Forever Princeton Charming

by Love, Frankie

  But he made his choice - the wrong one. And so did Spencer’s dad. In the end, he may lose both of his sons because of it.

  “Will you two stay for lunch?” Anne asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Gavin is coming over with his wife and little boy. I’d like him to meet you.”

  “You have a son?” I ask as Spencer and John start their own conversation.

  “Four,” Anne says proudly. “Gavin is the oldest. Shannon was our...baby.” She picks up a picture from the fireplace mantle and runs her hand over it longingly. “This was taken four Christmases ago. It was her last...”

  I take the framed photo when she hands it to me. Their family is posed around a Christmas tree, all wearing matching Santa sweaters and making goofy faces.

  “You have a beautiful family.” I smile as I scan the happy faces and then freeze, my blood turning to ice when I recognize the youngest boy in the picture.

  He’s skinnier, and younger, with bleach blond highlights in his spiky hair, but it’s him.

  “Decan.”

  “You know Decan?” Anne asks, causing Spencer’s gaze to jerk to mine.

  “I uh...” My fingers tremble as I hand the photo to Spencer. “Yeah. Spencer and I go to Princeton.”

  Anne’s eyes shine with pride. “He’s on the football team. He got a scholarship. He’s smart, just like Shannon was.”

  Confusion whips through me, a million pieces of a puzzle that fit together, even though I’m afraid of what the final picture will be.

  Shannon was Decan’s sister. It can’t just be a coincidence. Can it?

  I glance over at Spencer, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

  But Winslow already admitted to creating the blogs and taking the photos. Was he working with her as some revenge plot to get back at the Becketts? But if he knew about Ethan, why hadn’t he gone to the police or said anything?

  There are more questions now than before.

  “I actually have to get back to school,” I say quickly, standing, then tell a small white lie, “I have class.” I gather my things and tell Spencer, “I’ll meet you in the car,” before rushing out the door, needing fresh air.

  I don’t know if Decan is the person who has been making my life a living hell, but if he was - we might finally find some peace.

  But as Spencer comes outside, unlocking the car - I see his eyes burning with anger.

  I draw in a sharp breath. If I thought things were about to get easier, I was wrong. Spencer’s promise to protect me is one he won’t back down on, even if I asked him to.

  “I’ll make this right,” he says as we buckle ourselves into the car.

  “It’s like John said - you don’t have to carry the weight of this.” I don’t want Spencer to fight my battles, because I can’t bear the thought of something happening to him. Losing him. I love him too damn much.

  But Spencer just pulls out of the driveway, reaching for my hand and squeezing it so tight it hurts. “I agree that my brother’s sins aren’t mine to carry - but making sure the person who has been threatening you pays for what they did when they ran you off the road - I’m carrying that. Not because I have to, Charlie. But because I want to.”

  13

  Spencer

  “You can’t go alone,” Charlie says, her knees tucked under her chin as she sits on the couch.

  We’ve been having the same argument for the last hour.

  “I won’t be alone. Prescott will be there.”

  “I just think we should wait. Maybe it’s just a coincidence—”

  “You know it’s not. Think about it, Charlie. Take the blogs out of the equation. We know that was Winslow. But she wasn’t the one who ran you off the road. And as sick and twisted as she is, the pig’s blood isn’t her style. Why would she go after Ava?”

  “I don’t know.” She chews on her thumbnail. “I just think that you should let the police do their job. If it was him, and he did somehow know that Ethan was responsible for killing Shannon, maybe once your statement is read, he’ll be satisfied.”

  “You think I give a shit if he’s satisfied? He almost killed you.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  Frustrated, I drag my hands through my hair. “You admit it was him.”

  She shakes her head, but I see the truth in her eyes.

  “I’m just going to talk to him.” I lean down and cup her jaw. “That’s all. Prescott will be there, and we’ll meet in a public place. Nothing will happen.”

  “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

  I kiss her, feeling the same unease I see in her eyes. But the longer and harder I’ve thought about it, I know I’m right. Decan Michaels may not have been Charlie’s stalker, but I have no doubt that he was the one who forced her off the road that night.

  I remember his parents’ arms around me, their forgiveness. And I want to be that man. But I also need to make sure that Charlie is safe, first and always.

  * * *

  “Not sure why we’re doing this here,” Prescott says, leaning back in his chair, eyes scanning the crowded coffee shop. “If it were up to me, we’d be having this conversation in the back alley.”

  I grunt. “Which is why it isn’t up to you. And this place doesn’t even have a back alley.”

  Prescott shrugs, then I see his expression change. “The asshole is here.”

  “Remember, let me do the talking.”

  Decan walks into the coffee shop, his gaze jerky until it lands on me. His lips twist in a scowl before he pushes his way through the line of people and takes a seat across from me.

  We study each other for a few moments before Prescott breaks the silence, “Time to fess up, jackass. We know you’re the one who ran Charlie off the road.”

  I have to hold back an eye roll, Prescott has never followed orders.

  “You always need a wingman, Beckett?” Decan says. “First, Tatum, now this douche. Can’t fight your battles yourself?” He scoffs. “You’re as much of a coward as your brother.”

  “So you knew.” I keep my voice calm, low. I’m not here to fight. I’m here to make sure he never goes near Charlie or Ava again.

  “That your brother killed my sister? Yeah, I knew. Not that the police believed me. Or if they did, your father paid them off. Even my parents thought I made it up. She called me, did you know that?” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound, full of rage. “No, you wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t on the police report. They even managed to delete the phone records. It just goes to show, that money can buy anything, even a man’s innocence.”

  “What do you mean, she called you?” I ask, my throat falling into my stomach, not sure I want to hear his answer. “I saw the medical report, she died instantly.”

  There are tears in his eyes when he says, “She wasn’t dead. Not right away. But your brother, he left her there. Bleeding. In pain. She called me. Begged me to help her. And she told me...” His left eye twitches. “She told me that your brother had stood over her as she pleaded for him to help her, before taking off. He didn’t even call an ambulance. She could have...could have lived. But instead, she bled out, on the cold road, alone.”

  “Fuck,” Prescott mutters.

  I feel it too. And I get the man’s anger, his feeling of injustice. Even his need for revenge.

  “I’m sorry, about Shannon—”

  “You don’t get to say her name,” Decan spits out. “You might have my parents fooled with your little sorry-act, but I know you. You Becketts are all the same. You knew I was getting closer to the truth. That’s why—”

  “You’re wrong. I didn’t know. Not until recently. And I want to make things right. But what you did, hurting Charlie—”

  “I didn’t fucking know she was driving the car,” he spits out. “I thought it was you.”

  It’s an admittance of guilt. But I’m not sure what to do with it.

  “And the dorm rooms? The pig’s blood? That was you?”

  He sneers, and even though he
doesn’t acknowledge it, I see the truth in his eyes.

  I want to kick his ass, but it’ll get us nowhere.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, steadily, placing my forearms on the table. “No more people get hurt. We expose the truth. For Shannon, for your parents. The whole truth. Including your part in it. The car accident, the vandalism. It’s over, Decan.”

  His eyes narrow. “Over? You think this will ever be over? Your family took something from me, and I won’t stop until I take something from you.”

  He stands and starts to walk away, but I move quickly, blocking him.

  But it’s Prescott that grabs him, shoving him backward. “You go near, Ava—”

  “Or what?” Decan spits out, something feral in his eyes. I hear the click of metal before I see the gun. Decan raises it and points it straight at Prescott’s chest.

  It takes less than a second before the entire coffee shop is in chaos. People scream, chairs are being pushed back, coffees are spilled as the crowd tries to move toward the doors.

  “You going to shoot me?” Prescott scoffs. “You don’t have the balls. But I can guarantee that you’re going to rot in jail after this.”

  I want to smack Prescott for egging him on, because Decan looks completely unhinged at the moment, and the gun he’s holding isn’t a toy.

  “You don’t want him,” I say, keeping my hands up as Decan points the gun at me. “Your fight is with me. Right?” I take a step closer and meet his eyes. “You want me to suffer for what my brother did? I get it. I felt the same way when Charlie was in the hospital. Wanted whoever had done it to her to pay.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s not. Because I’m not the person who took your sister from you. But you are the one who almost took Charlie from me.”

  “I didn’t know it was her.” His hands shake as he continues to point the gun at my chest.

  “Right. You thought it was me. And if you’d killed me? If you kill me now. You think that’ll fix things? You think Shannon will be proud of her big brother?”

  “Shut up.” He jams one palm into his temple, still holding the gun at me. “Shut up, shut up.”

  “Put the gun down, Decan.” There are sirens in the distance. “The cops are already on their way. This isn’t going to end well.”

  “But at least it will end.” His eyes are glossy, vacant, and I know he came here with every intention of killing me.

  Prescott moves, and when he does, Decan points the gun at him, and as if in slow motion, I see his finger pull back on the trigger. I don’t think, I just react. I lunge at him as the gun goes off.

  Glass shatters and there’s more screaming. And then I’m being yanked backward, my hands being cuffed behind me. And two men in uniforms are on Decan, and the gun is taken from his hand.

  Chaos rages around me. Prescott is screaming at someone, but as far as I can tell he isn’t hurt. I don’t care that I’m being pushed into the police car, don’t care that this day is going to be a long one to get through. I can see the reports and statements that will be required of Prescott and me before we get cleared to go.

  But I don’t care. Not about any of that.

  I care that no one was hurt. That Decan is no longer holding a gun, pointing it at me, at Prescott, at himself.

  Hours later, as the police car pulls away from the dramatic scene at the coffee shop, I stare at the chaos, at the shattered window.

  A million shards of glass, each one capable of causing deep wounds, cuts that kill. Or they can be melted together and forged into a new piece of glass, something beautiful.

  I wish Ethan would have taken his horrific mistake and redeemed himself. That he would have let himself be forged by the fire and come out whole.

  But he’s gone, and Shannon is gone.

  And nothing can change that.

  The only thing we can do is learn from it.

  I’ve struggled for so long, trying to figure out what kind of man I want to be. Hating the money, the power - but I don’t need to fight it anymore. I can choose what I want to do with the life I’ve been granted. And I want to do good. I want to fight for justice. For the right thing even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. Even when it puts me in a vulnerable place.

  Shannon’s parents taught me that forgiveness is a fucking powerful tool. When you aren’t able to let go, you turn into a man like Decan, burning with hate. That won’t be my story. Not now, not ever.

  There are no guarantees in the path less taken, but fortune favors the brave.

  14

  Charlie

  “The media is relentless,” Spencer says, rolling over in bed, his phone in hand. He’s been up for hours, scrolling through articles that are rehashing the Beckett Family Scandal. So many of them feature images of Spencer being handcuffed, pushed into a police car. Other articles focus on Ethan and Geoffrey, calling them monsters. Declaring their misuse of money and power being the essential problem with our judicial system.

  None of it is good.

  “Stop looking at it, it’s going to make you crazy,” I tell him, turning to face him.

  “Too late.” He sighs, dropping his phone on the sheets. “I hate all of this.”

  “You did the right thing.” I run my hand over his bare chest, firm muscles tighten beneath my fingers. He’s been going on long runs every day, spending hours at the gym. He says it’s the one thing right now that clears his mind - and I’m glad he has some sort of release.

  “I just hate that the right thing feels so fucking wrong.”

  “Your parents didn’t call?” I had my final shift at work last night and got home late after he was already in bed.

  “No, they spoke with Ava though. Apparently I’m being written out of the will.”

  “That’s…”

  “Pointless?” Spencer may say it’s pointless, but I can tell he is rattled by it. “I have a trust they can’t touch. I was already given the Nantucket house, and you own this one. They can’t hurt me by taking away money I’d inherit when they’re dead. It’s petty.”

  “I know,” I say, trying to put myself in his shoes. “Are you sure you want to go to this event tonight? With everything going on—”

  “It’s exactly why we should go. I’m not going to hide because of what my father and Ethan did.” He pulls me to him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Plus, it’s a ball. I think it’s only fitting that Prince Charming and Cinderella show up.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss the tip of his nose. “Jill and Daphne are pretty excited. Daphne is letting me borrow this gorgeous dress—”

  “I wish you would have let me buy you a new one.”

  “Why? It’s not like I’ll ever have anywhere to wear it again. Just seems like a waste of money. Especially now that you’re going to have to scrimp and save like the rest of us.”

  He grunts. “Hardly.”

  I give him another kiss before getting out of bed. “I know how to cut coupons, hunt for bargains at the thrift store.” I pull on my bathrobe. “You’re lucky to have me.”

  He smiles, his face relaxing for the first time in days. “We could skip the Princeton Ball and—”

  I shake my head and cut him off. “Nope. You are going for a run. Showering. And then you are picking me up at eight.”

  “God I love it when you’re bossy,” he says, grabbing my waist and kissing my belly. His hand slides under my robe and he teases my nipples with his fingers.

  I swat his hand away playfully. “You want some of that? Then you need to be wearing a tux.”

  “Is that a promise?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No, Princeton Charming, that’s a guarantee.”

  * * *

  “So this is how the one percent live,” Jill says taking in the luxury apartment. Daphne, Georgie, and I follow her as a maid lets us in. “It’s so gorgeous.”

  The Becketts bought it for Ava after the vandalism at the dorm. They may not ha
ve been here physically to support her after the incident, but this apartment at least gives Ava the sense of security she needs.

  “If you want to stay here this summer you totally can, Jill,” Ava says leading us to her bedroom. “I’m going to be in Australia after school gets out and then I’ll be in London for ten weeks.”

  “I would never want to impose.”

  Daphne tsks. “But Jill, you’ll be in Princeton all summer working. Don’t the dorms close?”

  “For a few weeks. I figured I’d find an Air BnB.”

  “You’re not doing that,” Ava says. “I insist. And Harriet comes three times a week to clean. It would be rude to not give her something to do.”

  Jill and I share a look. I shrug. “They’re right. I just feel like a jerk for not thinking of it myself. Our place will be empty too.”

  “You are both way too generous.”

  Ava smiles widely at Jill before she pushes open the double French doors that lead to her suite. “Then it’s settled.”

  “Holy smokes,” I say taking in the scene before me. There are five chairs positioned in front of full-length mirrors, racks of designer gowns, cases of glittering jewels. Two makeup artists stand with brushes ready, and two hair stylists are plugging in curling irons.

  “What do you think?” Ava squeals, clapping her hands. “Here, ladies, read this,” she says, handing me a card as Harriet offers us each a mimosa.

  Dear Ava, Daphne, Georgie, Jill, and Charlie,

  You all deserve to look like royalty tonight.

  Treat yourselves like the Princesses you are.

  The limo will be here at eight o’clock.

  Your Charming Dates,