Page 4

YEARS AGO

FABIEN

Jolie Auclair ruined my life.

I hate her.

But her brother is my best friend, and that makes everything so much more fucking complicated. Seeing her again, after all this time, instantly pulled me back from the successful man into the frightened little boy who pined for a girl he could never have.

And I hate how she still has that power over me.

It all started at Witley Academy. It all leads back to two boys I met in detention. Two boys who would become my brothers in all but blood.

I was a child with not a single idea of how the world worked when I was dropped off at the gates of the exclusively all-boys boarding school. The formal blazer made my neck itch. I was nervous. Shy. Untested. Seven years old and left to fend for myself, the Academy was not the place for a boy to cry, especially on his first day, and it certainly was not a place for displaying weakness. It was a place of tradition where boys learned how to control, destroy, and dominate. Cede no ground. Assert yourself or end up a nobody.

And no way in hell was I gonna be a nobody.

It happened in the school library. I was reading a heavy tome about art history. At the front of the room, there was a big commotion. I looked up from a page about Picasso’s Guernica to witness the head librarian dragging a boy my age by the ear. The librarian was screaming about how the boy had stolen a book.

The boy in question? I recognized Baptiste Tremblay as the boy prodigy from the streets of New York City who had bested my father in a game of chess at Washington Square Park. His genius had impressed Father so much that he gifted Baptiste the chance to attend Witley Academy on a full scholarship. We weren’t friends, though. I’d spoken to Baptiste a few times, but never more than a few words. The truth was, I was wary of him. Who was this boy who had caught the eye of my father? What did he want?

And what was he doing stealing a book from the library?

“No boy is to touch those books in the restricted locker!”

The librarian pulling Baptiste by the ear was a bully, and every student knew that. But no one in the school had the balls to stand up to Mr. Lockwood, particularly when he was delivering his infamous punishment.

And yet, on that day in the library, someone did.

“He didn’t steal it, sir.”

Clement Auclair was standing on a desk on the other side of the room. I’d spoken to him about as much as I had spoken to Baptiste. Son of Cromwell Auclair, Clement was known as a fiery scoundrel at Witley Academy, the smart kid with a knack for numbers who wasn’t afraid of authority.

And he was currently doing the unspeakable.

He was standing up to Mr. Lockwood.

His bravery shocked me. No one had done what he was doing, and that same surprise was also etched on Mr. Lockwood’s face.

But the surprise lasted only a moment. Soon enough, the librarian let go of Baptiste’s ear and was marching toward Clement as fast as lightning.

Clement didn’t have time to stop it even if he tried. Mr. Lockwood slapped him across the cheek. A smack that reverberated around the library.

And what happened next astonished everyone. Including me.

I was in the air.

I’d leapt out of my seat the moment the slap had happened. I was aiming right at Mr. Lockwood. My fist found his jaw. It was a perfect delivery. Ten out of ten. Perfect score.

And Mr. Lockwood went down like a sack of bricks.

The librarian, feared throughout Witley Academy, was sprawled out on the carpet of his library domain like a starfish, whimpering and on the verge of tears.

And that’s what made the three of us end up in detention.

We weren’t expelled. Cromwell Auclair and George Cote were far too powerful and influential to have their sons kicked out, but we were punished. We were forced to spend evenings sitting at a table on our own in the school gym. No dinner. No after-school entertainment.

“Thanks for having my back,” Baptiste said to Clement as we sat there in the gym, the first words spoken on our first detention evening.