Page 23 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

Elliot followed.

“No?”

“No.”

“What do good boys do?”

Ronan smiled.

“Behave.”

Elliot's eyes remained fixed on him. They reached the back steps. Ronan opened the door. Warm light spilled across Elliot's face, transforming him instantly. His shoulders relaxed. His expression softened. By the time their mother called from the kitchen, the jealous man beneath the maple tree had disappeared completely.

“Sorry we're late,” Elliot called.

Sweet. Warm. Perfect. Ronan followed him inside. He never once wondered whether Dylan Price should have taken Elliot's threat seriously.

Chapter Three — Good Boys Don’t Bite

ELLIOT

TUESDAY · 8:06 A.M.

By eight o'clock Tuesday morning, Mason Kerr had been dead for approximately thirty hours, officially dead for eleven, and mourned on social media by at least four hundred people who had barely known him. Elliot counted seventeen photographs of Mason before he reached Bellweather University. They appeared between Instagram stories advertising drink specials and videos of people's dogs. Mason at a football game with his arms around three friends. Mason standing shirtless on a boat during summer break. Mason wearing a tuxedo beside a girl Elliot vaguely recognized from Kappa's spring formal. Mason holding a beer beneath strings of patio lights. Mason smiling beside people who had probably spent more time selecting the photograph they posted than thinking about the person in it.

Every image had been stripped of context and transformed into evidence that Mason Kerr had been wonderful. Rest easy brother. Bellweather won't be the same without you. Forever KDR. Can't believe you're gone. One of the kindest people I've ever met. That one made Elliot stop scrolling. He sat at a red light three blocks from campus with the phone balanced against the steering wheel and read it twice. One of the kindest people I've ever met. Interesting. A horn sounded behind him. Elliot looked up. The light was green. He drove. Rain had washed Monday's color from Bellweather. The morning was gray and cold, the streets slick beneath a sky the color of dirty wool. Leaves plastered themselves against storm drains and sidewalks. Students moved beneath umbrellas along the edge of campus, shoulders hunched against a fine mist that seemed too insignificant to deserve an umbrella and too persistent to ignore.

Elliot parked in the student garage. His phone vibrated before he could open the door.

MOM: Did you see the news about that student?

He stared at the message. His mother had apparently discovered Mason.

ELLIOT: yeah

MOM: That's horrible.

Then:

MOM: Please don't walk around alone at night.

Elliot smiled.

ELLIOT: yes mom

Three dots.

MOM: I'm serious.

ELLIOT: i know

MOM: And tell Ronan too.

Elliot laughed quietly. As if anybody had ever successfully told Ronan Vale not to do something. He locked his phone and stepped out of the car. Bellweather felt different. Not dramatically. There were no police officers checking IDs at the gates. Classes hadn't been canceled. Students still hurried toward lectures carrying coffee, complaining about assignments, and standing in inconvenient clusters outside buildings. But something had shifted beneath the routine. Elliot heard Mason's name three times before leaving the garage. Outside, a university maintenance worker was attaching a laminated notice to a blue emergency-call station.

CAMPUS SAFETY REMINDER

Elliot didn't stop to read the rest. He already knew what it would say. Travel in groups. Remain in well-lit areas. Report suspicious activity. Don't wear headphones while walking alone. As though murder could be prevented through adequate awareness of one's surroundings. He crossed Hawthorne Quad. Someone had placed flowers beneath the Bellweather clock tower. That was new. Photographs of Mason leaned against the stone base among candles, handwritten notes, fraternity letters, and a Bellweather scarf somebody had carefully folded beneath everything else. Moisture from the morning mist had curled the corners of several photographs. A girl stood in front of the memorial crying. Another rubbed her back. Elliot slowed. He recognized neither of them.