Page 25 of Open Water
From Remy, that was a standing ovation.
***
I found Marcus in the Kingswell library at eight that night.
I wasn't looking for him. Not yet. I was going to text him tonight, go to his dorm, have the conversation on my terms. But I walked into the library to print a training schedule, and there he was. Back table. Laptop open. Earbuds in. Alone.
My feet made the decision before my brain caught up. I was already crossing the room, already pulling out the chair across from him, already sitting down.
He looked up. Pulled out one earbud.
"Alex." Surprised. Then the smile. Easy and familiar and completely full of shit. "Hey. What's up?"
I didn't sayI know it's you.I didn't say anything close to it.
Because Alexander Harrington didn't walk into a room and show his hand. He sat down. He smiled. He made the other person comfortable enough to hang themselves.
I hated that I knew how to do this. Twenty years of watching Thomas Harrington dismantle people across dinner tables had installed something in me that I couldn't uninstall. A program that ran on patience and politeness and the precise application of silence.
For Liam,I told myself.You're doing this for Liam.
"Not much," I said. "Saw you over here. Figured I'd say hey."
Marcus studied me. Looking for the angle, the way I was looking for his. Two kids raised in the same world, trained by the same kind of fathers, both of us scanning for the trap while pretending we were just talking.
"Okay," he said carefully. "Hey."
"How's Morrison's seminar treating you?"
"Like shit, same as everyone." He closed the laptop halfway. Relaxed a fraction. "You?"
"Behind on everything. But today the quad lineup worked."
"I heard. Moore at stroke, right? You in bow?"
"Yeah."
"How's that working?"
"Good. Really good, actually."
Something crossed his face. Quick. A tightening at the corners of his mouth that he covered with a nod. "Glad the joint program's continuing to pay off for you."
I let that sit. Most people couldn't stand a gap in conversation longer than three seconds. They filled it. And whatever they filled it with was usually more honest than whatever they'd planned to say.
Marcus lasted four seconds.
"So what's really going on?" he asked. "You didn't sit down to talk about Morrison's seminar."
"No. I didn't." I leaned back. Crossed my arms. The posture of someone thinking, not someone attacking. "Someone's been trying to blackmail me. Since the beginning of the semester."
Marcus's expression didn't change. That was the tell. A normal person would have reacted. Confusion, concern, curiosity. Something. Marcus's face stayed perfectly neutral, which meant he was holding it there.
"Blackmail," he repeated.
"Texts. From a blocked number. They know my schedule, who I'm spending time with. They had a photo from the mixer." I watched his eyes. "And they had a video."
"A video?"
