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Fuck.
I take her phone and play the video again.
“I thought you said we would be okay because of the faculty sticker,” I plead, gnashing my teeth because I know how shitty it sounds, like I’m blaming her.
“I didn’t know they had video surveillance. Not there, or like that. I always heard they captured plates and windshield stickers and that was all.” Her voice quavers. I reach my arm around her and pull her into a hug.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say, stopping short of promising because I don’t really believe that. My dad and the coaching staff are meeting, and I’m pretty sure this is the reason Toby didn’t stick around long. I don’t know how far along in the process this is, but I have a feeling time is short, and if I have any argument to make on my behalf, I should probably get started on it.
“I’m going to fix this,” Morgan says.
I laugh a little and hand her back her phone.
“You have a time machine?”
I’m joking but she doesn’t smile. I shake my head, pull her head to my chest, and kiss the top of it again.
“I have faith. Good will win over evil.” And I think maybe Toby really is evil. He wants things he doesn’t deserve—things he hasn’t earned. I’m not naïve enough to believe life doesn’t work that way for the rich, but it doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it ethical.
And yeah, it makes Toby evil. I’ll stand by that.
Chapter21
Morgan
Ihave the power to fix things for James. It means I’m going to have to play by Bentley-style rules, though, and I’m struggling with that.
The only reason I found out about the video is one of Toby’s friends leaked it. A lot of his inner circle is jumping ship, looking ahead to college life when they won’t be this insecure little group of rich kids pushing other people around. Toby may very well become an adult who does that, but some people want better for themselves.
I do know one man who doesn’t, though. He was a Toby when he was in high school. Hell, he probably came out of the womb with manipulation stitched into his DNA.
“I’m here to see Christopher Bentley. I’m his daughter,” I say to the floor nurse at the main desk for his wing of the hospital.
I talked to Cameron, of all people, the other night about my struggle in coming here. I know more about Cam than he thinks I do, like the fact his grandparents are the headmaster and his wife. My family’s reach carries to many social circles. There’s not much about the heartbeats in Boston that the Bentleys don’t know. I’ve kept his secret, though. Even he doesn’t know I know his roots. I figure maybe one day he’ll tell me. And after listening to me and helping me sort out what to do about Toby’s threat, after I shared my idea with him, I wouldn’t be against getting to know the real Cameron better. He gave me the courage to come here.
“You can go on back. Room seven,” she says after putting down the phone.
I hope he’s alone. I’m not quite ready to handlebothof my parents. I slowly round the corner to his room. It’s a large single—of course—with flowers on every flat surface. So many fake friends. I rap my knuckles on the door and he sets down the drink he’s holding after pulling the straw from his lips.
“Oh, thank Christ. Morgan, please get me some real goddamn food. I’m getting sicker eating this shit,” he says, pushing the rolling table away from the side of his bed.
I breathe out a small laugh and shake my head. This is exactly as I expected.
“Maybe it’s good to be humbled,” I say, moving to his side. I don’t reach for his hand or lean forward to kiss him. That’s not how this family works.
“Horseshit,” he says.
That. That’s how this family works.
I nod.
“Okay. Hey, listen. I actually came here for your advice, which I know you love to give out even when nobody requests it.”
My father shoots me a sideways glare, and for a moment I feel connected to him. We have the same sense of humor, for the most part.
I drag the chair from the corner to the side of his bed and plop down, bringing my phone up to give him the visual aid. He might not understand how tech works, but he gets the power of it. He definitely understands the potential to earn.
“You know the Sullivans? Toby?” I ask.
