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The line goes quiet again. I glance down at the leather folder in my tote bag, staring at it while I wait for audible clues of what my father is thinking, what he’s doing, and where this conversation is going.
“I owed them this, Brooklyn. They have done a lot to support me through the alumni network, and I have promised to help them when I can. Not every part of politics feels good. But I wouldn’t make decisions I didn’t believe in on some level. It’s the right thing to do now, like it was then.” I can tell by his tone that he believes it.
I let his argument simmer in my chest. I try to find the places where it fits with what I know. I would give anything to be able to match the man I thought my father was with this act and everything I know about Cameron and Michael Hass. And in the end, I simply can’t.
“Then I’m ashamed of you, Dad.”
I end our call and drop my phone into my bag. My throat closes briefly, my chest feeling the weight of a lifetime of worship crumbling down on it. That stupid leather folder teases me, and that is at least one thing I can do something about. Without pause, I bend down and pull it from my bag then fling it into the freezing stream of water. It snags on a few rocks as it floats to the lower portion of the river, where the bottom is deeper and the current less gentle. With any luck, in minutes it will be waterlogged and buried under algae and sand a mile away.
* * *
I’m self-aware enough to avoid going directly from the river trail to my dorm. Things are so jacked between me and Morgan, the last thing our relationship needs is the complicated noise of my father.
Instead of bringing that baggage upstairs with me, I decide to return to Cameron’s room and watch him sleep a little longer. His rhythm is peaceful. When I’m lying next to him, I can’t help but breathe with the counts of his heart. Maybe if I lie there long enough, I’ll fall asleep too.
Still early on a Sunday morning, it takes nearly thirty minutes for one of the third years to exit the side door. I compliment the young freshman on his choice of shirt—a classic Prince T-shirt—and it brings a smile to his face and maybe spawns a tiny crush on his part. It’s enough to get him to hold the door open for me and let me sneak inside.
I take the stairs slowly, my body exhausted and my leg in need of rest. By the time I reach Cameron’s floor, I’m winded, which is a bad sign of the shape I’m in. I’m going to need to do more climbing with Cameron. And since I won’t be spending time volunteering for my dad’s campaign anymore, I’ll be able to work out with him more often.
Once my pulse stops drumming in my head, I run my sleeve across my damp forehead and reach into my bag for a pencil to stick in and hold a makeshift knot of hair on top of my head. I’m quite literally a hot mess when I slip into the hallway and roll my feet in near-silent steps toward Cam’s door.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Morgan’s voice spills out Cameron’s ajar door. I stop hard and swallow, holding my breath to make sure I hear clearly.
“There is nothing wrong with you. That word . . . wrong. It’s, well. That word iswrong,”Cameron says. Morgan’s raspy laughter follows.
I lean into the wall to let this moment play out for them. If I were a better person, I would back away and give them privacy. But I’m too invested in the budding friendship to abandon my spy position.
Morgan sniffles, and my mind races back to the last time I remember the sound of her crying. It was at my bedside after my first surgery. She also spent more time in that room with me than my father.
“You’re funny sometimes, Hass. You know that?” she says.
“I do.”
I cover my mouth to hold in my laugh. He’s so fucking charming. She better not fall for him. She can accept him, but that’s the line.
“I’m sorry about what I said at lunch the other day. I didn’t mean it,” she says. My mouth tightens into a hard line and my forehead dents. She was cruel.
“You meant it a little bit, but it’s okay,” he says. My rigid expression eases with a dose of pride at his response. I love how honest he is.
“It’s not okay. And Brooklyn was right. It was unfair, and I don’t know you like she does.”
If he responds to her, it’s inaudible. I wait anyhow, hoping for more. After several seconds, Morgan breaks the quiet.
“I think she might be in love with you,” she says. Without seeing her face, it’s hard to tell if those words were meant to be thoughtful or repulsed.
“I love her, too,” he says without pause. A timid smile tugs at my lips. I press my fingertips against my mouth to hold it at bay.
“If you hurt her, I’ll fucking claw your eyes out.”
My eyes bulge from my head at her instant defense of me, and I nearly laugh and give myself away. Thankfully, Cameron laughs loudly enough to hide any sound I make.
“Point taken, Bentley. Point taken.”
“Then, let’s shake on it, Hass. A gentlewoman’s agreement,” Morgan says. I picture her spitting in her palm and holding it out for him like she’s always done. For someone branded as the hottest girl in school, she can mix it up with the grit of a very manly union boss when she wants to. And heaven help the poor sap who thinks he can beat her in a game of pool.
The thud of footsteps moving closer to the door injects me with a hit of adrenaline, and my ears ring from the rush of blood. Not being able to hear definitely works against the entire spying plan, so I draw in a deep breath and force myself to step into the room. I nearly run nose first into the center of Cameron’s chest when I do.
