Page 4 of The Substitute

“My former best friend and my brother,” he mutters.

“Why wouldn’t they care?” My brows pull, but I can’t say I’m unfamiliar since a lot of my own problems involve my step-brother.

“Because they get everything they want. Hockey, money, success. I’m just the idiot who was in love with him for years, wasted the last four years of my life, and for what? He never saw me. Not really.” He blows out a breath, making his dark hair fan over his forehead.

“It’s kind of unbelievable anyone would pick your brother over you.” I mean every word of it, too. He’s gorgeous, like hisdelicate features came straight out of vogue or an otherworldly painting.

He scoffs. “You haven’t met Teddy. You’d probably prefer him, too. Not only do people love a sports ball player, but they find his himbo-ness charming for some fucking reason.”

I wince at his words and just skip over the sports part. “I think you’re looking at the wrong guys then. It’s way better having a partner I can talk to—at least in my opinion.”

He gives me a hard look. “You probably play sports ball, too.”

“I’m wounded. You’re only looking at me for my body!”

That earns a laugh from him. “Well, do you?”

“Yes.” I didn’t want to lie to him.

“Ugh.” He sighs dramatically. “I’m surrounded.”

“Can I make it up to you?”

He narrows his eyes. “How?”

“Buy you dinner?”

He wavers. “Fine, but I’m not really hungry. And no promises on not coming back another day.”

“Deal.” I offer my hand, and he takes it.

I’m riding a high when I get back to my apartment. It’s not the nicest place, but Morning Heights is expensive, and I want to take as little of my father’s money as possible. I toe my shoes off, kicking myself for not getting his name or number. But maybe it was meant to be one night only, and we’ll never see each other again.

I exhale and toss my keys on the sideboard before flipping the light on. I immediately jump and grab my chest. “Fuck.”

If there was ever a scene to haunt my nightmares this would be it. He doesn’t say a fucking word, just sits there with his fingers tented, elbows on the table, staring at me.

“Why are you here?”

He lets me sweat before he finally speaks. “I do a lot for you, and this is the way you repay me?”

I search my mind for what he could be talking about. This is a game he loves to play. He wants me to confess, and when I was younger, I often did, my conscience weighing too heavy. But I’ve long learned my lesson and don’t speak before I find out what he knows.

“Nothing to fucking say to me?”

“I have no clue why you’re here, Father.” I squeeze my hands into fists, hoping he won’t notice, but it’s better than letting them shake.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he screams. “I didn’t pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for you to go to boarding school and fix this little issue of yours, only for you to still end up sucking dick.”

My brows pull together. I’ve been so careful. He can’t have seen me. I’ve barely had any time to even hook up with guys. It’s not exactly easy to keep up with practice, school, and secretly date. Plus, no one in my generation wants to be in the closet, and I don’t really blame them.

He picks a manila envelope I hadn’t noticed before off the table. Out of it, he slides a single photo I’m sure I don’t want to see. He holds it up, sneering in disgust before setting it down.

“Are you fucking having me followed?”

“Someone has to make sure you’re not making a fool of yourself.”

“By bringing us the first good press our name has had in at least three generations, if not longer. They fucking love me compared to whatever dark shit you’re currently dragging the name through. I’m sure Grandfather would be proud.” I’ve reallylost the damn plot. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have believed someone if they told me I’d drag all this shit up from the dark recesses of my soul.