Chapter 13

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

T here was no gym session before our scrimmage, so I got to sleep in until seven. Which should have felt like Christmas, except I hardly slept a wink. I was dog tired, but I tossed and turned all night thinking of Charlie. Ethan finally rolled in about three, so I was glad me and Nash had ditched him. He was still snoring when I climbed out of bed and went downstairs for a breakfast of oatmeal and fruit. I was pretty sure the only reason we kept any healthy food in the house was because of me; the rest of my brothers seemed to think that Pop-Tarts counted.

Bart was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a popsicle. "Hey," he said, not even looking ashamed at his breakfast of choice, "it's game day, right?"

"First scrimmage," I said, but it was just as exciting as the real thing. Coach was going to separate us into teams and get us out on the field for a game. After so long not playing, I was looking forward to it. Just so long as I didn't fall asleep in the dugout or something, but I trusted the rush of being out there again would keep me awake.

"I'm more of a football guy," he said.

"You play?" I asked, side-eyeing his popsicle.

"Nah," he said. "Fantasy football. "

Well, that tracked.

"So, has Marcus been checking in with you?" he asked. "You know, about big brother stuff?"

"Nope," I said, searching for something to drink in the refrigerator that wasn't beer. "Should he be?"

"Kinda," Bart said and scratched his nose with the end of his popsicle stick. "To make sure you're doing okay and you've got no issues."

I found some OJ. "Yeah, it's all good. I'm just here to play ball and pass my classes, not make waves."

"Good," he said, and then tilted his head. "You're not much like Colt at all, are you?"

"I try not to be," I said.

He snorted. "Yeah. I mean, I don't want to say anything bad about the guy?—"

"Oh, no. Feel free."

Bart snorted again. "Well, I was only a sophomore when he was chapter president, so my opinion didn't count for much, but when having fun causes that much shit, you kind of need to chill the fuck out, you know? He damn near got us shut down."

That sounded like a pretty good assessment of my brother. "Yeah."

Bart slid off the counter. "Have a good game today, bro."

"Thanks."

We fist-bumped.

I ate my breakfast and pretended I didn't have a case of pre-game jitters. It was dumb. It was only a scrimmage, and I'd played hundreds of those before. But this was the first time I'd played at college. This was the first time I'd played in front of Coach. And this was definitely the first time I couldn't be sure that I was the best player on the team or at least in the top three. Because every one of the guys on the squad was good. They wouldn't have been here on baseball scholarships if they weren't. And most of them were in their second or third year.

What if I was out of my league?

Since there was no gym, I went for a run. Nothing too strenuous, just enough to settle my nerves. By the time I was back on Fraternity Row, I'd at least decided that Coach wouldn't have scouted me for the team if he didn't think I had what it took, right?

When I arrived back at the house, Ethan had dragged himself out of bed and made it as far as the living room where he was slumped on the couch shoveling cereal into his face. He glanced up as I passed, but he didn't say anything about last night, so I didn't either.

I took a quick shower. Then I went to my room and dressed. Even though it was only a scrimmage, Coach Larson insisted we wear our uniform. He said it helped to get in a game mindset, and he was probably right. All I knew was when I looked in the mirror and saw myself in a baseball shirt with the Lassiter Lions logo and my white pants, I felt like maybe I did belong after all.

I was heading downstairs with my bag slung over my shoulder—me and Nash were gonna meet up and walk over to the field together—when I heard someone knocking on the door. It wasn't a polite rap like "Hey, is anyone in?" but it wasn't a "Get out immediately, there's a fire!" knock either. It was somewhere in the middle of those, like whoever was there wasn't leaving until they got what they came for.

"Fuckin' coming!" Ethan yelled before I'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and a moment later he lumbered out of the living room. I couldn't see who was at the door when he opened it—his body was blocking my view—but then he said, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

My heart skipped a couple of panicked beats as my brain vomited up the names of all the people who might cause Ethan to react like that.

Maybe Marty had found a scratch on his car, decided it was my fault, and had come to murder me.

Maybe Trey had decided to yell at me for stepping onto Alpha Tau property last night. Wait—did the sidewalk count? Trey would know—he was going to be a lawyer, and he could probably sue me for everything I was worth now and in the future.

But maybe—my heart clenched—maybe it was Charlie .

"Fuck off, Ethan. I'm here to see North, not you." And then Briar—slender, pretty Briar—pushed his way right past Ethan and into a house full of Kappas.

Like, this was a Romeo and Juliet moment. Specifically that part when Romeo crashes Juliet's dad's house party, even though the Capulets could murder him for doing it. Exactly like that, but somehow even more astonishing because Briar was doing it while dressed in purple tights and a glittery pink sweater, like a girl from an eighties fitness video. He was even wearing leg warmers. It was a weird look, but it worked for him. I got the impression that all looks would work for Briar. They wouldn't dare do otherwise.

"North," he said, when he saw me standing at the bottom of the steps. "I need to talk to you."

Zach stuck his head out of the dining room doorway. "Is he late for Jazzercise?"

"Fuck off, Zach," Briar said without taking his eyes off me.

Zach showed Briar the palms of his hands and wandered into the kitchen.

I blinked. Had Briar really just told the pledge master to fuck off? In his own hallway? I suddenly understood why Tybalt had wanted to kill Romeo so much. The fucking audacity. I mean, it was brave as hell and dumb as fuck, both at the same time. I wondered how Briar managed to keep his balls contained inside those tights, because they must have been the size of melons.

"Uh," I said. "What do we need to talk about?"

"About you," Briar said, and then jabbed a finger in Ethan's direction. "And about this rancid piece of dog shit right here."

"Fuck off!" Ethan snapped and took a sudden step toward Briar.

"Whoa," Bart said, appearing from the living area. "Whoa, whoa, whoa." Except instead of telling Briar to get out, he said, "Ethan, why don't we go to my office?"

Ethan screwed his face up and balled his fists. "Fuck that. If this little dickwad has something to say, the least he can do is say it to my face."

"Oh, I'll say it to your face," Briar said, squaring up as though Ethan couldn't flatten him with a single punch. "You're a bully and an asshole, and if you think I'm putting up with you and your buddies giving Charlie shit, think again."

"Zach!" Bart yelled out. He stepped forward—just as Ethan pulled his arm back to wind up for a punch.

Ethan elbowed him in the face.

"Fuck!" Bart clutched at his nose. Red dripped down onto his wrist. He glared at Ethan.

Ethan stared. He opened his mouth, possibly to apologize—or, knowing Ethan, to blame Bart for getting in his way.

Bart held up a palm. "Don't say a fucking word." He lowered his hand and wiped his bloody face with the hem of his shirt. "How many times have I told you not to start shit with the Alpha Taus? It's hard enough trying to clean up our reputation after that asshole Colt was in charge. No offense, Tanner."

"Oh, none taken," I said. "Colt is an asshole."

He gave a terse nod. "Why don't you show Briar upstairs while I deal with this ." He shot Ethan a look that suggested he was finding Briar's description of "rancid dogshit" pretty fitting right now.

I had no fucking idea what was going on, but I nodded.

"Fine," Briar said and nudged me toward the staircase.

Fisher came clattering down the stairs as Briar followed me up them. I led him to my room, and he wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside, skirting a pile of laundry on the floor. "Wow. Shocker. The pigs live like pigs."

"That's Ethan's side of the room," I said, my stomach clenching as I dropped my bag on the floor. He thought I was a pig? What the hell ?

"He's your roommate?" Briar raised his eyebrows. "You guys are just BFFs the whole way through, I guess."

"What?" I shook my head. "I'm not his BFF. I'm not even his F."

"That's not what I heard," Briar said, but he didn't sound as angry as he had a moment earlier.

"I don't even like the guy," I said. "I just don't want to get on his bad side, since he seems like he'd cause shit if you pissed him off."

Probably should have thought of that before ditching him last night, though I couldn't bring myself to regret it.

Briar let out a humorless laugh. "You could say that. He made Charlie's life a living hell last year. And now he's doing it again ." He looked around the room, and his glare finally settled on me. "Are you seriously telling me you're not his friend?"

"I'm not! Ethan's a dick. And what do you mean, he's doing it again?"

Briar was silent for a moment as he stared at me. Then, he must have made a decision of some kind, because he said, "Why'd you bring Ethan to Charlie's study group?"

"He... he asked me about it," I said. The sinking feeling in my stomach was getting heavier by the second. "And I didn't bring him. He just showed up. What am I missing here?"

"Charlie never told you," Briar said and let out a long breath. "Shit."

"Briar, he never told me what ?"

"Ethan's a bully," Briar said. He stalked over to Ethan's side of the room and knocked a cup of pens off the desk. They spilled all over the floor, and Briar stood on one, cracking the plastic under his shoe. "He picked on Charlie so much that he got himself kicked out of Alpha Tau, but because he's a massive asshole, he blames it on Charlie, not on his own shitty behavior."

Shit. No wonder Charlie was mad when he'd thought I invited Ethan along. And that probably explained Charlie's reaction when we showed up together at Hole Foods as well.

"Shit." I sat on the edge of my bed, my gym bag digging into my side. "So Charlie thinks, what, that I like hanging out with Ethan? Is that why he dumped me?"

Briar rolled his eyes. "No, you idiot. He thinks that you and Ethan set this up!"

My jaw dropped. " What ?"

"Look at it from his perspective. First you turn up all ‘Oh, Charlie, I like you so much,' and he thinks you're hot, but then he finds out you're friends with the guy who hates his guts."

"Charlie says I'm hot?"

Briar stepped forward and jabbed his finger against my forehead. "Focus, Tanner. And no, he didn't say that. He's way too shy. I just extrapolated it from the baseball pants you're wearing."

I had some sort of feeling about that, but I couldn't be sure what it was. "Wait, so he thinks this whole time I was pranking him?"

"I didn't say he wasn't an idiot too," Briar said and then sighed. "Charlie's not confident. Not when it comes to guys and dating. Give him a textbook, and he's golden, but put him in front of a hot guy? He's a social disaster. And this thing with Ethan? It was bad , okay? It messed him up for a while, so of course he's afraid it's happening all over again."

"I wasn't pranking him," I said, my throat aching. "I wouldn't do that. Not to Charlie. Um, I mean, not to anyone but especially not to Charlie."

"Yeah." Briar folded his arms over his chest. "I got that vibe last night, when you chickened out of asking me to talk to him."

I stared at my shoes and ran a hand over my face. This was a fucking mess. "I swear I didn't know. I thought that, I dunno, Charlie had some giant jealous streak or something. "

"Oh, he does." Briar snorted. "I had to listen to him bitch about Nash for weeks."

My head snapped up. "I don't get why he would be jealous about Nash though."

"Because he's gay and he's hot and he also presumably wears baseball pants." Briar sighed. "Listen, don't you remember your first boyfriend and how it fucked with your head?"

"Um. Charlie is my first boyfriend. He's my first everything."

Briar blinked. "That explains so, so much. You are both tiny idiot babies." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, so why didn't you call him and let him know all this?"

"He told me not to." I felt dumb. Was I supposed to have ignored that? But no, because then I'd have been an asshole for trampling all over Charlie's boundaries.

"Oh, god, you're a gentleman too." Briar narrowed his eyes. "A tiny idiot baby gentleman. No wonder Charlie fell for you."

"He still dumped me, though." My shoulders slumped. "Oh, wow. There's no Romeo and Juliet rivalry between the Kappas and the Alphas, is there?"

Briar held up a hand and waggled it in a seesawing motion. "Well, we think you're a bunch of dicks, but no, there's no bloodshed on the streets of Verona. Some shit did go down, but that was mainly between Marty and—some guy called Colt? But he's graduated now."

Of fucking course it was Colt.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Nash.

Bro, where are you?

"Shit," I said. "I have the scrimmage."

Most important day of the baseball schedule so far, but the least important thing in my life right now. Of course Coach Larson, Nash, and the rest of the squad wouldn't see it that way. I couldn't be late.

Briar straightened from where he was leaning against Ethan's desk. I couldn't be sure it was intentional, but he managed to knock Ethan's water bottle to the floor as he did.

Who was I kidding? It was intentional.

"Okay," he said. "Text Charlie, okay? I promise he won't be angry about you contacting him, not when he finds out the truth. And he's miserable. He really misses you."

I missed him too, more than I could say, and I thought Briar got it from the way I blinked rapidly to stop my eyes from stinging.

"And, good game, or whatever it is you say to sports bros," he said. Then, hitching the wide neck of his glittery sweater back up onto his shoulder, he sauntered out and headed for the stairs.

I stared at my phone for a moment.

Then opened my texts with Charlie.

His last message was still there, stark and horrible.

Don't call me.

I drew a deep breath and wrote a new one.

Can I see you? I need to talk to you. I'm sorry for everything. I didn't know about Ethan, but Briar told me. I'm sorry for not knowing and for not calling and for everything. But I still really like you even if I was an idiot. I wish we could be boyfriends again. I miss you. Call me?

And then I sent it. It wasn't Shakespeare, but it was the best I could do. I just hoped that Charlie would give me a chance to prove I was telling the truth.

I read the message again. What if Charlie texted or called while I was at practice? If there was one thing I'd learned from Romeo and Juliet , it was to cover my ass when it came to sending messages.

I have to go to the scrimmage now. If you do message back and I don't answer I'm not ignoring you, I swear.

I hope you text back, Charlie.

My phone buzzed almost immediately, and my heart leapt. But it wasn't Charlie; it was Nash.

Bro. Where the fuck are you? We gotta hustle.

Right. The game.

I grabbed my bag and raced down the stairs.

The scrimmage was both familiar and entirely new, and the thoughts of Charlie swirling around in my head didn't make it easy to anchor myself in the moment. The grass smelled fresh, the air was crisp, and the sun was warm on my shoulders as I stood at shortstop—behind Nash and to his right, like we'd joked last night. I was glad we'd ended up on the same team once Coach had divided the squad. Nash was starting pitcher, and he was excited about it. He wasn't so hyped Kenny was catching though, because Kenny liked to psych out the runner on second by throwing out a bunch of hand signals to confuse the guy. The problem is, they confused Nash as well, and he had no idea what Kenny was telling him to pitch.

Coach had said a bunch of times that practice was as much about figuring out how to work together as a team as it was about keeping our skills up. That probably included Nash learning how to decipher Kenny's signals.

I wondered if Charlie had seen my texts yet.

I wondered if he'd answered them.

Not that I would know because when Nash had seen me obsessively checking my phone on the walk over to the field, he'd confiscated it and put it in his locker.

"It's for your own good," he'd said. "If you even try to smuggle this into the dugout, Coach will murder you. Now get your head in the fucking game, bro."

He was right. I didn't like it, but he was right.

I studied Nash's ass for a moment, contemplating Briar's blatant admiration for guys in baseball pants. Maybe I was immune to their lure because I'd spent most of my life around guys wearing them and wore them myself. Nash had a good ass, I guessed.

Then I made myself stop staring at his ass and start concentrating on the game instead. I glanced over toward the dugout. Coach Larson was standing in front of it, hands on his hips, with the two assistant coaches watching and taking notes beside him. I hoped I was doing well enough that I'd be on the official team when the season started. Like, I didn't expect to get straight into the big games—the ones against the top teams in our division—but I wanted to at least make some of the other games.

We were at the top of the seventh, and Nash was starting to look fatigued. Not that he'd ever admit it. I figured it wouldn't be long until Coach switched him out so he could give his arm a rest. I was tired too, but most of that was not having slept last night and being preoccupied with thoughts of Charlie. I'd made a couple of saves already—the dirt and grass stains on my knees could attest to that—but I hadn't really had the chance to do much more. But with every guy out here on the field busting his ass to impress Coach, maybe it was better to play it safe and dependable and not attempt any heroics. The thing with heroics was how easy it was to crash and burn. You either looked like a hero or a total fuckup, and with the way my luck was going lately, I didn't want to make that gamble .

Linc was up at bat, and it was bases loaded. We only needed one more out before we retired.

I ignored the trickle of sweat down the back of my shirt and readjusted my cap. Kenny flashed Nash a bunch of hand signals that were probably total gibberish. On third, Harrison had taken a substantial lead. We'd have to watch him.

I couldn't see Kenny's signals clearly, so I tried to judge what he'd called for by the way he was positioning his body. He was widening his stance, so I figured he'd called for a breaking ball, maybe a curveball or a slider. Nash wound up for the pitch, threw the ball, and sent a sweet curveball flying toward Linc.

The crack of the bat on the ball was electric.

Linc started to run.

So did Harrison.

And so did I.

Apparently I was going for heroics today after all. Linc had hit the ball hard into the ground, so I ran forward and then slid on my knees across the grass to get it. I scooped it into my glove, still sliding, and then pivoted, throwing the ball to Kenny. He caught it, and dived at Harrison, who was trying to dive past him. They ended up in a tangle of limbs and dust, right on home.

The umpire clenched his fist for the out, and Nash whooped as he raced toward me to pull me to my feet. And it might only have been a scrimmage, but the thrill was as real as if it had been the decider in the World Series.

"Nice throw, North," Coach Larson said as we jogged back to the dugout. He wrote something on his clipboard. "You're batting first."

"Thanks, Coach," I said, when what I really wanted to say was, "Are you sure , Coach?"

Like, he knew his job, right?

I gulped down a few mouthfuls of Gatorade in the dugout, then grabbed my helmet and bat and headed back to the field. While the fielders were getting in position, I took a few practice swings behind the dead ball line and then got into position.

"How's it going, new kid?" Harrison asked, crouching behind me. "First practice. Don't screw it up."

Great. He was one of those mouthy catchers who tried to mess with your mental game. I didn't let it get to me though, since I was still grinning at having fucked up his game just minutes ago. I rolled my shoulders and watched the pitcher.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of bright pink from the bleachers.

I turned my head to get a better look.

It was Charlie, moving along a row of seats, wearing that awful Hole Foods shirt.

Charlie .

After that, everything happened very fast.

The pitcher lobbed a bad pitch at me; a fastball. My brain misfired somewhere between realizing it and reacting. And suddenly I was facedown in the dirt, my helmet and my bat lying several feet away, and my skull was ringing. I had no idea what the fuck had happened.

Maybe someone in this sudden forest of legs could tell me?

And then I smelled cinnamon and burnt sugar. Was that the sign of a stroke? Had the ball beaned me that hard? I rolled over onto my back and blinked blearily up at the sky.

There was someone very pink kneeling next to me, and his hand found mine.

"Tan? Are you okay?"

I sat up, and the world swam more than was advisable. Coach was there and so were the assistant coaches and the umpire, the athletic trainer, Harrison, and the frantic pitcher. But all I saw was Charlie. I grinned at him.

"Charlie," I said. "You're here."

"Tanner, I'm so sorry. I should have just asked you about Ethan, but I overreacted like a dumbass. And I don't deserve another chance, but I've missed you so much." He squeezed my hand. "Do you think?—"

"Will you be my boyfriend again?" I blurted out.

"Yes." He sounded like he was laughing or crying or both, and my vision hadn't cleared enough to be sure. I blinked, and his face came into focus, a worried crease between his brows. "Are you really okay?"

I was now.

And from the way Charlie was smiling at me, I was going to stay that way.

I didn't really remember much else of the scrimmage, and it wasn't because I had a concussion or anything. The trainer cleared me of anything like that pretty quickly, and I walked to first base. Mostly I couldn't concentrate with Charlie sitting in the stands watching, his pink shirt standing out like a beacon.

It really, really was a terrible shade of pink, especially on a redhead. It was the best thing I'd seen all week.

When the game was finally done and I'd showered and changed and Coach had talked at us for a while, Charlie was still waiting in the stands. And he was right beside me as we walked across campus all the way back to Fraternity Row.

"How are we going to do this?" I asked as we stood in the middle of the road, Kappa Beta Rho on one side of the street and Alpha Tau on the other. I wasn't going to ask Charlie to go within a hundred feet of Ethan understanding what I now did. But I was still technically barred from Alpha Tau. "Just so you know, you don't ever have to visit Kappa, but I'm gonna ask Bart to move me so I'm not rooming with Ethan anymore."

Charlie bit his lip. "Thanks. And you can come to my place. I don't care who knows we're dating."

"But I'm not?—"

"Hey!" A voice rang out from the porch swing at Alpha Tau. I looked over to see Marty O'Brien standing and jogging toward us.

I tensed.

"Hey, why are you hanging around with a Kappa?" Marty looked me up and down and tilted his head. Then he slid his shades to the end of his nose and peered at me over them like the world's most chaotic librarian, and his eyes widened. He turned to Charlie. "Wait. Are you and Tanner a thing?"

Charlie squared his shoulders and reached out and took my hand. "Yeah." He swallowed. "Me and Tanner are dating."

I couldn't hold back my smile. Charlie really did mean it about not caring who knew.

Marty turned back to me and looked me up and down again, and I braced myself. But then his face split in a wide grin. "Oh, wow. I missed that like, completely , but I guess it explains all the sneaking around. Wanna pet my dog?"

I blinked. Maybe that ball had hit me harder than I thought. "What?"

"My dog," Marty said. "His name is Squirrel."

"Uh, sure," I said.

Nothing like this had ever happened in Romeo and Juliet. At least I didn't think it had. I probably would have remembered if Tybalt had a dog.

"Cool. I'll go get him." Marty bounced back over the road to Alpha Tau, leaving me staring after him.

"What just happened? Why isn't he chasing me down the street and threatening me?"

Charlie gave me a crooked smile. "Marty's kind of chaotic, but he's not stupid. And he must have decided you're okay if he's letting you pet his dog, so he's not gonna give me shit about dating you. He's more likely to try to give me a sex talk." He scrunched up his nose. "I just hope he doesn't do a PowerPoint."

I laughed, and a knot loosened in my chest .

I was a Kappa Beta Rho, and I was dating an Alpha Tau, and nobody cared.

We made our way off the street and up the driveway of Alpha Tau still holding hands, and I couldn't keep the dumb smile off my face. It looked like I'd gotten what I'd wished for after all.

I had what Romeo had—minus the drama and minus the dying.