After all, Nicholas had competition: Robert Coste’s other son. Jesse Coste, who had inherited his father’s golden hair and shining fencing talent. Jesse, who had been Seiji’s fencing partner for years, and whom Seiji hardly ever talked about. Yet whenever anyone mentioned Jesse, or on the thankfully few occasions when they’d encountered Jesse, all the muscles in Seiji’s face had gone rigid as though he was in pain.
Nicholas was dreading the day Seiji found out about Nicholas’s connection to Jesse Coste. He knew Seiji hated being reminded of him. And it was tough whenever Nicholas considered the fact that he was competing with Jesse not only for Robert’s attention, but for Seiji’s as well. Seiji wanted a rival with real skill, the type Jesse possessed. Sometimes when Seiji fenced Nicholas, it felt as if Seiji were looking through Nicholas to another fencer who had Nicholas’s speed and Nicholas’s left-handedness, but who was polished like a trophy. A better version of Nicholas. He didn’t want his dad to see him that way.
Jesse had Nicholas’s dad. But Nicholas had Jesse’s fencing partner. Seiji went to Kings Row with Nicholas, not Jesse’s stupid Exton, and he trained with Nicholas every day.
So Nicholas thought he could wait to meet his dad until he was officially Seiji’s rival. Once Nicholas was a great fencer, Seiji wouldn’t mind Nicholas being related to Jesse, because Jesse wouldn’t matter to him anymore. Nicholas would be enough. His dad would be proud of him then.
Maybe if Nicholas excelled at Camp Menton, and Kings Row won the state championship. Maybe if he accomplished that, he could tell his dad who he was.
Nicholas planned to sneak his newspaper clipping of Robert Coste into his suitcase when Seiji wasn’t looking. He couldn’t go to France without his lucky charm.
6 AIDEN
Wow, that had been a lot of horrible joy from freshmen too early in the morning. Being excited about going to France was so gauche. Did people not understand Aiden was tired?
“Leave me out of the team meetings next time,” said Aiden, sighing as he rose to his feet. “Not sure I have the constitution to bear Nicholas Cox’s haircut before breakfast.”
“Aiden, do you remember what I talked to you about?” asked Coach Williams in her most ultra-solemn voice.
He had a dim recollection. She’d been using the ultra-solemn voice then, too.
“Not really,” Aiden drawled. “Wasn’t listening then, won’t listen now.”
He shut the door of the coach’s office. As he made his way down the hall, his phone buzzed in his pocket, but when he slid it out of his uniform pants, it wasn’t a guy trying to make a date. It was Rosina, the woman who’d almost been one of his many stepmothers, the one he’d loved. She wanted to reconnect, and Aiden had thought for a passing moment that he’d like to.
Not anymore. Even Harvard, the person who knew Aiden best, found the idea of getting closer to him to be the worst thing he could imagine. So Aiden already knew how reconnecting would end. Better for Rosina to be a little disappointed now than a lot disappointed later. This way, Aiden wouldn’t have to watch her be disappointed.
He silenced his phone and put it back in his pocket without reading the message. The world was worryingly fuzzy around the edges, and his jaw was aching from clenching it too hard, but Aiden congratulated himself on a personal victory. He’d been in the same room as Harvard and hadn’t looked at him more than three times, and now he’d escaped.
“Aiden!” called Harvard’s voice behind him.
Aiden never got lucky. Aside from in the obvious sense.
“Hey.” Aiden refused to pick up the pace on his sauntering stride. That would look like running away. “You go ahead to breakfast. I’m not hungry.”
“Great,” said Harvard. “Me neither. I want to talk.”
“But I’m starving to death,” protested Aiden as Harvard took hold of his elbow and piloted him down the brick walkway running along the quad, back to the dormitory.
Once again, Aiden’s stupid body betrayed him, every cell too aware of Harvard’s hand—on his arm, for God’s sake. The cells were all in a rush of warm approval. Yes, go with Harvard; yes, do whatever Harvard wants, yes.
He hadn’t been back to their room in… It had been a while. Harvard had made both beds. Aiden strolled over to the bedside and lay down across them, hoping this looked more like lounging than a collapse. His teddy bear, Harvard Paw, was tilting dangerously off the side of the bed. Aiden viciously crushed the urge to rescue the bear. He wasn’t that little kid anymore, clutching his toy, trailing after Harvard in helpless adoration. He refused to be.
He closed his eyes. Oh, he was so tired. Maybe, if Harvard was here but didn’t talk to him and wasn’t in the bed, maybe Aiden could sleep.
“Could you open your eyes and look at me?” Harvard asked.
Aiden’s eyes opened without his consciously willing it. Damn his idiot, treacherous body. Harvard was standing a careful distance from the bed. He didn’t look wrecked, the way Aiden was. He looked like he always did, tall and strong, broader across the shoulders than the average fencer but able to walk softer than anyone, his black hair cropped close and his brown eyes the kindest in the world. He looked like everything Aiden had ever wanted in his whole life.
“Hey, Aiden,” Harvard said in the gentle voice Aiden loved best. “Listen to me for a minute.”
“Nah,” Aiden responded. “I think I can guess what’s going on. Coach told you to make sure your teammate fell in line, and you said, Yes, Coach, like a good little captain. But I’m gonna pass. Getting lectured seems like a buzzkill. Life’s too short to do things I don’t want to do.”
“Is there anything you do want to do?” Harvard snapped.
“Hmm. I don’t know,” Aiden drawled. “Want to make out?”
Something flickered in Harvard’s eyes, turning the gold in them dark. For a shocked, dizzy, delirious moment, Aiden thought Harvard might say yes. Then Harvard’s mouth twisted, and Aiden realized the emotion darkening his eyes was disgust.
“I—what?” said Harvard, clearly at a loss faced with Aiden’s revolting offer. “No.”
Aiden smirked to show he didn’t care at all. “Didn’t think so.”
Harvard sighed as if he found Aiden exasperating. Aiden had always believed it was fond exasperation, but maybe he was wrong.
“Yeah, Coach asked me to talk to you. She was concerned about your behavior. I am, too.”
“Why?” asked Aiden.
Harvard frowned. “You just don’t seem yourself.”
Aiden laughed and made it convincing. “I’ve been messing around with a lot of guys, neglecting my fencing, and generally having a good time. How is that not like me?”
Harvard had no answer for that, Aiden saw to his bitter satisfaction. Aiden was simply living down to everyone’s expectations. The only thing that was different was that now Aiden had crushed out the last remnant of the little kid that trailed Harvard everywhere; that idiot who still hoped.
“I’ve always been a jackass,” purred Aiden. “Nothing’s changed. Isn’t that what you wanted? For nothing to change?”
He had to get up off this bed and out of this room. He couldn’t stand to be around Harvard, yet he felt like he couldn’t bear to leave. That was why he had to go now.