries to offer me money any chance he gets, not wanting me to struggle. But I won’t take another dime from him or Alicia. They have already done too much for me.

Besides, when it comes to family—which is what they have become—I don’t have a great track record of family doing favors out of the kindness of their heart.

My uncle, who raised me, only ever did a favor so he could shove it back in my face later. When I couldn’t repay it, he made me pay in other ways—being a punching and kicking bag for him to get his anger out.

That’s all I knew for most of my childhood. I thought everyone’s family was like mine. I didn’t know any different. When I showed up at school one day with my arm in a cast and bruises on my neck, I learned just how wrong I was.

But the second anyone started questioning the marks on my body, I was yanked from the school and plunged into another one. Eventually, my uncle got better at hiding his damage, ensuring the only marks he left were beneath my clothes.

I could’ve stopped it. Told the police. Told my teachers the truth. But that wasn’t a part of the deal my uncle and I made. As long as I lay down and took the beatings, he wouldn’t touch Micah.

I remember I tested that theory one time, and I’ll always regret it. I was fourteen years old, and Micah was nine. I confided in our neighbor, a sweet couple. They were so concerned when I showed them the bruises on my ribs. They confronted my uncle, and to my absolute disbelief, they left us there with him and never stopped by again. I have no clue what he said to them and why on earth they believed him, but that’s something I’ll never get to learn.

That night was the worst it ever was. The pinnacle of all his rage. I seriously thought I was going to die. I met the devil that night in the basement, and he wore my uncle’s face.

He punched me mercilessly, kicked me until I heard my ribs crack and break. I never knew how painful simply surviving could become. But my pain wasn’t the most excruciating thing I felt that night. It was Micah’s.

I tried to fight, to keep my uncle from him. But every time I gained enough strength to peel myself from the cold floor, he pushed me right back down to it, landing a few more blows as punishment for interfering.

Micah’s screams and cries haunt my nightmares.

When my uncle started beating him like he did to me … that was the moment I wanted to die. Because it was my fault he was getting hit. It was my fault that he would never smile the same way again. It was my fault that my uncle fractured his jaw and killed his spirit.

But we survived that night together, and when we were finally left alone and locked downstairs, I dragged myself to him. He was conscious but in agonizing pain. I couldn’t walk, let alone stand. I tried over and over, falling to my knees each time.

We slept curled up on a rug on the cold floor.

That was the last night I ever let Micah feel my uncle’s wrath. After that, I obeyed whatever my uncle wanted.

I listened. I spoke when spoken to. I cleaned the house daily and learned to cook for all of us. I became his pet.

I learned to take beatings without making a sound or any expression.

My soul and heart caged themselves in with thorns and vines, protecting themselves from what I was going through and anything to come.

But the problem is, my heart and soul are still there, tucked away, and anytime I try to free them, everyone around me ends up getting hurt and I’m left bleeding out from the inside.

“Malik, you in there?” Griffin bumps my arm with his fist, yanking me out of my thoughts and forcing me back to reality.

“Yeah. My bad. Did you say something?” I don’t look his way, not wanting him to see anything in the depths of my gaze.

His voice is softer than usual, chock-full of concern. “What’s going on?”

I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. “It’s … complicated.”

He turns into his long driveway. “Trust me when I say that you can’t keep everything buried deep inside. It will find its way out, even if it has to tear through you to do it. It’s a hell of a lot easier if you free it on your own.”

“When did you get so wise?” I chuckle, my throat burning and getting tighter.

“When Blair forced me out of my comfort zone and showed me a mirror of who I had become over the years.” He rounds the oversize water fountain, parking near the grand staircase leading to the front door. “What’s going on? I know something is wrong, so don’t bother denying it. I was just trying to give you space, but clearly, it’s not going away on its own.”

My chest feels tight again, and I’m scared this conversation is going to send me spiraling. But I know what Griffin went through, growing up. He knows pain similar to my own.

At the same time, Griffin is one of the only people that I think would understand what’s going on and not judge me. But deep down, I’m scared that my wounds will never heal, that I’m cursed to be raw forever.

“Mal,” he hums, “come on, man. It’s just me.”

“I know.” My voice breaks, and I wince at the crack showing in my foundation. “I just … I’m …”

A fucking pussy. A fucking coward. Worthless. Garbage. The thoughts, said in my uncle’s voice, echo in my brain, vibrating against my skull.

A car comes into view behind us, pulling up behind Griffin’s pickup. It’s Mrs. Potts and Charlie, saving me from sharing anything I might regret, and I mentally thank them for their perfect timing.

“I’m good, Griff.” I end the conversation, throwing my door open and rushing out, probably noticeably fast.

But I don’t care. I need to be alone. This was too much. I can’t handle it. I know that’s pathetic, but vulnerability makes me want to peel my skin off.

After I take a quick shower, get ready, and eat, Blair, Griffin, Lumi, and I load up into Griffin’s pickup to head to the Kensingtons’.

Griffin’s wealthy because of the empire his parents built. But the Kensingtons are old-money rich, generational wealth on a whole other level. It’s daunting, to say the least. But somehow, those cocky shits turned out to not be complete douchebags.

It’s ironic that I grew up hating anyone and everyone who had this level of money, and now I’m surrounded by some of the most extravagant wealth I’ve ever seen or heard of.

But I think that has to do with the Kensington's parents. I’ve only met them once, but they seemed so down-to-earth and humble. It was shocking.

They even made the brothers move into the dorms for the first two years of college, just to be forced to be on their own and be self-sufficient. I respect the decision a lot.

Luckily for them, they only have this year left, and then they are free to get their own place or move back in with their parents.

As we pull into the Kensington estate, I can’t imagine not choosing to stay here. It’s ridiculous. I’ve only been here once or twice for team dinners, but I’m awestruck every time. I can’t fathom being used to this.

A tall wrought iron gate seals the property off from the world. We stop at the gated entry and are greeted by the older man who works in the booth.

“Good evening.” He smiles at Griffin.

“Hello, sir. Good to see you again.” He shakes his hand.

“You as well.” He presses a button, and the gate slowly opens, parting from the middle and revealing the breathtaking grounds inside.

It still blows my mind that people can live like this every single day and become accustomed to it. It’s insane.

Griffin pulls through, and the gate swings close behind us. He takes a right at the first intersection, heading toward the main house.

Picture-perfect landscaping stretches across every inch of the property. Pristine flower beds, trimmed hedges, water fountains, and controlled vines that cover the old brick. Birds decorate the baths scattered about. Life blooms all around us, like the grass is greener in between the Kensington fences.

Shit, it just might be.

A motorcycle revs behind us, and I turn my head to see two bikes racing closer, weaving to our sides and passing us. They salute-wave as they zoom by, beating us to the front of the house … if you can call this place a house.

The brothers take their helmets off and rest them on their bikes, both smiling at their victory of beating us.

Griffin slams on the gas, gaining speed and heading straight for Asher and Dean, only stopping at the last minute. Their smiles falter as fear flashes in their eyes.

We burst out laughing as Griffin parks next to their bikes. When we exit the truck, Asher and Dean greet Griffin and me with our habitual handshake, and the other two with a quick hug.

People are setting up speakers and decorations as we start ascending the large staircase to the house. The Kensingtons usually only throw one or two parties a year, which are over the top and absolutely wild.

Everyone wants an invite. It always starts out pretty tight, with a list of attendees who are checked at the gate, but by the end of the night, the place is packed.

As we walk into the foyer, Asher grabs a bottle of whiskey from a worker strolling past with an arm full of bottles. “Anyone?”

My hand is outstretched before I realize it. “Fuck yes. Give me that.”

Griffin’s stare finds me instantly, and I don’t miss the look of worry hidden in his gaze. But I need this, whether it’s a good decision or not. Besides, I wouldn’t be living up to my reputation if I went easy at a Kensington party.