Dr. Keene rests an elbow on the railing. “Have you both picked a major yet?”
“Philosophy for me, and Charlie decided on History of Art and Architecture—” A multi-colored beach ball sails high towards us.
“Moffy! Get it!” Eliot Cobalt calls out, running but not fast enough.
I extend my body halfway off the railing, and I catch the inflatable ball for my fifteen-year-old cousin.
When my bare feet hit the deck, Dr. Keene gives me a brisk smile. “Take care.” He leaves towards the bow of the yacht.
Eliot slows to a stop, and I hand him the ball.
He’s about to run back to his brother Tom, but he pauses. And he turns, pats my shoulder, and tells me, “Thanks for this and for earlier—”
“Earlier?” Charlie magically appears.
I jolt. “Jesus Christ.”
He’s right next to me. I grab the railing, one small step from a heart attack. Don’t go into cardiac arrest on this boat. I’m so not fucking prepared for mouth-to-mouth from Dr. Keene.
Charlie laughs and relaxes on the railing. He lowers his Ray Bans over his eyes. Dressed in black slacks, a halfway unbuttoned white shirt—he looks like he’s ready to slouch in the back of a college lecture hall.
In reality, he’s almost seventeen and a full-blown genius who lives life unlike anyone I’ve ever known.
Maybe because I have no clue what he does half the fucking time. Some moments, he’s just gone. And then he sneaks up on me.
Literally.
His laugh dies as Eliot explains, “Earlier, Ben was crying on the swim deck.”
“Ben?” Charlie frowns at the mention of their ten-year-old brother.
“Yeah,” Eliot starts backing away from us as someone calls his name. “Don’t worry, brother. Moffy fixed it!” He scampers off.
“You were in the right place at the right time?” Charlie asks, his voice abnormally tight.
I rake a hand through my thick hair. “No, Eliot found me in the galley and asked for help. What happened, it wasn’t that serious,” I add so he won’t be worried. “Some asshole threw Ben’s shirt in the water. I just jumped in and fished it out. He should be fine. I talked to him for a bit.”
“How heroic,” Charlie snaps…almost scornfully.
I flinch. “What?”
His yellow-green eyes pierce me.
“I just did what your brother asked me to do.” I lick my lips. I get that I haven’t always been on good terms with Charlie. There were moments, when I was eleven, maybe twelve, and we clashed.
He disappeared a lot, went off on his own, and I didn’t understand him.
A lot of times, I still don’t. But in high school, he was there. Every fucking day for the last four years, he was by my side. By Janie’s side. The three of us combatted any harassment in Dalton Academy together. And we just graduated together.
He could’ve been homeschooled like his twin brother Beckett and our cousin Sullivan. He could’ve left Jane and me out to dry and do his own thing. But he didn’t. He chose to stick around.
So actually, I’m really goddamn confused by him right now.
Charlie messes his already messy golden-brown hair. “We should talk.”
“Okay, yeah, let’s talk.”
We leave the crowded yacht for a little bit of privacy. When we reach the second deck, we pass a packed hot tub where Jane chats loudly with her younger sister.
I share a quick glance with Janie. And I nod towards the next set of steps. She nods back like, we’ll see each other later.
Once Charlie and I are off the yacht, we stand on the wooden dock. The boat towers next to us, looming and constantly reminding me of our familial wealth.
I never forget what and where we come from.
Paparazzi are nowhere in sight, thanks to the private marina. I crack my knuckles. And I just watch Charlie stuff his fists in the pockets of his slacks, his sunglasses hooked on his shirt.
“You planning on rocketing to some planet?” I banter. “Want me to come along with?” I flash a dying smile, my lips down-turning fast off his stone-cold glare.
“Not everyone wants you next to them.”
Ouch.
My frown darkens. “I never said everyone. I just meant you.”
Charlie lets out a short, irritated laugh, his smile almost pained. “Stop assuming I want you by my side.”
Jesus…I shake my head over and over. I keep licking my lips like I’m on the verge of the right words. I’m not sure what the hell they are, but someone, give them to me. “What did I do? Is this about Ben—”
“You’re on your own.”
I feel whiplashed, not following. “What—”
“You’re on your own. At Harvard.”
“Wait—”
“There’s no waiting, no talking me out of this,” Charlie says so assuredly, so confidently. “I’m not going to Harvard. I’m not going to be your roommate. Find another one.”
I rest a hand on my head, muscles contracting. “College is in one week.”
“And the whole campus would just love to live with Maximoff Hale.”
What the fuck is his problem? “You were the one who wanted to go to Harvard.” My voice starts to rise, but I’m not yelling yet. “I would’ve been fine to attend somewhere closer to Philly, to be near our family, but you said, let’s go to Harvard together. Now you’re just bailing?”
“Yeah.” Charlie lets that word linger.
About five feet separate our bodies. But for the first time in four years, an ocean swells between us. Pushing him further and further away from me.
I take a step towards him. “Why?”
“If I tell you why, you’ll want to fix it like you always do, and did you ever contemplate, ever think, that not everything needs to be fixed?” His angered yellow-green eyes burn me. “Let alone by you.”
I open my mouth, but words stick to the back of my throat.
“Why are you so upset? You’re Maximoff Hale,” he practically spits out my name. “You can do anything by yourself and then some.”
I think about Jason again. I think about how I was holding onto Charlie at Harvard like a familiar lifeline. If he wants to bail on college…that’s fine. I can’t trap him, but I just don’t understand why he’s doing this all of a sudden.
And yeah, I want an answer.
Is that so fucking bad of me? “Just tell me why—”
He nears, bridging the distance, but not in a good way. “I can’t stand to look at you. To be around you, and I’d rather bathe in peroxide than suffer four years of college with you.” Charlie watches my face contort. “Can’t handle the fact that someone dislikes you?”
“Oooh,” an audience says, ogling us from the yacht. They push up against the railing and stare down at the wooden dock where I combat my cousin.
“Fuck you.” I glare. Charlie knows classmates have hated me. Just not family. I point at him. “You’re just an immature sixteen-year-old kid who likes pretending he’s an adult, but you’re one of the most irresponsible, self-involved—” I see his right hook, and I slip left, dodging the blow.
I’m on autopilot, a reflex, and I swing at him. My fist lands with a thump against his jaw.