“Depends on what you’re looking for.” I offer a smile that’s also an olive branch. I think he takes it.
“I’m looking for good company and bad influence.”
“Then I’m your girl.”
“Glad to hear.” He tosses himself theatrically onto the seat opposite me and sighs. “Because everyone here looks like a total bore and I’m losing my mind.” His eyes roll, and we both burst into laughter wh
en we look down at the tray he just put on the table, because it’s full of kale salad with apples and other bullshit.
“Christian.” He points at himself.
“Remington.” I stub a finger to my chest. “But my friends call me Remi.”
“Then I guess that’s what I’ll call you, too.”
Christian tells me that he is another one of the few new students, and he is also a senior, so that practically makes us related somehow. Maybe not the best analogy, because my stepbrother makes a habit out of sticking his tongue down my throat and trying to get into my pants, but I digress. Christian just came back from studying at a Swiss boarding school with a really long, really French name. He was supposed to finish his studies there and go to Oxford University. However, his grandfather, the dude who holds the purse strings in his family, is dying, so his parents decided to move him back here so the whole family could spend some more time with their beloved patriarch. Christian says he doesn’t really mind either way, because he tries to have fun no matter where he is, and I actually believe him.
The conversation is easy and so is forgetting how this day has started. Maybe that’s why I’m so shocked by the end of it. After lunch—in which Christian and I exchanged phone numbers and promised each other to meet after the last bell rings—I attend my last two classes. The block schedule is yet another thing I need to get used to. We have four classes per day here. Two before lunch and two after. When Christian and I finally meet in the hallway, we make our way to the main entrance of the red-bricked building.
We’re laughing and talking about Britney Spears’ crotch tattoo when I hear the low rumble of a Harley. I freeze instantly, because the sound is so aggressive and out of place in comparison to the chirping of the birds, the little fountain in front of the entrance, and the low hushes of well-behaved students, and that throws me back to my reality.
Leather boots.
Tattoos galore.
The scent of possessiveness, poverty, and despair in the air.
Yes, they all have a smell. They smell like Ryan.
“Yo, Rem! Look at your fine ass in that uniform.” Ry laughs like it’s the first time he’s seen me like this, pulling out his helmet and checking me out without even hiding it. I immediately turn scarlet red. He’s supposed to be my brother. Supposed being the operative word. I can see Christian staring at me from my peripheral, wondering what the hell is going on. My hold on the straps of my backpack tightens, and I force a smile. Funny how aware I am of our inappropriate dynamic now that I’m at West Point.
“That’s my stepbrother,” I say, putting emphasis on the word step. I don’t think pseudo-incest will earn me any brownie points in this school. Even cool-as-a-cucumber Christian will frown upon that. “He’s my ride.”
Christian just nods, and the movement is faint, just like his wary expression. I know that look. I’ve seen it before, so I look away. Pity.
Don’t you fucking pity me.
“See you tomorrow?” Christian asks. And my gaze drifts back to him because looking away was a huge mistake. Now I know for a fact that everybody around us is looking back and forth from Ryan to me, trying to fill in the blanks.
“Sure will.” I give him a fist bump—and damn, if the prospect of a new friendship doesn’t cheer me up a little—and take a brave step toward my stepbrother. Then another and another. I descend the massive stairs leading to the fountain overlooking the high school’s entrance, and when I’m close enough to Ryan, he pulls me in for a hug. An incredibly awkward, greedy hug. I don’t have biological siblings, but I’m not sure our groins are supposed to touch.
Ryan lets me go after long seconds, and with each passing one, I realize that I’ll never fit in here. And it’s not just my worn-out shoes. When he releases me, his nostrils are flared, his jaw clenched, and he’s staring straight at Christian. I bring my hand up to cup Ryan’s jaw, brushing my thumb along his stubble, quieting his storm in the way only I seem to be able to. Panic swirls in my gut. I know what he’s thinking, and I need to distract and defuse. Ryan has always been overprotective, but over the last few months, he has crossed defensive territory and is now squarely lying in batshit-crazy zone.
“Missed you today,” I murmur, holding my breath. I wait for his reaction and sigh with relief as his eyes soften at my touch.
“Guess what?” Ryan smirks, and I know Christian is forgotten. For now, anyway. Ryan is gorgeous, there’s no denying that, but instead of swooning over that smirk, I’m jaded to it.
“What?” I ask, still standing too close to him and too close to his bike and too close to the situation I’m desperate to get out of.
“Got you a present.”
“You did?” I raise an eyebrow, skeptic. He nods, turns around, and pulls out a brand new, shiny red Shoei helmet. My heart drops. He can’t afford this.
“Check it out,” he says. I grab it. It’s heavy as hell, but I’m not complaining. It’s much better than the German style one I wore on the way to school that looked like an old school military helmet. But I also know that Ryan is broke as hell, so the fact that he has money worries me. There is no way he came by it honestly.
“Ryan?” I don’t need to ask the actual question. Just the fact that I’m looking at the helmet like it’s a bomb and not a gift spells it out for me.
Ryan clears his throat. “What? Been picking up extra shifts at the garage lately,” he says. He could be telling the truth. He has been gone a lot lately, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s hiding something.