A few times, he’d been unguarded enough to flinch from a kiss, or his fling had caught him being too obviously miserable. What was Aiden supposed to say? I hate being touched by someone who’s not Harvard? I hate you for not being Harvard?
He’d thrown himself into misery instead and hadn’t come up for air. Why would he do that when he just wanted to drown?
Aiden was so tired his eyes burned, but he didn’t close them. Whenever he shut them, he saw that evening again and remembered what an idiot he’d been to hope. He’d run to Kings Row, intent on confessing his love to Harvard. But before he could even get the words out, Harvard had said he couldn’t imagine anything worse than being in love with Aiden.
What a moment that had been. Aiden was well aware of what most people thought of him, but he hadn’t thought his best friend agreed.
Luckily, Aiden hadn’t had the chance to confess his love. What an exercise in humiliation that would’ve been. He didn’t even know why he’d thought it might work: He’d spent years following Harvard around. He’d followed him to Kings Row.
Aiden smiled mirthlessly to himself.
He didn’t care if everyone thought he was awful. That was better than the truth.
Being unrequitedly in love with your best friend since you were a little kid? That was pathetic. Aiden Kane was determined to be anything but that.
He was the one who’d made the rule that he wouldn’t date people on the fencing team. He was the one who’d broken the rule. He deserved whatever he got.
If you’re going through hell, keep going. That was a quote from a British politician with a face like a cranky bulldog.
Aiden had to keep living like this, had to keep going through the deep charring feeling underneath his breastbone. It felt as if his heart were being burned away.
That was the whole point. Once his heart was gone? Problem solved.
4 SEIJI
Seiji couldn’t believe he was doing this.
The worst thing was that he couldn’t even blame anyone else. He was the one who’d had the bright idea to run off and call his father.
Koichiro Katayama was a very busy man, so Seiji tried not to bother him, but ever since Seiji had asked him for help over a certain matter involving Nicholas, his father had been calling more frequently. It was peculiar. His father didn’t seem to have anything much to say.
“How are they treating you at Kings Row?” his father inquired once.
“They aren’t treating me,” Seiji answered. “I haven’t sustained any injuries, and I haven’t been ill.”
“Ah,” said his father. “Making friends?”
“More friends?” Seiji returned in horror.
“Never mind,” his dad replied. “How’s Nicholas?”
His father always asked. Seiji would tell him about Nicholas’s fencing progress, which was dismal, every time his father called. At least that was a pleasant part of the conversation. He’d known his father would become more interested in fencing one day.
He understood his father would rather have a social butterfly for a son, but Seiji had enough trouble with the one friend he’d accidentally acquired without heaping more disasters on himself. Still, those weekly awkward talks with his dad meant Seiji felt he could call him, when the next trouble regarding Nicholas arose.
So he walked out onto the grounds at Kings Row as the sun set, dialed his father’s number, and caught him playing golf.
“I’m sorry, I’ll call you back later,” Seiji said at once. “Focus on winning.”
Seiji hadn’t wanted to come to Kings Row. He’d always expected to accompany Jesse Coste and attend Exton: a far larger school than this one, with an elite fencing team and high gray walls surmounted by tall gray towers. But Seiji was getting used to it here in this small school, where everything was old-fashioned in a way that was classic and cozy at once and where he hardly ever sat by himself in the dining hall. His father’s voice was steady and reassuring in his ear.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s just a game, Seiji. Winning’s not the most important thing in the world.”
“I don’t understand,” said Seiji.
“I know you don’t,” his father returned. “Someday you might. For now, let’s talk. Did you just want to, uh, chat?”
His father was attempting a more casual way of talking to him lately. He was trying to be “down with the kids,” Seiji thought, and it was horrible. Seiji himself had never been “down with the kids.”
“Why would I bother you if all I wanted was to exchange pleasantries?” asked Seiji. “We can do that during winter break. No, I’m calling about something important. This is about Nicholas.”
“Okay, wow, it’s happening,” said his father. “Right, Seiji, let me just move away from the others, give us some privacy. Listen, guys, save me something from the drinks cart—”
“You don’t need to leave your friends.”
Seiji was starting to feel unnerved.
“They’re not my friends, they’re business associates. I barely like them,” his father said, then speaking away from the phone, “Sorry, Jock, didn’t mean for you to hear that.” He transferred his attention back to Seiji. “Doesn’t matter! What matters is you, Seiji. I think I know what you’re going to tell me. I’m so glad you feel able to share this with me! Thank you. I, ah—love you.”
Seiji cast a hunted look around the courtyard. He had the irrational wish to climb up a chestnut tree and escape this emotional conversation.
“And I’m sure I will love Nicholas,” his father continued.
“Why would you do that?!” asked Seiji. “He’s annoying, and he’s bad at fencing!”
There was a long pause on his father’s end of the line.
“I’m sure he has… qualities,” his father said at last. “The point is, I hope you know that you can always tell me… whatever it is you have to tell me. I’m accepting. I accept you. I just found it difficult to swallow the idea of Jesse.”
“Why are you bringing up Jesse?”
Seiji’s throat narrowed a small but crucial amount when he was forced to discuss Jesse Coste, his former fencing partner and the reason he was attending Kings Row. The mysterious obstruction in his throat made it difficult to speak clearly and show that Seiji was perfectly all right.
“No reason,” said his dad. “I’m sorry. Let’s never talk about Jesse again. That would make me very happy. Tell me about Nicholas!”
“Do you remember me saying that he was socioeconomically disadvantaged?”
“That doesn’t matter,” his father assured him.
Seiji lifted his eyes to the sky. He knew his father was intelligent. He wasn’t sure why sometimes he said foolish things.
“Obviously, it does matter. That’s why I’m calling you. To tell you about Nicholas.” Seiji paused. “And Eugene.”
“Eugene!” his father exclaimed. “Who is Eugene?”
“He’s also on the fencing team,” said Seiji. “He lifts weights. He has…” Seiji considered. Nicholas said Eugene had “an army of brothers and sisters” but Eugene had rolled his eyes when Nicholas said that. Seiji didn’t know the truth. “Potentially twelve siblings. He says bro frequently and makes excellent protein shakes. I don’t know anything else about him.”