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“I told you already,” she rolls her eyes, “We went to parties before. We should go to parties now, it might help you remember something, and if it doesn’t, maybe it’ll help to meet people, to get out and about.”
I remember her telling me these things, but honestly, I don’t want to go to parties, and it’s hard to believe that I enjoyed going to them before. But Shelby has no reason to lie to me, so it has to be somewhat true. Gazing up at her face, I can see the excitement growing in her eyes as if she knows that I’m about to give in and agree to go with her.
A second later, I say the words, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
And she breaks out into a giggle, slamming down onto the mattress beside me.
“Yes! This is going to be so much fun. I swear, Harlow, you loved dressing up and going out. Gah, I can’t wait to help you choose your clothes.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight to her chest, “I missed you, Harlow, I really did, and I’m so glad that you’re okay.”
It takes a little finagling to get out of the dorm without my bodyguards finding out. Thankfully the university told them that they can’t stay inside the dorms, so after a short while they leave to head to their rental, and that’s when Shelby and I make our break.
When we arrive at the frat house, the place is packed, even the front yard is brimming with people. Inside is even worse, and by the time we make it to the kitchen, I’m ready to turn around and go back outside. Shelby keeps a tight hold on my hand like she knows I’ll bail at any given second. As I look around the room, trying to take in the sights and see if anything about this place or the people here jolt an emotion or even a memory, I feel eyes on me.
Across the room, someone is staring at me. I know it. I can feel the heat of their gaze creeping up my back. Turning my head in their direction, and my gaze collides with chocolate brown orbs.
In the endless sea of people, it shouldn’t be all that surprising to make eye contact with someone, but this isn’t just someone, this person’s eyes are like melted chocolate, and brimming with concern. They captivate me, grab onto me, and refuse to let go. Breaking eye contact, I let my gaze roam over the stranger’s body, realizing he looks just like Sullivan and Banks.
Leaning into Shelby, I ask, “Who is that?”
“What?” Her eyes follow my line of sight.
“That guy standing in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, who is he?” I ask again.
Shelby’s face sours, “Oliver Bishop. We don’t associate with them, Harlow. They’re trash.” Them. That makes me think of what Matt said, “Sullivan and his brothers,” I suppose that explains why they all look alike. Sullivan, Banks, and Oliver must be the brothers. Brothers I’m supposed to stay away from.
“Everyone keeps warning me away from them,” I bite my bottom lip, the memory from earlier entering my mind once more. Banks said we in that memory… were his brothers with him that night? Did they all threaten me? Even though I tried to forget it earlier, now I wish I had held onto it, maybe I would remember the whole thing then.
Still biting my lip, I feel compelled to look back over at the elusive Oliver, but as I do, I realize he’s no longer standing there. My heart skips like a stone skipping across the water.
Where did he go? Is the first question that pops into my head, and the second is, why do I care? A pop song filters through the speakers, and Shelby squeals with excitement, her eyes glittering in the bright lights.
“Oh my god, I love this song,” she shouts, either ignoring my question or having not heard it at all. As she bops her head to the song, belting out the lyrics, she tugs me along, until we reach the island that is scattered with cups and liquor bottles. There’s a beer keg centered in what would be the breakfast nook area with about five frat guys around it. They’re all laughing at something that one of the guys said, distracting me momentarily.
That is until I feel a heat creep up my back, it feels like the sun is beating down on me, and I release Shelby’s hand and whirl around, to find Oliver mere feet away, a smile ghosting against his lips.
Up close, he looks even more handsome, like an older version of Banks and Sullivan. Each of the brothers reminds me of those Roman soldiers from the 15th century, all muscled, and beautiful, only missing their togas, and a sword, and shield.
