by Lib Starling
After a few minutes, the place seemed clean enough that all tacitly agreed to stop playing housekeeper. Chase shut the door firmly on the yard, on the village of Blackmeade and the hills beyond, bathed in silver moonlight. In spite of the waxing moon’s power, the fight – and the appearance of Roxy – had left him feeling drained. He dragged himself through the front room – a few of the brothers had collapsed on the furniture and were already snoring – and up the stairs toward his bed.
But as he neared the door to his room, Alexander’s voice snaked softly into the hall. “Chase.”
He paused with his hand hovering a centimeter from the door knob. God, he was tired. And the truth was, he’d had enough of Alexander’s leadership, Alexander’s strict order… Alexander’s dominance.
The world won’t end if you ignore him… if you disobey him, Chase told himself. His hand twitched, and his fingers brushed the cool brass of the door knob. But in another second he sighed and turned, shaking his head at the futility of rebellion, and headed into Alexander’s room.
The fraternity’s leader was sprawled on his bed, lying on top of a neatly tucked, perfectly smooth blanket. He held a plastic bag full of crushed ice to the bruised side of his face. Chase watched a droplet form at the bag’s corner, swell, hang for a silent moment, and then fall onto Alexander’s shoulder.
“I want to thank you,” Alexander said slowly, “for stopping the fight.” He was calm – utterly unmoved by what had happened out in the yard.
Chase envied that composure, the image of perfect control, even as he resented the spell it cast over him and all the brothers of Alpha House. He tried to adopt some of Alexander’s aplomb – he shrugged and leaned against the door jamb. “No problem.”
“It was wrong of me to lay into Jack that way – you were right about that.”
Chase waited. He sensed a but coming.
“But,” Alexander said, “I am the leader here. What I say goes.”
Chase nodded. He swallowed a tight lump in his throat, thinking of Roxy and that flash of grateful sweetness, thinking of Katrina, who was gone now, torn away from Chase’s heart by jealous Alexander and vanished to God knew where.
Alexander went on calmly. “Neither Jack nor anybody else in this house will stake a claim on Roxy. She is mine, and if I have to fight for her again, I won’t hold anything back.” Eyes so pale they were almost white locked onto Chase’s own, pinned him with their cold intensity. “Do you understand me?”
Later, Chase never knew how he managed to keep himself still, how he kept his face smooth and uncaring. For at Alexander’s words, a fire blazed up in Chase’s chest, filling his body with a fury that threatened to singe his soul to ashes. He thought of Roxy smiling up at him as he opened the door to her Jeep, her tremulous confession that no one had ever treated her that way before. He remembered the smell of her as he’d leaned close on the porch, shielding her from the circling brothers with his body as the fight raged in the yard below.
All at once Chase knew that he wanted Roxy more desperately, more completely than he’d ever wanted Katrina, or any other woman before. The redhead’s very spirit seemed to call to him, pulling at the core of his being with a force as irresistible as gravity, as essential as the call of the moon. And she had thanked him – had spoken kindly to him, of all the men of Alpha House. Chase knew he could win her heart, if only he had the chance.
Leaning coolly against Alexander’s door frame, betraying nothing of the sudden hope and hatred that surged in his gut, Chase shrugged as if Roxy meant nothing in the world to him.
That seemed to satisfy Alexander; he settled back against his pillow, tipping up his strong chin in a wordless gesture of dismissal.
Chase took his time slinking back out of Alexander’s room, but when he was in his own private sanctuary he shut the door and leaned against it, nearly panting with the force of his welling rage.
Blackmeade, he growled to himself. What a joke this place is. He’d been here for three years, toiling under the college’s strict teachers and simmering in Alpha House while Alexander controlled his life with the ease of a natural-born leader. One more year – that’s all I have to do.
Chase threw himself across his bed, pulling a pillow over his face to shut out the spill of moonlight that seeped in through the cracks of his curtains.
One more year – and then what? He’d be expected to return to his hometown, take over his dad’s business, become an executive like all the men in his family. Blackmeade certainly turned out powerful and wealthy men; the alum list was full of CEOs, investors, politicians, and other men who’d made deep and permanent marks on business and society alike. All of them were connected by their ties to the college, and by the secret they shared.
What choice did somebody like Chase have? His future would be what it would be; he should be grateful, he knew, that he’d been born into such privilege – that his family could afford to give him the Blackmeade lifestyle. He should take up his fate eagerly and accept the good things his high status and first-rate education would bring him.
But when he thought of what that truly meant – entering the business world to work for men who were just like Alexander – maybe to work for Alexander himself – Chase recoiled.
That surrender-to-the-alpha-dog mentality just wasn’t for him. Not in school, not in the frat, not in his future.
And definitely, Chase decided firmly, gritting his teeth and giving a low, dangerous growl, not when it came to Roxy.
.5.
E ven though her shift at the Browsing Buffalo didn’t start until ten o’clock, Roxy barely made it to work on time. Brooke had started two hours earlier, and as she worked the espresso machine with a dogged focus, she showed a curious mixture of heavy-eyed exhaustion and hyper-caffeinated tension. Roxy slid behind the bar, yawning, and noted the fantastically large cup of iced mocha, half-empty and perched on a shelf beneath the cash register: the spot where Brooke usually stashed her snacks. The mocha was dark from several extra shots of strong espresso.
“Tired?” Roxy asked, nodding toward the drink.
“Thank God you’re here.” Brooke finished the drink she was making, called the order up, and grabbed her mocha, sucking it down as if her life depended on it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so worn out.”
“Me too. And I hardly slept all night, even after we got home.”
The drive back from the party had been eerily quiet. Roxy had gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands, while Scarlett had hunched in her seat with her arms crossed tightly, staring out the window, saying nothing. The whole way back, Roxy had sensed a hesitant desire in Brooke, as if she wanted to talk about what had happened, but didn’t dare. Then, Roxy had been perfectly happy to leave it all unsaid. But now, in the light of day, the events of the party troubled her, and she hoped Brooke was still willing to talk. Roxy needed someone to listen.
“I don’t get what happened last night, Brooke.”
“A fight.”
“I know, but…”
“A fight over you.”
“That’s what I don’t get.”
Brooke set down her mocha. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Roxy began, and her face went hot with a blush of shame, “just look at me.”
Brooke obligingly eyed her up and down, then returned to her mocha. “I don’t see anything wrong.”
“I’m…” Roxy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “fat.”
“You’re also gorgeous. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“You’re really sweet to say so, and you know I love you to death, but… you’re a girl. Those were guys, fighting over me.”
Brooke laughed. “No kidding, Captain Obvious.”
“Come on, don’t make fun. I’m serious about this. I really don’t understand what happened, and I’m starting to feel a little freaked out over it. Guys just don’t do stuff like that – not over me.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t ask me. I didn�
�t make the laws of the universe.”
“This is hardly a universal law, Rox.”
“You might feel differently about that if you were as fat as I am. Trust me, this kind of thing just doesn’t happen to girls like me, and I don’t know how to deal with it.”
“First of all, reality check: it’s not like you’re Jabba the Hutt. You’re just a little extra-curvy. And second, lots of guys are attracted to girls like you.”
“Not frat boys, though. You know what they’re like.” She paused, considering Brooke as her friend added a fresh bag of whole beans to the hopper above the espresso grinder. “Or maybe you don’t. I grew up in Hanover, practically right next door to Dartmouth. The whole town was full of frat boys – rich, privileged guys who were raised to believe that the world is theirs for the taking, and everybody in it exists to amuse them. Trust me when I say, guys like that are not attracted to girls like me.”
“I guess Blackmeade students are a different breed of bro.”
Roxy shook her head. “It’s just not possible. Scarlett wasn’t kidding – every one of them was unbelievably hot. Guys like that can have any girl they want, so what were they doing fighting over me? And staring at me, and following me all over the place? What did they see in me, especially when there were hot girls at that party? Girls like…”
“Scarlett.”
They lapsed into a brief silence.
Brooke finished the last of her mocha and rattled the ice in the cup. Finally she said, “Did you see her face last night, when those two boys were fighting?”
“Yeah. And she didn’t say a word all the way home. I’m pretty sure she hates me now.”
“No way. Scarlett has her fair share of flaws, but she’s not petty.”
“You know how she had her heart set on that Alexander guy…”
Brooke smiled. “He is freakishly good-looking.”
“It must have really burned Scarlett, to see him fighting over somebody like me.”
“Okay, stop that,” Brooke ordered. “No more running yourself down.”
Roxy shrugged. “I’m just saying, if I were as hot as Scarlett, I would have been pretty mad to see the object of my lust go crazy over some tubby chick from out of town.”
“Scarlett will get over it. You’ll see. By tomorrow she’ll have a new fixation and eight different plans for how she’ll hunt him down and wrangle him into her bed. Trust me on this: she’s unstoppable. I’ve known her for years. I’ve seen her in action.”
The bell on the café door clattered, and both girls gasped as they turned to greet the new customer. Tall and lean, with the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms showing through the thin fabric of a maroon t-shirt, his confidence and poise would have marked him as a Blackmeade student even if his shirt hadn’t sported the college’s logo, a stylized wolf leaping across the field of a medieval-looking crest. Roxy recognized his exceptional height and his friendly smile. By day, without the interference of moonlight’s changeable colors, she could see that his hair was a rich, earthy gold that was almost brown, and his eyes were soft and dark.
“Darien. Hi.”
“Good to see you again, Roxy. And you’re Brooke, right?”
“Wow,” Brooke laughed. “You remembered little old me even though Roxy was the star of the show last night.”
Darien must have seen how Roxy blushed. He waved a hand as if shooing away Brooke’s words and Roxy’s embarrassment. “Oh, that. It happens from time to time. Whenever guys live together that way… you know how crazy boys can get. I just hope you ladies weren’t too shaken up by our bad manners.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Roxy said. “Is Jack okay?”
“He’s fine. I think his hangover is probably worse than his bruises. I won’t be surprised if he and Alexander both get a reprimand for fighting, though. Blackmeade faculty takes this kind of thing very seriously.”
Darien ordered his drink and Roxy set to work making it, while Brooke excused herself for a much-needed break. When Roxy set his drink on the counter, Darien made no move to leave, but stood sipping his cappuccino, watching Roxy over the rim of his cup.
His good looks went beyond the Blackmeade stamp of almost-unearthly hotness. With his natural kindness and his studied manners, Darien held a note of attraction that Roxy struggled for a moment to name. But finally, as she cleaned the milk steamer and tried not to color under his scrutiny, she hit on the right word. Cute. He’s really, really cute. And he’d been so pleasant to her at the party, treated her like a friend and not like a prize to be won – or prey to be pursued.
Even Chase, who had fended off the other frat boys and walked Roxy to her car, had looked at her with an air of certainty that had seemed to say, You’re mine. Recalling Chase’s dark, forceful presence, Roxy suppressed a shiver – and she wasn’t sure whether it was fear or attraction that rattled her.
Darien, though – he felt safe.
Maybe Brooke’s right. Maybe I really am a hot item to these guys, as impossible as it seems… She wanted to laugh at herself for even thinking it, but Darien was still eyeing her as if he just couldn’t tear himself away.
A ripple of uncharacteristic confidence stirred in Roxy’s spirit. Last night, she told herself, was evidence that somebody out there found her hot enough to fight over, hot enough to risk a reprimand from an exclusive private school. Maybe Darien felt that way about her, too.
She swallowed her nerves and leaned on the counter, affecting a casualness she did not feel. “So, Darien…” she began. Then her words failed. She gaped at him and her knees turned to Jell-O.
He smiled slowly. “Yeah…?”
Oh my God, Roxy, what are you doing?
Then a calmer voice of reason spoke up inside her head. It sounded suspiciously like Brooke’s voice. Just ask him. What’s the worst that can happen – he’ll say no? You’ve been humiliated way worse in the past. “No” is nothing by comparison.
“Doyouwanttogooutsometime?” she blurted.
Now it was Darien’s turn to blush. He set down his cappuccino mug with a clink and gave a flustered laugh, glancing back toward the door.
Crap, I’ve terrified him.
“Um, actually, Roxy…”
I’m such an idiot. He has a girlfriend already. Of course he has a girlfriend – just look at him!
“I’m gay,” Darien said.
“Oh. Oh.” She covered her eyes, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s all right. Seriously, it’s cool. It’s not the first time it’s happened, either. But actually, I would love to go out with you sometime… as friends. You seem really… interesting. And I want to get to know you better.”
“I’d love that. I really would.” It was much better this way – make friends first, get to know the town’s residents and culture a little better before she jumped into dating. Dating was a lot of pressure, a lot of responsibility. Not that I’d know, Roxy thought wryly, having never had a boyfriend before.
They made plans for the next day, and as Darien drifted off to whatever business had drawn him out of the foothills and into town, Brooke returned from her break, finishing off the crust of a tuna sandwich.
“Oh my God,” Brooke muttered, watching Darien slide into the driver’s seat of his rugged SUV. “He is so gorgeous. I can’t even look at him, or my eyeballs will melt.”
“Well, better go get some good shades. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of Darien soon.”
.6.
T he following day was bright and clear, without the tracery of fine, white clouds clinging to the Tetons which so often grew and congregated until the afternoon was ripe for a thunder shower. Summer was tiptoeing toward its exit. On the slopes above the town, the long, tree-cleared lanes (which would be ski runs when the snows fell) had just begun turning from green to gold. But the days were still warm, if touched lightly around the edges by the pleasant crispness of the oncoming fall.
Roxy and Darien strolled down the wooden-
plank sidewalks of Main Street. Here the town was all done up with the character and charm of a wild-west village; the old-timey facades were shaded by tin and cedar-shake awnings supported by peeled-log pillars, and whatever buildings weren’t made of classic brick were sided in rustic wood, the paint deliberately left to fade. Shop windows displayed western wear and outdoor gear, souvenir trinkets and the works of the area’s many fine artists.
Darien had stopped in at one such shop for a bag of caramel corn speckled with bits of dried mountain huckleberries. It was the perfect late-summer snack, both sweet and tart with a hint of salt. Roxy munched happily as they talked – Roxy about her road-trip flight from Hanover, Darien pointing out the best bars, restaurants, and other delights of Jackson Hole.
Soon they came to the town square, easily recognized by the enormous arches made of elk antlers which stood at the square’s four corners. The antlers were collected each spring by local Boy Scouts, who stalked through the expanse of a nearby game preserve as the snows melted, picking up the trophies shed by bull elk when their mating season was done. Roxy wondered how many generations of Scouts had contributed to the arches. By now they were a familiar sight to Roxy, but as always, they’d drawn their share of gawkers. Tourists snapped pictures of each other standing under the huge, pale monuments, and a gaggle of teenage girls wearing sun glasses and flip-flops huddled together for a group selfie with the tangled leg of one arch in the background. Roxy and Darien held back until the girls had finished their photo shoot, then walked through the arch and into the shady green park of the town square.
They found a bench and finished off the last of their huckleberry caramel corn.
“So,” Darien said, “You’ve told me all about how you left Hanover, but not why.”
“Oh, that.”