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“I did,” Seth said. He held out a long-stemmed red rose. “We picked him up on the way back.”
“Hey, Jack.” Brant gave Jack a nervous smile. “Billy asked me to come.”
“As his date?” Jack eyed Billy up and down. He had no idea his gaydar was that bad. “Really?”
“No, Jackson, I asked him to come as your date. My girl will be here soon. She’s a friend of Vanessa’s and she’s smoking hot.”
Jack glared at his fraternity brother. “Can I speak to you?”
“No, we can talk here.” Billy crossed his arms, not backing down. “Look, I joined this fraternity because of you. I don’t want you to go. And no one, other than Greg and Darren, wants Harper to stay over you and Marcus. This way he goes and you stay.”
Jack’s gaze landed on Brant in his navy suit, pale blue shirt, and matching tie. He looked good, but…. He glanced at Brittany, and she raised her eyebrows. A clear why not go for it?
As if sensing Jack’s weakening resolve, Billy moved closer and grabbed his arm. “What Harper did was shitty, and it’s so like him too. But it’s also why he needs to go and you need to stay. No one else stands up to him like you and Marcus. Since this isn’t breaking any rules now, why not?”
“Murphy.” Jack turned to the sound of Harper’s call. Flanked by his usual accomplices, he walked directly toward Jack. “Enjoying your last dance with us?”
“You’re such a tool,” Jack muttered.
“A fucking gold medalist at it,” Billy added.
“Fuck off, Dorgan.” Harper never shifted his attention from Jack. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure you’d have the balls to show up. Thought you’d slink away from public humiliation and never show your face again.”
“Why? Is that what a snake like you would do?”
Harper laughed, and something in his hand caught in the light. Jack looked down just as Harper moved his hand behind his back. “You act like I’m the bad guy. All I did was tell your boyfriend the truth.”
Jack held his breath, struggling against the rage building inside him. The truth was Harper—damn him—was right.
“To show I really am sorry for my little slip of the tongue, I brought you a going away present,” Harper said, and revealed what was in his hand. Jack froze. The ’89 picture. Out of its frame. Corner crumpled in Harper’s grip. “Thought you’d want to take this with you. I’m afraid the frame broke. I took it down to wrap it for you and it slipped.”
The taunt stung, and Jack pulled the photo out of Harper’s hands and flattened the corner against the table. His lip wobbled and he sucked it in, biting down to keep his eyes from tearing up.
“That’s a low blow,” Seth said, “even for a lowlife like you.”
“Oh my, the pet monkey really seems to have grown some balls.” Harper seemed pleased with himself.
“You know—” Brittany tried to move closer to Harper, but Seth pulled her back. “—since you’re such a prick, maybe I ought to cut yours off so you can show it to everyone up close. Oh wait… I’ll need a magnifying glass to find it.”
Harper turned bright red and shrank back. “Keep the mini-Bobbit on her leash, Murphy.”
Staring at his father’s face, Jack barely heard the back-and-forth. Harper knew Jack couldn’t take the picture with him; it belonged to the house. This was just another way to rub his loss in his face.
He blinked at his dad with his arm slung around Mr. Reynolds. Sean Murphy looked like the world was his to claim. And he had.
Until it ended abruptly.
His father had hated violence. He’d never hit Jack and always taught him to find another way. Tears welled and his face tingled.
“Douche bag.” Billy poked Harper. “Shouldn’t you be packing? You’re standing next to Jack’s date.”
Through blurry vision, Jack caught Harper’s angry glare that morphed into shock as he saw Brant snidely smiling at him. His stunned silence continued as he scanned the group. Finally he shook his head.
“No way.” He searched for support from Greg and Darren. “A real date, not some guy Billy-boy found on the street.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said he was an asshole,” Brant said to Billy.
Harper glared at the newcomer. “Fuck off, dickhead.”
Jack snapped out of his haze and stepped forward. He put his free hand on Harper’s chest and pushed him back. “Back off, Harper.”
“This doesn’t count.” He pointed to Jack and Brant, panic audible. “I told you….”
“Who gives a fuck what you say?” Jack inched closer. “You don’t get to say what counts and what doesn’t. Brant’s my date. You lose. End of story.”
“No fucking way. A date is not a friend!” Apparently, just as Jack predicted, Harper wasn’t prepared to lose. “That doesn’t count.”
“Yes, it does.” All eyes turned to Darren. Rather than back down under Harper’s angry glare, he stood his ground. “People bring friends as dates all the time.”
