Chapter 2-Cole's POV
1750 Words
I don't think about Ryan.
That's not some deep emotional statement. It's just fact. Ryan is a door I shut two years ago and I have zero interest in opening it again. Different teams. Different lives. We share a face and a last name and that's it. I made my peace with that.
Or I thought I did.
Until last night.
I'm at my desk at 6am staring at a business analytics problem set that might as well be written in Japanese when Marcus walks in without knocking. He does this. I've told him to stop. He doesn't stop.
He drops onto my couch, props his feet up and looks at me. "You look like dog shit."
"Thanks. Get out."
"Can't. I need my notes back." He tilts his head. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Some."
"How much is some?"
"Marcus."
"Okay, okay." He holds his hands up. He looks at the problem set on my desk. "Bro. Is that the analytics homework? That was due Friday."
"I know."
"It's Monday."
"I know."
He stares at me. "Cole. You know if you fail another-"
"I know." My voice comes out sharp enough that he shuts up.
He watches me for a second. Picks up his phone. Puts it down. "Something happen last night?"
"No."
"Because you look like something happened."
"I said no."
"Alright." He stands up, grabs his notes off the corner of my desk. Pauses at the door. "For what it's worth, Diaz was asking about you this morning. At the early skate."
I don't answer.
He leaves.
I stare at the problem set.
Easiest $40 of my life.
I press my knuckles against my mouth and breathe through it.
Ryan has always been an i***t. I know this better than anyone. I have known it longer than anyone. But there is a specific kind of low that even I didn't think he'd reach. Running a bet on a girl. Keeping score with his boys. Letting his whole team laugh at someone who bought him lunch.
I push back from my desk.
I need coffee. I need to not think about this. It's not my problem, it's not my business, and that girl is a stranger who is going to go handle her own life and I am going to sit here and figure out this problem set before Diaz pulls me off the ice permanently.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
This is Lena Vasquez. From last night. I want to talk. Can we meet.
I stare at it.
Put the phone face down.
Stare at the problem set.
Pick the phone back up.
I know you read it. The receipt is right there.
I put it face down again.
---
She texts three times before 10am. The last one is just my name.
Cole.
One word. Like she has any right.
I'm cutting across the east courtyard between classes, head down, coffee in hand, when I almost walk directly into her.
She's coming around the corner of the science building with her laptop bag and a stack of notes and she pulls up short when she sees me. We both stop.
"You didn't reply," she says.
"I was busy."
"For four hours."
"I don't owe you a response, Vasquez."
"Fine." She falls into step beside me like I invited her. I did not invite her. "Then I'll just talk and you walk."
"I'm not interested."
"You will be." She flips open a notebook while walking, doesn't even look up. "Business analytics. Intro to sports management. You've got a 1.8 GPA and one more failed midterm puts you off the ice for the rest of the season."
I stop walking.
She stops too. Looks up at me finally.
"How do you know that," I say.
"I told you last night."
"Tell me again."
"My roommate eats lunch with your academic advisor's assistant every Tuesday and Thursday. She talks. I listen." She holds my gaze. "I'm not out here telling people, if that's what you're worried about."
"That's exactly what I'm worried about."
"Well don't be. I don't care about your GPA drama." She closes the notebook. "I care about what it can do for me."
I look at her.
She looks back.
Last night she was wrecked. Red eyes, shaking hands, her voice cracking on the word easy like it had cut something open. Right now she looks like a completely different person. Jaw set. Eyes clear. Like she went home, slept four hours, and decided to become someone's problem.
Specifically mine.
"Say what you came to say," I tell her.
"I tutor you," she says. "Everything you're failing. I'll get you through this semester and you will pass that midterm. In return-" She pauses. "You pretend to date me. On campus. Wherever Ryan's going to see us. You show up, you're seen with me, and you make your brother lose his mind."
"No," I say.
"Why."
"Because it's a bad idea."
"For who?"
"For everyone involved."
"Cole." She steps closer. Not in a soft way. In a you're going to hear me way. "He called me easy. To his whole team. In a group chat. While I was buying him coffee and showing up to his games and actually-" She stops. Jaw tightens. "He made me feel like I was something and I was a forty dollar bet and I am not going back to my dorm and pretending that's fine. I refuse."
"So what, you want revenge."
"I want consequences," she snaps. "There's a difference. I want him to see me and feel it. Right here." She presses a fist to her chest. "The way I felt it last night."
"And using me is how you do that."
"You're his twin. You play for his rival team. You are the single most specific way to get under his skin and you know that." She holds my gaze. "And you need to pass your midterm. So."
I say nothing.
She keeps going.
"I'm a 3.9 GPA, I've tutored four people through analytics and they all passed, and I will show up every single time no matter what. That's what I'm offering." She crosses her arms. "What are you actually losing here?"
"My privacy," I say. "My space. My-"
"You'll gain the ice."
That lands.
She knows it lands. I can tell by the way she doesn't press it. Just lets it sit there.
I drag a hand through my hair. "This goes wrong, it goes wrong fast. Ryan finds out-"
"Good," she says immediately. "I want him to find out."
"It's not that simple. He doesn't just - he doesn't take things quietly, Lena. He comes back. He makes it ugly."
"Let him."
"You say that now-"
"Let him," she repeats. Harder this time. "You think I'm scared of him making it ugly? He already made it ugly. He did that when he typed that message. So whatever he does next, I'm ready for it."
I look at her for a long moment.
She doesn't blink.
Doesn't fidget.
Just stands there in the middle of the courtyard with her laptop bag and her crossed arms and that look on her face like she has already decided and she is just waiting for me to catch up.
I think about Ryan's message last night. That group chat. The skull emojis. The laughing.
I think about the last time Ryan did something like this and I stayed out of it because it wasn't my business.
I think about how that worked out.
"Tutoring," I say finally. "You don't cancel. You don't show up late. You don't half ass it."
"Same rules for you," she says immediately.
"In public you follow my lead. I don't do half measures. We're selling this, we sell it completely."
Something moves across her face. Quick. "Fine."
"And when he comes at you - not if, when - you hold it. You don't fold, you don't panic, and you don't show up at my door falling apart. We keep it clean."
Her eyes flash hot. "I don't fall apart."
"You were outside my arena at midnight-"
"That was last night." Her voice cuts clean. "I told you. I'm done with that part."
"Just making sure we're clear."
"We're clear." She puts her hand out. "Do we have a deal or not?"
I look at her hand.
She has no idea what she's starting. Neither do I, fully. But I know Ryan. I know how he operates and I know what he does to people who don't fight back and I know what he said about her and I know that the least he deserves is to see exactly what he threw away walking around on his brother's arm.
I take her hand.
"First session tomorrow," she says. "Seven AM. Third floor library. Don't be late."
"I'm never late."
"Great." She lets go. Turns to leave.
"Vasquez."
She stops.
"He's going to find out fast," I say. "The second someone sees us together it's going to get back to him. This campus is small."
She turns around. And for just a second - just one - something raw crosses her face before she locks it back down.
"I know," she says.
"You ready for that?"
She looks at me.
"I've been ready since eleven o'clock last night," she says.
She turns and walks away.
I stand there and watch her go and I tell myself this is simple. A transaction. She gets what she wants. I get what I need. Clean lines. No mess.
My phone buzzes.
Ryan.
Bro. I know we don't talk but I need a favor. There's a girl. Lena Vasquez. Stats major. She found out about something stupid and I think she's pissed. If you see her around campus just let me know what she's saying. I'll owe you.
I read it three times.
He doesn't even know.
He is texting me - me, the brother he hasn't spoken to in two years except to talk trash before games - asking me to spy on the girl he just humiliated. Asking me to be useful for the first time since we were kids. Like I'm some tool he can pick up when he needs it and put down when he doesn't.
I'll owe you.
I almost laugh.
I type back.
Haven't seen her.
Send.
I pocket my phone and head to class.
And somewhere across campus Ryan Beckett is relieved, thinking his twin brother has his back.
He has absolutely no idea.
- Writer
