by Jenna Scott
“Huh. I’m surprised you’re not gonna argue with me,” Hunter tells me.
My cheeks burn. “Well, I—”
“I’d go with 1757 too,” Monica quickly says.
Zach shrugs and Allison nods. “Great,” she says. “Thanks, Hunter.”
I clench my jaw and turn back to my notebook. Meanwhile, I can feel Hunter’s gaze trying to give me an ice burn, but I don’t give him the attention he’s craving. A long moment passes, and then Hunter gets up out of nowhere and picks up his bag.
“Anyway, I gotta bounce. Catch up with you guys later.”
Monica’s head snaps up. She looks as annoyed as I feel. “Wait, so when are you going to send us your pages? We have two weeks to turn in the paper, but all of us have to take turns editing first, before it goes to Harmon. The latest we should have the full rough draft done is probably…”
She flips open her day planner to look at the calendar, but Hunter just shrugs it off before she can give him the due date.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says.
“Hunter, wait. You’ve barely been here for twenty minutes. The rest of us have spent the last hour trying to—” I start, but he ignores me and walks away.
Just like that.
For a moment we all sit quietly, looking around at each other. I see annoyance and bewilderment plain on their faces, but no one says anything.
Finally, Zach breaks the silence. “Do you two like…know each other?”
“It seems like he really hates you, Camilla,” Allison says. “No offense.”
“I’d bet anything it’s the opposite,” Monica says. “Everyone knows that when guys are dicks, it’s because they actually like the girl.”
“We went to the same high school, and he was in my Debate class,” I admit, wanting to say as little as possible and hoping it’s enough of an explanation. “He did this back then, too. I guess we still have some friction or whatever.”
Allison sighs. “That was some kindergarten-level boy antics.”
“You’re telling me we’re stuck with an asshole who arrives late, leaves early, and does jack shit while he’s here?” Monica rolls her eyes. “Fan-freaking-tastic.”
I sigh. “Look, I’m sorry the three of you are getting caught in the crossfire. I’ll talk to him, and if he can’t pull his weight, I’ll talk to Professor Harmon about it.”
“Don’t stress,” Zach says. “I’ll make sure he gets the work done. I’ll go at him all dude, bro, I need you to study buddy with me. I can handle his type. Besides, it’s only five pages. Worst-case scenario, I’ll do his pages myself.”
“Oh gosh, you don’t have to do that,” I say, guilt eating me up already.
“Zach’s right,” Allison says. “It’s only five pages. We can all do a little extra work if we have to, and just let Harmon know that he didn’t do his share.”
I force a smile. “Okay. I guess that could work. Thanks.”
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” Monica says. “We got this.”
Everyone’s so nice, I can almost forget how horrible Hunter made me feel.
But as I dive back into my books, all I can think of is Monica’s comment about guys being dicks to girls they like, even though it makes zero sense. At the same time…it is something Hunter’s done to me before. He was nothing but an asshole to me up until the point when we got together the first time.
Is it possible that Hunter actually wants me back?
And if he does…what the hell do I want?
Chapter Ten
Camilla
People say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but when I don’t see Hunter over the course of the next few days, it only stokes my anger toward him. Olivia tries to get me to talk about it even though I prefer to keep it bottled up inside, but once she’s officially invited to join Alliance, she starts spending most of her downtime practicing dance routines with her new crew and I’m back to brooding by myself.
Luckily, I’m juggling my History project and the new TA work along with my usual load of psychology coursework and studying, so I’ve got plenty of distractions. The problem is when I get in bed at night, and he careens into my thoughts as I’m trying to fall asleep. I’m averaging about four or five hours a night, and it’s killing me.
Isabel says I shouldn’t let Hunter take up so much space in my head, and it’s not that I don’t agree—but it’s impossible not to obsess after the way he acted toward me in the library. Who does he think he is?
After yet another sleepless night, I rustle Olivia out of bed and then head over to the café where Emmett part-times so I can eat breakfast while sitting down for once. Most of the time I just stuff my face on the way to my first class, but since I was up so early, I figured I might as well take advantage of it. Maybe I can get some extra reading done, or get a head start on my Intro to Psych paper.
“Milla! You’re up early,” Emmett says, leaning over the counter to high-five me as I wait in the short line of students jonesing for their morning caffeine fix.
“More like, never got to sleep,” I tell him, stifling a yawn.
“Double shot latte?” he suggests.
“You know me too well.”
I also get a lemon blueberry muffin, which has become my favorite pre-class treat on campus. Normally I’m a chocolate girl when it comes to sweets, but this has just the perfect balance of tart and fruit and freshness.
Because it’s so early, I manage to score a seat at the window counter. I open up my psych text and flip open my notebook, hoping something jumps out at me as a possible midterm paper topic. So far, I’ve got nothing. We don’t have to submit our topics for approval until next month, but a girl can never be too prepared.
It’s funny—I had this idea that studying psychology would mostly mean learning all about mental health and how to help people who are struggling (especially kids and families), but the subject is so much deeper than that. We’re starting at ground zero, with how the brain works, perception and memory, cognition…it’s all about the mind, and a lot more science-y than I realized.
Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m fascinated. I have to say, the only class that I’m not liking is the pre-calculus class that serves as an intro to statistical methods in psychology. Shudder. Analysis of variance? Confidence intervals? Measures of central tendency? Yikes. I’ve never had such a hard time with math, and it’s five whole units, but it’s a required course. At least I’m getting it out of the way my first semester.
The time flies without me even realizing it until my alarm goes off, alerting me that I need to start walking across campus for my Intro to Psych class.
“See you in Lit tomorrow,” I shout to Emmett as I finish packing up my bag and head out the door.
That’s when I see Hunter, pacing in the courtyard outside the café with his phone pressed to his ear and his other hand gripping his hair in frustration. For a moment, I freeze, scrambling to come up with an escape route that won’t put me in his path. But then he looks in my direction. Our eyes lock, and I know it’s too late to sneak off without drawing more attention to myself.
I stay as far away from him as possible, sticking to the opposite end of the paved courtyard, but I can’t help catching his side of the conversation as I go. Not because I’m eavesdropping or anything—but because he’s talking so loudly that I doubt anyone else sitting outside the café can ignore him either. He sounds really upset.
“Of course you’re getting divorced. Don’t act like it’s a surprise. You’re a shitty husband and a shitty dad.”
Hunter stops talking but keeps pacing along a row of eucalyptus trees, and I can only assume it’s Mr. Beck on the phone, giving his son an earful, but also—telling him that he’s getting a divorce? I didn’t realize things were that bad at home.
I mean sure, Hunter had mentioned that his stepmom was staying with her parents and that she took Harry with her…but I just figured the Becks were taking some time apart. Marriage isn’t easy, and people fig
ht. But they also work things out. Or at least, sometimes they do…
Even as I put it all together, I remember something Hunter said to me the first time we went to the Loma Lighthouse. He mentioned that his dad brought girlfriends up there. And actually, thinking back on it, Hunter used to constantly drop hints about his dad’s infidelity in front of his stepmother, to the point where I felt sorry for her.
Karleigh might’ve been objectively terrible from time to time, and I had certainly judged her for focusing more energy on her career as a social media influencer than she did on her son, but at the end of the day I know she loves Harrison. I can acknowledge that. And she definitely didn’t deserve to get cheated on and lied to by Mr. Beck, or mocked and shit-talked by her stepson all the time. Nobody deserves that.
“You think she won’t sue for full custody?” Hunter yells. After a moment, he adds, “Just stop. He’s six years old. You can’t put that on him.”
My stomach drops. Poor Harry. And poor Hunter.
This must be why he’s flipping out and making such a huge scene. Because he’s treated his stepmom like shit, and now she could very well do everything in her power to keep him out of Harry’s life. No one would blame her for it.
But would she really be so vindictive, to the point where Harry would suffer? He worships his older brother, and Hunter’s honestly great with Harrison. Keeping them apart wouldn’t be good for anybody.
I can’t walk away from this. I’m too invested.
Dropping my bag onto an unoccupied table, I pull out my phone so I can pretend to be texting somebody, meanwhile taking frequent peeks at Hunter. Every time I look up, he seems more distraught.
“That’s exactly your problem, Dad,” he’s saying. “Money doesn’t fix everything.”
My hands ache to touch him, to pull him into a hug, to tell him that it’ll be all right. I can only imagine how badly this call is destroying him. My heart is breaking, too. For him and for Harrison.
Even though we’re not on the best terms anymore, I still know who Hunter is underneath all the attitude and the harsh words. I know that the possibility of never seeing his brother again scares him, and that if it ends up happening, it will crush his soul. Asshole he may be, but Hunter unequivocally loves Harrison. I guess that’s one thing he has in common with Karleigh.
Despite the fact that I’m furious with Hunter, I can’t bear to just stand here and say nothing. Seeing him hurt still hurts me, too. It shouldn’t be like this—we have no relationship to speak of, and the way he broke up with me was unforgivable. Not to mention his appearance here at Stanford, the way he acted at the frat party, his attitude in our study group and just in general.
But maybe I’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that no matter what happens, Hunter will always have a place in my heart. That he might be the greatest douchebag in the world, but I will never stop being concerned about him. I know all too well what it’s like to have one parent who doesn’t care enough, and another who is fully absent. It sucks. It never stops sucking. It’s something Hunter and I have bonded over in the past, and it’s not something I can forget.
“Whatever,” Hunter says after a whole minute passes. “If you’re insisting I come home, then at least be there when I show up on Friday.” There’s a scoff, and I can practically hear his eye roll. “You can’t make promises. Right.”
His voice cracks, and that’s it. My feet are already taking me to him. He shoves his phone in his pocket, turning his back to me as I approach.
“Hunter,” I call out, keeping my voice soft. “Are you okay?”
He turns around to look down at me, mouth a humorless line, half-lidded eyes suspicious. “Everything is fucking fine.”
I search his eyes, but he has that closed-off, dead-eyed look that says all his walls are up and he’s not letting me in.
“You were shouting,” I say gently. “I’m pretty sure the entire café heard you.” My hand lands on his arm—I didn’t even realize I was moving it until it made contact.
He laughs coldly, jerking his arm out of my grip with more force than necessary. “It’s none of your fucking business anyway. Don’t act like you care, Camilla.”
I flinch, my rejected hand stinging as if it’s been sliced open, my lips parted in surprise. “I’m sorry,” is all I can manage.
Hunter stares at me for a second longer, and without another word, he turns and walks off. I’m left standing there in shock, watching him go, until eventually he rounds a corner and disappears from view.
My heart is pounding, and I blink back tears as I rush across the quad to my Psych class while mentally berating myself.
Why did I even try to talk to him? Why do I keep acting so stupid? Why do I still care?
And God, how could I even entertain the notion that he’d apologize to me? What idiotic romantic delusions have I been under?
That’s when I realize the obvious: he doesn’t want me. I’m nothing to him.
Yet again.
Chapter Eleven
Hunter
My favorite person on the planet is my little brother, Harrison. Hands down. No contest.
He’s always excited to see me, he makes me laugh like nobody else can, and the kid is just pure at heart. He’s also the only good thing I have left in my life that I haven’t completely destroyed—and honestly, I could use the morale boost right now.
On top of that, I know I’m a better person when I’m around my brother. I have to be. Harry looks up to me, and I learned through my own experiences as a kid what it’s like to not have a solid male role model when you’re growing up. My dad might have failed me there, but I sure as hell won’t fail Harrison the same way.
Which is why I’m making the five-hundred-mile drive home as soon as I get out of class on Friday morning. Harrison’s spending the weekend at my dad’s house in La Jolla, and I’m dying to see the kid just as much as he’s probably dying to see me. I’d bet anything he’s having a tough time staying at his grandparents’ house, far away from his bedroom and his school friends and his usual familiar routine. And if our father is working all weekend—like he usually does—that means Harry is going to need someone to hang out with and cheer him up. I won’t let him down.
A series of freeways (the 280, the 85, and the 101 South to the 152 East) takes me to the interstate, and I speed a little bit on the way since I know the Friday traffic is going to start building up soon. Once I get to the 5, it’s pretty much a straight shot down to La Jolla. Meaning I have four-plus hours of drive time to stew over the divorce news before I get there. Blasting Bon Iver does nothing to distract me, even when I try singing along at the top of my lungs, so I end up driving in silence.
I make a stop halfway in Bakersfield to fill up the tank of my BMW and stretch my legs. Then I get some In-N-Out and hit the road again.
The whole divorce thing is hitting me harder than I imagined. Considering that it’s something I’ve been hoping for, it doesn’t feel nearly as good as I would have thought. Not least of all because I know it’s going to tear Harrison apart.
If things with Camilla weren’t so fucked up, I would have asked her to go home with me for moral support, but that’s obviously no longer an option. Other than Harry, she’s the only other person who’s capable of making me feel better just by being in the same room. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been the case lately.
Ironic, since she’s the whole reason I went to Stanford. I had to humiliate myself begging my father to make a donation so the school would overlook my barely-passable grades and the fact that the deadline for accepting their offer had already passed. Stanford was happy to have me, but only on the condition I join their swim team. My athletic skill was the only reason they’d made their original offer in the first place.
It actually surprised me—and kind of pissed me off—how easy it was for me to get admitted to a school that barely accepts 5% of its applicants. I knew I didn’t deserve it, CIF State swim champion or not. But a lot of doors ope
n when you have a fuckload of money to burn, and Dad was only too happy to throw in a mil to the library in exchange for the prestige of having his deadbeat son graduate from Stanford.
Getting back into competitive swimming has been a blessing, though. I don’t love waking up at five a.m. every day for practice, but I’ve always found a kind of zen in the water. And my coach says that if I put in the work, I might have a shot at the Olympics. It’d be nice to be known for something other than my trust fund.
When I finally pull into the driveway, it’s already after seven. I take a minute in the car to just breathe. As much as I want to see Harrison, spending the weekend at home also means I’ll have to deal with Dad, the divorce, and possibly meeting whoever he’s been cheating on Karleigh with.
I walk through the front door with my bag, but I don’t hear the expected Switch games blasting from the living room, or footsteps barreling down the stairs, or splashing from the backyard pool. Instead, I catch the sound of a rom-com, the type of movie Harry would never watch.
In the living room, I see the back of some woman’s head over on the couch. Great. Dad’s new girlfriend is here. I steel myself for the worst, but when she turns around, I stop in my tracks.
“Hunter. You’re back.”
Camilla’s mother—our full-time housekeeper—is sitting there on our couch like she owns the place.
“Sorry, but aren’t you on the clock?” I say, annoyed that after eight long hours behind the wheel, I’m being greeted by her and not my little brother.
She just laughs. “Well hello to you, too.”
Then my eyes zero in on the drink in her hand. “Is that my dad’s scotch?”
“Thomas said I could make myself at home,” she says. “I moved out of the pool house a few weeks ago, and I live here now. He didn’t tell you?”
“He doesn’t tell me much,” I say sourly. He definitely did not tell me that our housekeeper was moving in. Was the backyard seriously too far of a commute?
