Level Hands: Bend or Break, Book 4

by Amy Jo Cousins

  He knew he’d made the right call. And he’d regretted being the kind of guy who made the right call every damn day since.

  Now he was fifteen minutes from setting foot on the campus where Denny had spent the past year. Where the two of them would both spend the next three years, assuming Rafi didn’t do something to fuck up getting his scholarship renewed.

  Excitement and nausea rode a teeter-totter in his stomach, and nausea was winning.

  He’d tried doing the stuff he counted on to relax him before a big race. Aya had taught him about deep, slow breathing and clearing his mind, because his high school basketball and soccer games had never freaked him out like the first time he’d gone with the rowing club to a big regatta. He’d seen the hundreds of rowers—almost all of them older, white adults wearing workout gear that cost more than he gave his sisters for rent—hanging on to the sport they’d loved in their elite colleges, and had panicked.

  Anxiety before a race was one thing. Packing up everything he owned (which wasn’t half the shit on the “recommended packing list”) to move halfway across the country to a school where he didn’t know anyone except one person (whom he’d kissed one time before never seeing him again), on a scholarship he could lose for what felt like a million reasons…was something else entirely.

  Deep breathing was bullshit, it turned out.

  Cash let him sit in silence for the last part of the drive, until they were stuck in a long line of cars packed with student belongings. Bikes and boxes and even a kayak were strapped to the roofs ahead of them.

  “Home sweet home, buddy,” Cash said as they finally made it onto the campus itself. They hadn’t entered through the giant gates they’d passed a few blocks back, but on a side street Cash promised would take them right to Rafi’s assigned dormitory.

  Rafi drummed his hand against the outside of the door, getting on his own nerves, but Cash never said a word as he rolled through campus, waving out his window at people he recognized. Professors, maybe. Rafi didn’t think Cash would still know any students on campus, but who waved to teachers like they were friends? He’d always been more of a get-his-work-done-and-get-out kind of student.

  The street in front of Rafi’s dorm was busier than the elementary school drop-off lane at 7:45 a.m. back in Chicago. Students wearing Carlisle’s green-and-white school colors on their T-shirts and ball caps and loose athletic shorts or cutoffs crowded the area. Like they’d been dressed by the campus store for a TV commercial.

  “What do you think? There’s a parking lot down the road, if you’re sick of the car. We can always hoof it.”

  As if Rafi had an opinion. Shit. He didn’t know which way was north, and that was freaking him out a little. His interior compass pointed infallibly toward the lake in Chicago, but now he was in the middle of nowhere, on this campus where everything was so frigging green it looked like a fairy tale. The brick building, his dorm apparently, was four stories tall and half-covered in ivy. Students, parents and campus staff spilled in and out of the double doors like ants in a colony.

  “Freshman move-in day is always insane,” Cash told him over his shoulder as he craned his neck to look for a place to pull over.

  All of this waiting and going nowhere was making Rafi fucking crazy. He drummed his fingers against the side of the car door again until Cash turned and mock-glared at him.

  “Would you like me to drive to the parking lot, Rafael?” Cash asked him in a voice that tried to steamroll him flat with exaggerated patience.

  “Sure. Whatever.” He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but if he didn’t get out of this car soon, he might puke in it.

  He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had fallen together, ever since the slim letter announcing he’d been selected for this new “diversity in sport” scholarship had arrived. The entire process had been like a secret peek into the world of rich people. A phone call here, an email there, and all of a sudden he was looking at the real possibility of being able to attend this elite East Coast college.

  The first couple of months he’d been so excited he could hardly concentrate, but the closer he’d gotten to the day he actually had to pack up and leave home, the more his excitement had been stained by gray anxiety.

  When they finally pulled into a space in the back corner of the large lot, Rafi burst out of the car and strode onto the grass. The urge to keep walking, to set one foot in front of the other all the way back to Chicago, expanded inside him until his skin felt tight.

  “Holy shit, how good is it to get out of that fucking car, dude?” Cash hip-checked him on the fly as he bombed past Rafi and jogged around in circles on the grass until Rafi gave in and laughed at him. “I don’t know about you, but my ass done up and died during those last two hundred miles.”

  “Mine too,” Rafi admitted, then yelped as Cash jogged by and gave his butt a smack. “Dude!”

  Cash stuck his tongue down to his chin and crossed his eyes as he jogged backward away from Rafi, shooting finger guns at him. “Can’t touch this.”

  His mentor in a goofy mood was impossible to resist. Giving in, Rafi held himself to faking an eye roll and strolling casually toward the car, before juking at the last second and chasing after Cash. They sprinted in zigzags like kids playing tag on a playground until Rafi had slapped Cash’s hip, his back, damn near his junk once, without ever once managing to get in his payback ass slap.

  For a white boy, Cash was surprisingly agile with the hip thrust, twerking his ass out of the way at precisely the right moment.

  When they were both panting for breath and leaning against the Zipcar, Cash was crowing. “Damn, I still got it. You couldn’t lay a hand on me.”

  “I was taking it easy on you, old man.”

  “Okay, youngster. Just for that, you can carry all the heavy shit,” Cash said as he popped open the back door of the SUV. But he set aside what Rafi knew was some of the heaviest stuff at his own feet, before handing boxes and bags to Rafi until he was loaded down like a Sherpa.

  Halfway back to the dorm, Rafi’s back was aching so hard the decision not to wait in the traffic jam for a spot in front of the dorm looked damn stupid. But he nodded when Cash lifted a chin at the stairwell door after they spotted the crowd waiting for the elevators. If he stopped moving, he might not get going again. Besides, the pain took his attention off his mounting nerves.

  “Dig deep,” Rafi heard from behind him as they hit the stairs, and snorted.

  They’d stopped in a room off the lobby where the welcoming committee waited and had picked up his keys to the suite. On the third floor, they walked past plenty of open doors with music pouring out before finding Rafi’s suite door, which was closed.

  Nerves danced on his skin like ants doing the bachata. He’d gotten a couple of emails from one guy, Austin, who’d been chatty and easily distractible, if the way Rafi kept getting forwarded email chains was any indication. Sorry! Forgot to cc: you on this! Mostly his suitemates had focused on squaring up furniture arrangements for the common room. Suitemate number two, Vincent, was taking charge of that because “we are not discussing this again, Austin,” which sounded kind of uptight, but maybe that was how East Coast guys talked.

  Now the closed door stared him in the face. Were his suitemates antisocial? The kind of guys who were going to flip out if anyone was noisy after nine o’clock at night?

  Or maybe they’re not here, dumbass¸ he lectured himself as they entered the quiet common room, all of the doors to the individual bedrooms shut tight.

  “Looks like no one’s home. Too bad. We could use some extra muscle.” Cash waited by the door to Rafi’s room, his Res Life letter taped in its center.

  Rafi grunted. Like he was gonna ask some dudes he’d never met before to carry his shit from the parking lot, up three flights of stairs and down that long-ass hallway. The knot in his stomach unwound itself a little though as he unlo
cked his door and stepped into hogar dulce hogar for the next year.

  Beige walls. Fake wood floor. Long, skinny, bare mattress on a twin bed.

  Maybe not quite so home sweet home after all.

  “Goddamn, this is nice.” Cash dropped his load on the floor and stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips.

  “Nice?” Rafi was careful with the bags and boxes he set on top of the desk. His emotions were too fucking all over the place, obviously, because he couldn’t tell if Cash was being sarcastic or not.

  “Shit, yeah. You got the Cadillac of dorms here, dude. You should’ve seen the cell I shared freshman year. Two guys in a room this size? Bunk beds look like they’re hella fun, but no.” Cash rubbed the top of his head while scrunching up his face. “Maybe they’re cool for short guys, but I had a bruise for the whole year.”

  Rafi couldn’t imagine sharing a room with a total stranger, much less being expected to sleep in a bunk bed like a little kid. “Glad I got lucky, I guess.”

  “To the championship teams go the fucking perks,” Cash announced cheerfully as his phone went off. “The crew team did hot shit twenty years ago, and you rowers get your asses kissed.”

  Rafi froze. He knew that ring tone. Cash assigned different ones to all of his friends and family members. Rafi had spent most of the last couple months dodging that particular caller, and his own phone was off right now in an attempt to delay the inevitable.

  Cash stepped back into the common room as he answered.

  “Hey, cuz!”

  Did he have to sound so eager?

  “Yeah, we just pulled into town. How you doin’?”

  Denny Winslow.

  Rafi grabbed a random duffle and started shoving clothes into the dresser built into the recessed alcove by the door. Who cared which clothes went where? He needed a reason not to eavesdrop on the conversation in the other room.

  “Cool. He’ll be up in a minute.” Cash walked back into Rafi’s room.

  Jerking to a stand, underwear clutched in his hands, Rafi searched the room with his gaze like a man in need of an escape route. “He’s here?”

  Cash cocked his head and stared. “Yeah. That a problem?”

  Rafi felt his cheeks heat and was glad blushes didn’t show much on his skin. “Course not.”

  “Cool. Maybe put your shorts away, though.”

  “Shit.” He shoved his underwear in the drawer, then stood there, hands on the edge of his new—old and beat to shit but new to him—dresser. When the knock came at the exterior door of the suite’s common room, Cash looked to him, but he didn’t move.

  Shrugging, Cash stepped out of the bedroom to greet his cousin.

  Rafi kept his back to the open door, heart thumping and hands sweating.

  What the hell is wrong with you? Not like he’s going to go away without seeing you. Plus, you’ve been waiting for this. Man up.

  Deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth.

  He stood up and walked into the common room, trying to roll a little swagger in his step like he hadn’t been hiding in his room, wondering what it was going to be like, seeing this boy again.

  He kept his eyes on the floor until the very last moment, skating up past suntanned calves and muscled thighs in knee-length khaki shorts. A tight moss-green T-shirt clung to a flat stomach and emphasized how low on narrow hips those shorts sat. Denny’s face wasn’t supposed to look so familiar, but it rang like a bell in his chest, while at the same time being different from what he’d expected.

  Oh shit. Denny wasn’t a boy anymore.

  Why does that surprise you? Almost two years have passed. But somehow he’d expected to look at Denny and see that fresh-faced kid who’d followed him around with a glow of hero worship in his eyes, sucking in the new experiences like a cat at the cream.

  Broader shoulders. Narrower cheeks. Denny’s straight blond hair still fell messily in his eyes until he pushed it back with a gesture that looked unconscious. Cash was saying something, but Rafi couldn’t hear it over the rushing sound in his ears. He and Denny were staring at each other with wide eyes. Denny took a step forward, obviously coming to greet him.

  Rafi didn’t know what to do. A handshake seemed weird. A hug was a whole lot of body touching.

  But God, he so wanted that touching.

  “Hey, long time no see,” Denny said, arms wide open, standing so close Rafi could smell him. Laundry detergent and soap. He smelled so clean Rafi didn’t know whether to lick him or excuse himself to go shower off the road stink first.

  Missed you.

  Sorry I stopped texting.

  God, you smell good.

  He fell into Denny’s hug like a magnet was sucking him forward, snapping their chests together. Denny wrapped his arms around Rafi and hung on, rocking from side to side and laughing, joy bubbling out of him like champagne spilling. For a moment, Rafi hugged him back, face pressed into the damp skin of Denny’s neck, wondering if he would taste salt there if he opened his mouth.

  “Hey,” was all he allowed himself.

  Denny’s arms tightened around him when Rafi spoke. He let himself hang on for one more moment, but the vibe was morphing from long-lost friends to oh-my-look-how-our-dicks-are-pressed-together. Letting go was hard, and meant breaking free of Denny’s grip in an obvious way.

  Rafi took a step back and shoved his hands deep in his shorts pockets. The surprise in Denny’s eyes dug at him, but he ignored that. His throat was tight when he spoke. “Good to see you.”

  Denny nodded, forehead wrinkling as hurt sparked in his eyes. “Yeah. You too.”

  Most. Awkward. Reunion. Ever.

  Always ready to bust up an uncomfortable moment, Cash clapped his hands together, the loud crack pulling their attention away from each other at last.

  “Did you bring the thing?” he demanded of Denny. The random question seemed to break Denny out of his funk.

  “What do I look like, the Hulk?” Eyebrows rising, Denny spread his arms and mimed buckling under the weight of an imaginary load. “It’s the biggest size minifridge they allow. Carrying it is a two-person job. We have to go get it.”

  Rafi looked back and forth between Cash and the boy who was responsible for him being here. He wasn’t under any illusions the scholarship he’d been given was his because he’d earned it. Cash and Denny had lobbied their folks, and their folks’ friends and probably even weirder shit, like a senator they knew or something, and had convinced those strangers one of the rowing scholarships given by their alumni sports foundation should be used to promote diversity. And hey, they happened to know a perfect candidate.

  It had been eye-opening for Rafi, how rigged the entire process was. He kept waiting for someone to tell him not to get his hopes up, because they’d have to see who else applied. He wasn’t under any illusions he was the only brown kid who’d managed to find his way to the water in a long, sleek ribbon of a rowing shell.

  But that wasn’t how it worked for rich people, apparently. Everything was about who you knew.

  Rafi didn’t know fucking anyone. But his friends sure did. Cash had yelled at Denny at one point—Rafi had read the email trail when Denny forwarded him a request for another personal essay—telling him not to promise Rafi anything they weren’t sure they could deliver, but Denny hadn’t been wrong when he’d said it was in the bag.

  And now here he was. Out of his depth and wondering if the entire idea had been a mistake. Wondering too if Denny was thinking about how they’d kissed once and whether or not they would do that again. He was staring at Denny’s mouth when their gazes tangled and Rafi jerked his eyes away.

  Denny licked his lips.

  That probably didn’t mean a thing.

  God, did it?

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” he asked, trying to catch up on the conversatio
n that had continued without him.

  “We’re getting you a minifridge. Trust me, you gotta have one.” Cash had slung an arm around Denny’s shoulders, while Denny pushed his hands in the pockets of his shorts and flicked glances at Rafi.

  “I don’t need you to buy me anything,” Rafi snapped, and then felt like a jerk, because he couldn’t seem to say anything that wasn’t rude right now. He wanted to relax. He wanted to take a deep breath and enjoy this space where he was going to live for most of a year. But his entire body was so tense it felt like he might shatter if someone bumped into him wrong.

  Cash frowned and threw his hands up in the air. “See? I told you he was gonna be a pain about this.”

  “He’s not buying it for you,” Denny said, defensive now too, which was definitely Rafi’s fault.

  “That’s right. I’m not.” Cash scrubbed a hand across Denny’s head, mussing his hair. “Since you never paid me for it in the first place.”

  “It was an interfamily loan.” Denny’s laugh sounded forced.

  “It was a total con job, is what it was. And you’re gonna want to disinfect the hell out of it, I bet,” Cash warned Rafi. “That sucker’s old by now. Also, I can’t be blamed for any funky smells.”

  Denny looked at Rafi, long blond bangs falling in his eyes. He’d let his hair grow. Rafi remembered the silky feel of it tangled around his fingers. “I cleaned it out for you. It’s fine,” Denny said with a hesitant smile. “No smells.”

  Their back-and-forth banter swirled around Rafi, inviting him in on the joke, if he’d only take a step forward and join them. The two of them, blond and tan and smiling both, stood there like they’d sprouted out of the ground, totally at home in his spartan closet of a room.

  All he had to do was join in.

  “Come on,” Cash announced. “We gotta go get it from the basement storage in Denny’s old dorm, since he was too wimpy to haul it over here by himself.”