“Hey, it’s Sarge, man.”
“Oh shit, what’s up?” I say, as we continue onward.
“I’m really sorry about this, man. I just—I can’t even believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?”
“Someone found out about you smo—oh shit, nevermind, you’ll see in a second. I’m just …” His voice shakes, the concern thick in his tone. “I’m just so sorry, man.”
“Pledges.” Trevor’s voice echoes. “We have some unfortunate business to discuss. It’s come to my attention that Bishop snuck away for a few cigarettes a while ago, as reported by brother Chunk. Obviously, tobacco was specifically restricted, as your list clearly stated, so—guys, I’m sorry. When one fucks up, everyone suffers. You all will either have to drop the pledging process and have wasted the past two months of your life, or you restart the pledging process from day one. Those are your only two options.” He hesitates before adding, “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“What?” Mac gasps.
“I’m sorry, guys, but I’m fuckin’ out. Fuck this stupid ass shit.” I go to remove the sandbag, but Sarge tugs it back down.
“What about your pledge brothers, Bishop?” he asks in a concerned tone.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I spit, my voice sounds as if it’s not my own, gritty and emotionless.
“I ain’t stickin’ around either, gents,” Jeremy says. “Ain’t no way I’m goin’ through this horse shit for a second time. Y’all must be higher than a bird’s asshole. I’m fuckin’ outta here.” There’s a hesitation, and then he says, “What the—” before his words are snuffed out.
“It’s one choice or the other. You decide right now,” Trevor says.
“I’m out,” Mac says.
“Um, I don’t know. Bishop?” Carter asks.
I scoff. “Out as Elton John, bro. Sorry.”
“Then I’m out too,” Carter says.
“Alright, sorry about that, guys,” Trevor says, though his tone says anything but apologetic. “You can take off your sandbags and we’ll get you back to the house.”
I pull my sandbag off immediately and see every single brother in the fraternity standing behind Trevor, and they have smiles on their faces. After a moment of awkward silence as the four of us look over them with questioning glares, Trevor leads all the brothers in cheer.
He takes a step forward, a wide smile on his face and his hands clapping, as he says, “Gentlemen, welcome to the DIK family! You fucking made it!”
For a moment, I’m in shock. I can’t process whether this is legitimate or just another game they’re playing.
Sarge embraces me, whispering, “Congrats, Little Bro,” in my ear. As the genuine smile remains positioned on his face, and the others continue their congratulations and applause without trickery, the shock I feel morphs to enthusiasm and relief.
“Now, let’s get you guys back to the house to party!” Trevor yells, waving his arm in the air to rally everyone. “First-year brothers, take care of the bonfire.”
I turn to Sarge, brows scrunched in confusion. “What about all that wood?” I ask.
He chuckles. “It’s for the end-of-year party.”
I shake my head, scoffing. “Jesus Christ, we were fuckin’ slave labor then?”
Sarge nods with a smile. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Like Jenna fuckin’ Jameson in her prime.”
AFTER THE SHORT RIDE BACK to the DIK house, we’re met with a spotless basement. On the bar top sits the book Zane presented at our initiation, with every brother’s name written in it from the past seventy years. Next to the book, the skull and dagger lay, as does a stack of framed certificates.
“New brothers, link up for the last time, facing the bar,” Trevor says, his tone light, a smile on his face.
It reminds me so much of basic training, yet again, when we were finishing up our twenty-nine-ish mile ruck march with ninety pounds on our backs. The drill sergeants lashed out at us, called us every despicable name in the book, threatened us with another twenty-nine miles. And then our boots crossed the finish line, the walkway toward our platoon area and barracks, and the drill sergeants angered scowls turned to wide smiles, excitement exuding from most of them. Obviously, a few remained coarse. It’s just how they were. But most began congratulating us, calling us infantryman for the first time. The feeling of that complete juxtaposition in their demeanor made the finale that much sweeter. It took the pain away in a flash. It instantly made all those miserable weeks become just specks in the rearview.
My joints no longer ache; my muscles are no longer tired. I feel exhilaration as I link up with my brothers, Trevor and Damian standing before us. Even Damian has a smile on his face now. Zane grabs the book from the bar top, Brady grabs the skull, and Tim grabs the dagger, and they line up on the other side of Trevor.
“You guys have been one of our best pledge classes,” Trevor says. “No shit. You’ve worked together quicker, and more effectively, than any pledge class I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure. And that includes my own.”
“Same here,” Damian adds, nodding approvingly.
Trevor motions toward me and continues, “Obviously, Bishop, you played a huge part in that. We really thank you for being a part of this pledge class, and now a brother within this fraternity.”
My eyes flit to Brady, who carries the usual scowl for me on his face.
Looking back toward Trevor, I shake my head, replying, “It’s all about these guys next to me. A team is only as strong as its weakest link, and we didn’t have a weak link among us. Everyone contributed. Everyone put forth a hundred percent. And outside of Mac …” I chuckle. “They did it without complaint. Couldn’t have asked for better men to go through this with.”
“Hey!” Mac says, looking at me from down the line. I turn to him and smile, shrugging.
“If the boot fits, fucker,” Jeremy adds, laughing.
“Well…” Trevor motions to the book in Zane’s hands. “You all ready to become brothers of Delta Iota Kappa? Give me a fuck yeah!”
“Fuck yeah!” we respond, louder than we ever have before.
“Brother Bishop. Are you ready to take the oath and become our newest brother?”
I grin, more excited than I ever thought I would be to see this moment. “I sure the fuck am.”
Trevor nods. “Then come forward please and take a knee.”
I do as he asks, and he grabs a small wooden stool with a quill pen and ink jar atop it, setting them in front of me. Damian then sets the book down on the stool and opens it up to about three quarters of the way in. Half of the page is full, and I see the last name signed is Chunk’s.
“McKenzie ‘Knuckles’ Bishop, do you solemnly promise that you will be loyal to the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity and Rho Chapter, abiding by our rules, living by our principles, and promoting the DIK way of life, to discharge your obligations to the brotherhood faithfully, and to use all honorable means to contribute to the interests of our fraternity?”
“I promise.”
“Do you understand our Declaration of Principles, the seriousness of their contents, and the legacy in which you are continuing?”
“I do.”
“Frater Bishop, we welcome you as the newest brother in the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity as Scroll Number five six four five. Please sign the scroll.”
I take the quill, dabbing it a few times in the ink, and I sign my name on the scroll, just below Chunk’s, next to slot number five six four five. As I finish, all the brothers who have collected in the basement behind us cheer loudly.
Trevor puts out his hand with a smile, and I shake it, standing to my feet as I do.
“Welcome to the fraternity, Bishop!” he says, motioning toward the still cheering crowd behind my pledge brothers. “Go ahead and join your new brothers.”
I turn, nodding toward my smiling pledge brothers as I pass them, and approach the group behind them. Sarge hands me a beer, high-fiving me with his other hand, and
the others congratulate me as well.
“Brother Mac, are you ready to sign the scroll?”
“Fuck yeah, I’m ready,” Mac responds in an excited tone as the volume in the basement lightens.
After Mac, Carter, and Jeremy take their own oaths and sign their names on the scroll, Trevor opens the basement door and a flood of well-dressed women come down the stairs.
“Now, brothers new and old, let’s fucking party!” Trevor yells.
As the four of us pledge brothers congratulate each other, I spot Damian and Tim approaching with four bottles in their hands.
“There’s one more part of your Hell Night we forgot to mention,” Damian says, cracking a mischievous smile.
Eyeing the bottle closer, I immediately recognize it as Mad Dog 20/20. My stomach churns as I think back to high school and all the Mad Dogs I stomached and then subsequently vomited back up.
Damian hands a bottle each to Jeremy and Mac, and Tim hands his to me and Carter. The other brothers, now intermixed with the newly arrived girls, form a circle around us.
“On my count, you gotta tip those back, boys, and chug the whole thing,” Damian says, motioning to the bottles in our hands.
We eye them first, and then each other.
Mac groans.
Jeremy and I shrug.
“No belly-achin’, boys. We got an audience,” Jeremy says, opening up his bottle, and the rest of us follow suit.
“Alright, Fraters,” Trevor yells out. “On three. One. Two. Three!”
We throw them back and almost instantly every other brother in the basement begins shouting: “Born beside the river, raised by a bear. Sharp set of teeth and a thick coat of hair. Two brass balls and a thick steel rod, I’m a dirty motherfucker. I’m a DIK, by God!”
I’m halfway through and it feels like I’ve been drinking for hours. Mac has already stopped, spit up, and restarted twice.
The pause after their chant lasts the briefest of moments before they begin shouting again, the volume deafening.
“Rebel, Rebel, Rebel, ride or die tonight. DIKs don’t play the ‘play dead’ game, we’d rather fucking fight. Trouble, Trouble, Trouble, come and see what’s up. DIKs don’t need no girls, ’cause we’ve got your moms to fuck.”
Finishing the Mad Dog first, I let out an exasperated breath as the liquid churns in my gut. Watching the others, I can’t help but laugh at Mac as he pussy lips the bottle and has only finished a quarter of it. Jeremy will be the next one finished as Carter’s struggles almost as much as Mac.
The brothers begin chanting again, as quickly as they had finished the last one.
“What’s that? Jock strap! Who the hell are we? DIKs by God, you should know a thing or three. One, we’re the greatest, best there ever was. Better than your sister on that scene from Bang Bus. Two, we’re the strongest, united all as one. Stronger than the bedsprings of your girlfriend’s futon. Three, we’re some scoundrels, dirty rotten pricks. We’d rather be the takers, Beta Chi can suck our dicks!”
Jeremy finishes, letting out a groan. Carter eventually finishes too, gasping, and looking over at Jeremy and me in disgust. He wipes an arm across his lips as the brothers continue chanting, Mac still struggling with his bottle, but getting close to finishing at least.
“Rat shit, bat shit, dirty rotten thieves. Beta Chi guys like to suck a dick or three!”
Mac finishes and immediately bends over, a hand to his knee, his breathing heavy. He shakes his head as the brothers continue their chant. “Love us. Hate us. What are we to do? We’re the DIKs of Crescent Falls. Who the hell are you?”
They finish the last line louder than any other before it, and it’s deafening. Carter and Mac, both now somewhat recovered, look over all the brothers as they finish out their chant, enamored by the sight of it all. I imagine, like me, they want to learn the chants as soon as possible, so that next time they can join in.
“Fraters,” Damian says with a smile. “Slam your bottles.” He motions to the floor and takes a few steps back, as do those who encircle us.
We look at each other and shrug, taking a few steps back and slamming them into a hundred little pieces on the concrete floor.
Damian looks back. “First-year brothers, clean it up! Tim, start the music. Let’s fucking celebrate!”
I’m not sure how many moonshine shots and beers I had before I realized Ember was in the basement. I don’t know how long she has been looking at me before I noticed, or if she’d seen me from the start, but she now stands beside Holly, chatting away with some of the brothers, as I sit on the couch a short distance away. She periodically glances in my direction, and each time I catch her, she darts her eyes away.
I want to talk to her, but I’m unsure of what to say. And now there’s Carleigh in the mix. God, how my feelings for her have grown. What started as simple infatuation has become complete desire. I can’t help it. She fits everything I look for in a woman, from her beautiful heart to her incredible body, and the way her honest eyes gleam when she smiles. I likely have no real chance with her, but the idea of it energizes me.
I remember, too, a time when Ember had my heart racing, and looking at her now, in a short, skin-tight black skirt, and a purposely shredded Metallica t-shirt barely covering a sports bra, I’m wondering if she dressed this way for me—to make me yearn. With her breasts as perky as they are, the side boob the shirt creates is instantly dick hardening. She wears a backwards snapback that she knows I fucking love, and holy hell, is it hard for me to understand anything Jeremy and Mac are discussing next to me.
It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time again. The warm rush of familiarity, and desire, and connection sweeps over me.
“You oughta just go talk to her, Bish,” Jeremy says, slapping my arm.
I shake my head. Looking at him, I reply, “Dude, she probably wants nothin’ to do with me. And I’m so fuckin’ drunk, I don’t know what the fuck I’d even say.”
“Bishop.” Jeremy looks at me intently. “She’s been starin’ back at you for like an hour and a half. Do you miss the girl?”
“Fuck yeah, I miss her. Beyond just bein’ a sick-ass chick, she is one of the best fucks I’ve ever had, by far.”
“Well, I wouldn’t lead with that,” Jeremy says, laughing. “But just tell her you’d like to see her again or somethin’. Shit, don’t make me do it for you!”
“Fuck you. I would kill you.” I laugh. Catching her wandering eyes again, I say, “Fuck it. I got this.”
Standing up too quickly, I stagger a few steps before steadying myself, luckily without her seeing any of it. I didn’t realize how quickly the alcohol had run through me. As I approach her, she glances at me and I smile. I motion my head behind me and mouth the words, “Can we talk?”
Her bottom lip slips between her teeth as her eyes trail to the group in front of her before they eventually fall back on me. She gives me a little nod.
“Front porch,” I mouth.
She nods again.
I smile, making my way to the stairs, heading up and outside to the porch, lighting a cigarette on the way.
Taking a much-needed puff, my heart races. My nerves go haywire. I worry about what I’ll say, or that I’ll say something wrong, or stupid. Even sober, I’d be tongue-tied with her, but as drunk as I am, I’m bound to fuck something up.
The opening front door brings my head shooting around. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Ember comes through the doorway and smiles. She has a clutch in one hand and her flask in the other.
“It’s really good to see you. I’ve missed you around here,” I say, standing and giving her a hug as the door closes behind her.
As we separate, she passes me a tight smile, her eyes falling to the couch. She motions toward it, saying, “Wanna sit?”
“Sure,” I respond, taking a puff of my smoke and plopping my ass down on the couch.
She sits a little more gracefully than I and crosses one leg over the other, taking a sip from he
r flask.
“How have you been?” I ask, feeling fully original.
“I’ve been good. Classes have been a bit of a bitch lately.”
“Yeah, mine too. I’m seriously gonna be lucky to even be able to use these credits.”
“That bad?”
I shrug. “With pledgin’, and now this counselin’ bullshit I have to do, school has taken a back seat. Can’t bring myself to stay focused on it long enough to fully process anything.”
“Counseling?”
“Yeah, from the fight.”
Her eyes flit to her hands as she starts picking at her nails.
“Your friend actually really hooked me up. Well, his parents did. They agreed on a deal where I just have to do this seven-week substance abuse program and help a little with his medical bills. Saved me havin’ to go to trial, and potentially, jail.”
“Well, that’s good. How has the counseling been?”
“Pretty brutal, actually.” I chuckle. “I ain’t the open-up type, really.”
“You’ve always seemed pretty open to me.”
“About certain things, yeah. But other things, like how I feel, that’s a different story. It’s like pullin’ teeth for me.”
“Do you have a nice counselor?”
I think to Carleigh and fight the smile that wants to spread across my face when she comes to mind.
A ‘nice’ counselor? How about the sexiest fuckin’ counselor the VA’s ever employed?
“Yeah, she’s pretty awesome. Been doin’ this a long time, so she knows her shit. I ain’t so sure the process would be goin’ as well as it has with anyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like I said”—I take a drag from my cig and continue, the smoke coming out with my words—“I ain’t the most open of people when it comes to expressin’ my emotions. I need someone who knows their shit. To open me up. Luckily, she does.” There’s a brief silence between us when I ask, “How’s your friend, by the way?”
“He’s not like my friend friend. He’s just kind of a friend of a friend. But he’s doing better. You really messed him up, Bishop. He’s lucky it wasn’t much worse.”
Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel) Page 29