Page 24 of Nothing to Lose

“C’mon. Everyone will be there. I’m sure we can scrounge up a costume for you. It’ll be fun. Then you can crash on my couch, and I won’t say a word about it.”

I relent, nodding and following Silas to his residence hall, hoping like hell we avoid an awkward run-in with Hunter. Every Friday night in October, one residence hall at Corvus hosts a themed Fright Night to celebrate. It’s a little competition between them as to who can throw the biggest and best. I tend to skip them, easier to explain why I’m not hooking up with women at them or taking them home if I’m not there. And using my strict routine as an excuse usually shuts people up.

Everyone who lives at Harrow House is majoring in forensics, anthropology, criminology, or herbology, including Silas. The entire house has been transformed into a haunted mansion suitable for Morticia Addams herself. The interior walls are painted a sharp black, every available space decorated with blood-red and black roses, aged-looking skulls, and flickering candles. It’s spooky season’s finest, and my mood lifts slightly. Maybe getting out and not wallowing will actually do me some good.

Silas and I walk up the grand staircase, and I follow him to his room. It’s a single apartment, the fucker, and as I look around the space, I hope like hell I can get one of these next year. Even if I have a roommate, the apartments are so much better than the small dorm rooms Hunter and I are currently sharing. Silas has a small kitchenette, a living room with a couch, and two doors off of that—which I’m guessing are his bedroom and bathroom.

“Any costume ideas come to you in the last six minutes?” he asks, breaking me from observing his room.

“Nah. I showered before dinner and am just going to go in this.” I look down and gesture to my Corvus Rugby grey sweats and matching hoodie. Silas eyes me up and down and shakes his head with a small chuckle.

“Suit yourself. Make yourself at home. I’m gonna go jump in the shower then get ready to go. Feel free to head down without me. The guys were heading straight here after dinner, so they’ll all be there.”

“Sounds good, man, I appreciate it.”

Silas heads through one of the rooms, and I take a seat on his couch—my bed for the night—and pull out my phone. That’s when I see I’ve got several missed texts from Hunter, and my heart sinks.

Hunter: Can we talk tonight?

Hunter: There’s no pressure with me. I just want the opportunity to talk and apologize. But if you’re done with me, I’ll back off.

Hunter: Even if it kills me. I just want to make things right.

That guilt starts to rear its ugly head again, festering like an old wound and poisoning everything around it. “What the hell am I doing?” I mutter under my breath. Pocketing my phone, I stand, pacing back and forth in front of Silas’ couch before leaving altogether. I need noise, people, a distraction. Anything to push away these emotions that have taken over my head, heart, and body.

Once downstairs, there’s plenty of everything I was looking for. Music blasts from the speakers, fog dances around my ankles, lights flicker, and voices echo. There’s a steady flow of alcohol coming from the kitchen, Solo cups being passed around, the scent of sweat, cheap beer, and fruity alcohol.

Music floods my veins, the bass vibrating through the floorboards, deciding the rhythm of your pulse, syncing it with the beat. I find Rome and a few other guys ogling over some women, and I slide up to join their conversation. Ever playing my part.

“What’s up, guys?”

“Rome here thinks he’s got the moves to hook up with Lucy Darling,” our teammate Kai fills me in.

Rome nods his agreement. “Fuck, I want to hit that. Think she’ll go for me?”

“C’mon, dude. You can’t go for her. Lucy Darling has been eyeing the shit outta Silas for weeks. Pretty sure he’ll be getting his dick wet inside her soon,” I tell Rome, trying to save Lucy a disappointing night with our fuckwit teammate.

“Yeah, but he hasn’t made his move yet, which means she’s fair game. Have you seen her tonight? That chick is hot as fuck.”

“She’s hot, but what are you gonna say if you find out Silas likes her, and you’ve just given her your famous homemade cream pie?”

“To enjoy my leftovers?”

I gag, low and deep, a visceral reaction to the image he just painted.

“Alright, I’m heading in, fellas. Wish me luck!” Rome announces, walking off in his mummy costume. Our group dissipates, and I’m left standing alone, something I was avoiding, so I grab a Solo cup and fill it with some neon punch that’s overflowing from cauldrons and chug it, the fruity liquid going down way too damn smooth. Then I fill it up again and repeat. If I’m going to be here, I’m at least going to live a little and party.

The music is loud, everyone partying and living their lives, so much so that nobody notices I’m about three drinks past where I should probably stop. I lean against the sticky kitchen counter, plastic cup dangling from my fingers as I attempt to refill it when a strong hand circles my wrist, stopping me. Warm cedar surrounds me, seeping into my bloodstream.

“Easy there, little brother.”

I freeze. Then turn to find Hunter. He’s not dressed up for Fright Night; instead, wearing his signature grey hoodie and a pair of jeans, and a baseball hat pulled low, looking just as out of place here as I do. Hunter’s brown eyes bore into me with such focused concern it’s alarming. His eyebrows furrow, thumb swiping back and forth over my pulse point. My reaction to him is electric. Chemical. As innate as breathing or playing rugby.

“Did you know you have a caramel swirl in your eyes?”

Hunter smirks, releasing my wrist. “I always thought they were just brown.”

“You could never be just anything.”