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Teo makes a noncommittal sound. "People fuck up sometimes. Only matters who they are now, right?"
Their voices fade as they move off into the night, leaving me rooted in place. London did something at his old school? I wrack my brain trying to remember any rumors, but come up blank.
Unease twists my gut. Now more than ever, I'm realizing how little I actually know about his past beyond our rivalry. If something in his history jeopardized his spot at Ravenloft, I need to find out what.
Jaw set, I stride into the mansion and climb the stairs with a single-minded purpose. I don't bother knocking when I reach our shared room, shoving the door open.
London glances up from where he's sitting on his bed, scrolling his phone. His eyes widen fractionally at my grim expression.
I close the door firmly behind me, arms crossed. "We need to talk."
8
RIOT
London madesome bullshit excuse and practically ran from our room like his ass was on fire. I stayed up all night, but he never came back.
I barely slept.
The next morning, I find him in the kitchen brewing coffee. Dark circles shadow his eyes like he had as restless a night as me. I cross my arms, blocking his path as he hunts for a mug.
"We're finishing that conversation from last night. No more dodging."
London tenses, avoiding my gaze. "There's nothing to discuss."
I step closer, crowding him against the counter. "Cut the bullshit. I heard Deck talking about how you pulled some reckless stunt at your old school that got a teammate injured. Is that true?"
London's jaw clenches. "You don't know the full story."
"So tell me."
He shoves past me, coffee forgotten. "Just leave it alone, Kensington."
I grab his arm. "Not a chance. If you fucked up and put one of our guys at risk, I deserve to know."
London rips his arm away, eyes blazing. "You self-righteous prick. Don't pretend this is about the team's safety." He advances until we're toe to toe. "This is about your control issues. You can't stand not knowing every detail of my past, can you?"
His words hit like a brutal check. Because deep down, I know he's right. This fierce need to unravel his history goes beyond mere teammate's concern. I'm obsessed in a way I don't fully understand.
London must read the conflict on my face. His glare softens just slightly. "Look, it was a terrible play, alright? I got reckless in the heat of the moment and a teammate paid the price. Believe me, I fucking regret it every damn day."
He scrubs a hand down his face, looking haunted. "But that school, those guys... it was toxic as hell. Blackmail, sabotage, you name it. The shit I did, I did to survive there."
His hazel eyes meet mine, raw and resigned. "So go ahead and judge me if you want. But don't pretend you know what it was like in that hellhole."
I stare at him, throat tight. In that moment, I glimpse behind the swagger to the shadows haunting this man who keeps the world at arm's length. Something that feels a whole fucking lot like shame twists in my gut.
"I shouldn't have pushed," I say gruffly. "Your past is your business."
London studies me a beat, then nods, the fight leaching from his frame. Silence descends, thick with unspoken currents. I turn and leave before I do something stupid, like pull him into my arms and hug the fuck out of him because he looks so damn defeated.
The tension between London and me permeates the rest of the retreat. We keep our distance, interacting only when necessary.
On the bus ride back to campus later that day, London grabs a seat in the very back, forehead pressed to the window. I sit up front with Tristan, trying and failing to focus on his lively chatter.
"Dude, what's up with you today?" Tristan finally asks, elbowing my ribs. "You've been spacey as hell all day."
I just shake my head, eyes darting back to where London sits hunched in his seat.
