“No.” I shook my head and logged into our bank, then created a new account.
“Good,” she said after I’d done it. “Now transfer your last three weeks of salary from your joint bank account into your new one and get your bank account details updated on the company’s payroll system. That’s a bit of money to get you started. You’ll get more when you take your leave.”
I nodded, not even having the words to thank her.
“Next thing I need you to do is send me a copy of your photo page in your passport. I’m going to book you a ticket to Seattle with an open-ended return date. You’re going to come and stay with us.”
“I—”
“I insist. Tell me the date you want to get here, and I’ll make it happen.”
Tears ran in rivers down my cheeks. I was so damn grateful for this woman. She would give the shirt off her back to help her loved ones when they were in need. I was one of those privileged people.
“When you get away from them, you’ll be able to get some perspective. Then you can figure out what your future holds.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. My future was in tatters, but I had the support of my friend. It was all I needed. For the moment, at least.
three
Jacques – Then
ThefratI’dpledgedto was fucking awesome, but the best things about it were my neighbor, Travis, and my roommate, Lincoln.
Travis and I had nicknamed Lincoln Rusty, not because of his flame-red hair, but because he seemed rusty when he was interacting with people. Sometimes it was as if he’d forgotten how to communicate with humans. He was the quietest introvert I’d ever met. I hadn’t been sure how he’d managed to get through pledge week, but then I heard he was a legacy, which gained him automatic entry to our frat.
He didn’t seem to like being here most of the time, but it didn’t take me long to figure out why he’d pledged—the frat house was quieter than the dorms. We were all science majors, so even though we could party it up, we all worked hard.
Rusty fascinated me. We’d been here for two weeks, and I’d spent far too much of that time staring at the way his slim body moved. His long fingers flitted across the keyboard like hummingbirds, and I knew exactly when he’d run his hand through his messy crop of hair from how it stood up on end. The way his freckles bunched around his green eyes when he frowned or his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed were unforgettable.
When Rusty was in front of his computer, he came alive. He’d type frantically, coding something, pause for a second to push his black-framed glasses up his nose, then go straight back to typing. Sometimes he’d stop and run what he’d written, watching with a quiet smile, bright eyes, and cheeks flushed rosy red. Last night’s project had blurred his screen, and a stick figure twirled across it, dancing just like the chimney sweep inMary Poppins—the original movie that Mom loved.
When he was coding for real, he created game apps that were as addictive asCandy Crush. Coach had confiscated my cell phone, banning it from the locker room before practice while the beta version of Rusty’s game was on it. It was no surprise, but every hockey player on the team was competitive as fuck. Someone had watched me play it, and within minutes the whole team was trying to beat my high score. It wasn’t my fault that we’d missed our start time on the ice—I was just the freshman. No one even listened when I’d told them we were late.
Rusty’s games were bold, quite the opposite of the shy man I was beginning to get to know. When there were more than two people in the room, he’d slink off to the side and hold up the wall, hands in his pockets with his hoody pulled down to conceal his face. I was sure he did it so people wouldn’t be able to talk to him, but I was also learning that people constantly commented on his hair.
He was slowly coming out of his shell with me and Travis. It was easy to get overwhelmed by Travis, though. Our neighbor was quite literally the life of the party. He was loud and always the center of attention everywhere he went. People flocked to him because he made them feel good about themselves. He was the broest of bros, the guy who wore a cowboy hat around campus, had a beer in his hand whenever it was past noon, and had quickly become the frat’s resident beer pong champion. But he was also the man who walked girls back to their dorms when they were drunk, purely to make sure they got home safe. He volunteered at the old peoples’ home and flirted shamelessly with every resident, and he loved his battered, rust-bucket Dodge pickup like it was a brand-new Ferrari.
“Gauthier,” Travis shouted as I wiped my brow.
It was hot and clammy in the main room of the house—far too many bodies were crammed inside. Half the people there were making out on any available surface while the other half writhed to the beat the DJ was banging out.
Travis was holding two red Solo cups up high. He was a head taller than everyone in the main room, so our drinks were safe from getting spilled—something Travis took very seriously. Our eyes met, and our stares held. Electricity sizzled through my veins.
He was so.
Fucking.
Sexy.
I licked my lips, and his eyes darkened, his gaze never leaving mine as he passed me the beer. Heat rushed through me when our fingertips brushed, and I took a gulp of the beer, wishing I could touch him anytime. We danced until we were breathless, our circle expanding and contracting with the girls that joined and left us. But he was the one who held my focus. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him the whole night. He was magnetic, drawing my attention and keeping it.
I barely registered when Fitch, the prez, cut the music and kicked everyone out. It was 2:00 a.m. but I didn’t want to stop. Chatter surrounded us—plans being made to party on. I wanted to follow Travis wherever he went, but I couldn’t. We all had classes in the morning, and I had practice tomorrow and a game the day after as well. He turned away from me, and I swallowed, disappointment sitting heavy in my gut.
He waved off the girls we’d been dancing with and shook his head, motioning with his thumb over his shoulder to the stairs. A wave of heat hit me. Want surged through me.
Moments later, Travis and I stumbled upstairs arm in arm. We were far too loud as we climbed up, but where Travis was high from the energy of being surrounded by so many people, I was masking the desire that was singing through my veins, taunting me with his proximity. I’d been half hard the whole night. Watching him move was as addictive as a drug. I couldn’t help but imagine him stripped naked and moving like that on top of or under me.
I’d seen him take guys and girls into his room, so I knew he swung both ways, but before tonight I doubted whether he knew that I did too. No one did. I was in the closet purely out of practicality. Hockey is For Everyone had been around for a few years, but my experiences with hockey was that it was still the bastion of the straight, white, cis man who openly yelled bigoted comments on the ice. I didn’t want to be their target. My goal was the NHL, and if that meant keeping a part of me under wraps until I got there, so be it.
