“You going to chuck?” Ed asked, plastic bag rustling.
Her voice came out small, meek. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad? They’ll be so disappointed.”
At the stoplight, Jack looked at Ed through the rearview mirror. He was looking at his sister, frowning. “I have to tell them, Becky. They might be disappointed, but they have to know.”
Becky started to sob. “Can’t we just keep it a secret? I promise I’ll never get drunk again. Please, they don’t have to know….”
Ed leaned back in his seat and stared out the window. “I understand wanting to hide it. Understand how much you’re afraid of them finding out….”
“They’ll hate me.”
“No. No, they won’t,” Ed said quietly. “They love you; they care about you.”
“Please don’t tell them.”
“They’ll find out eventually.”
“Maybe they won’t.”
“You don’t think Casey’s parents are going to call?”
“So you’re going to tell them?”
“Better we do it than they find out some other way.” Ed looked up, and his gaze snagged with Jack’s. They stared at each other until it was time to drive. Ed didn’t respond, and when Jack finally arrived back in his dorm room an hour later, he fell asleep praying Ed told his parents.
Chapter Fifteen
Outside the house, Jack pulled his hoodie up against a cool drizzle.
“Jack, wait up!” Marcus called from behind him. “Here.” An umbrella was thrust into Jack’s hand. “You’re gonna need it later.”
“You went up to get this for me?”
“Not just yours, I forgot mine too.” They walked through campus, rain tapping on their umbrellas, shoes splashing through shallow puddles. Marcus slowed as they approached the humanities building.
“Brittany dragged me back to the café where Loch Ness works yesterday.”
Yesterday being three days after his birthday evening at Studio 63. Two days since Jack had snuck over to Ed’s.
Jack nudged Marcus. “I thought you weren’t going to call her that?”
“I didn’t do it to her face. I did what you suggested; I was nice to her.”
Jack laughed. “Or at least as nice as you could be.”
“Ask Brit, I was good.”
“And how did Vanessa react?”
“Like her normal psychotic self.” Marcus shook his head. “She glared at me, huffed while taking our order, practically threw the food at me, and her one attempt at nice was to thank me for not bringing my bag with me for her to trip on.”
Jack wasn’t so surprised after the way Marcus had ignored Nessa’s attempts to be friendly at Studio 63. He shook his head. Sooner or later these two would figure it out.
“Look,” Jack said, “I gotta rush to class—”
“What’s up, man?”
“What?”
“You’ve been distant lately.”
Jack shrugged. “Nah, I’m fine. Good.”
“That’s a load of bullshit.” Marcus stepped closer and their umbrellas bumped, making the collected water rain between them. “You alternate between being glued to your phone screen and looking at me like I’m about to tear into you. What’s going on?”
Spit it out. Now is the perfect time to tell him. As any other day the last week would have been.
He couldn’t bear the fallout when Marcus realized the state of his bet. Thing was, Marcus would always be at his back. He’d do whatever Jack needed to make him happy. He’d willingly put up with years of Harper giving them shit if Jack asked him to.
Jack hated the thought. It twisted his gut that he’d be the reason his best friend—and all his friends—suffered. Folding and losing the bet seemed like a shitty thing to do. Convincing Ed to come along was an even shittier one under the circumstances. And the idea of finding someone—anyone else—to take for the night felt… too much like cheating.
He could explain his situation to Ed. Tell him why he needed to take another date and that it wouldn’t mean anything, but as soon as he mentioned the bet, it would be putting pressure on Ed to be the one to come with him. Pressure Ed had left his last boyfriend for.
Which brought him back to the point: he was screwed.
He didn’t know how to tell his best friend that.
Marcus smirked. “Okay, man, I got you. You two aren’t getting enough time to get it out of your system.”
Jack shook his head just as his Chem professor walked past. “I’m late—can we talk later?”
Marcus lifted a brow. “That sounds ominous.”
Jack managed a weak smile. “After lacrosse practice?”
“Yeah, that works.” Jack’s pocket vibrated as he dashed toward his lecture. He answered. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” Ed sounded deliciously excited.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“My parents and sis are taking a trip this weekend.”
Jack stopped just outside the lab. “You’ll be in that big house all alone?”
“Not all alone, I hope.”
“Text me the details.”
“You bet your ass I will.”
That made one bet Jack really liked the sound of.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” Marcus said as he and Jack made their way out of the house. “They’re nowhere. I even checked under my mattress, you know, just in case I’d put them there in my sleep or something. Dammit, I can’t flunk this test. I need those notes.”
Jack shook his head. “Maybe someone took them as a joke? Have you asked around?”
“I’ve talked to practically the entire house. No one’s seen them lying around anywhere.”
“Maybe you left them in class?”
“They weren’t there when I checked. I don’t know, and I don’t need this right now. I got a big game this weekend. I’m not gonna have a whole lot of time to play catch-up. I’ll have to call around asking to use someone else’s study notes. I asked if Terry will lend me his from accounting, but I don’t really hang with anyone in philosophy, and that’s the test I have.”
“Aren’t there any online notes?” Jack bit his lip. Marcus wasn’t saying it, but there was the obvious: Little Miss Nessa.
“No.” His brother shouldered through the swing door, and they trudged across the lawn. Jack’s phone buzzed, and he yanked it out on the double.
Damn, not from him. Stupid spam texts.
“Whoa. You expecting a call or something?”
“Um… sorta. But this was just a text.” And not from Ed. Jack shoved the phone back in his pocket and continued following a stressed Marcus across campus.
A secret smile quirked at his lips as they entered the eclectic café. Marcus just kept on coming here. Maybe he didn’t like to think of himself as “hanging out” with anyone from philosophy, but considering how often he came here, he sorta was. Yep, Brittany was right. This thing was some type of dance. The only question was how it would end.