“Oh! Good news first.” Micha explains to me, “The high of good news always helps me process the bad.”
Coach James looks between us, something reluctant and heavy in his gaze. “I have an assistant this year who can help you—privately. I can arrange sessions for you during an independent study. It’ll be less embarrassing for you, and you’ll probably learn faster that way.”
I glance at Micha, stunned. “That sounds perfect. What’s the problem?”
Grimacing, he stands. “Follow me.”
The back door of his office leads to the pool deck. It’s stuffy, and the air is filled with the eye-burning scent of chlorine. I sidestep a puddle and look toward the pool, where swimmers cut through the water, completing their laps. Micha and I follow Coach James around to the deep end where someone—Coach James’ assistant, going off his red shorts and white Devil tee—is handing out kickboards to a group of middle schoolers. My eyes take in the man’s broad shoulders, messy blond hair, and from the angle, a jaw that’s seemingly cut from marble. He glances over his shoulder to check the clock and my stomach sinks like a brick.
No fucking way.
“What is Heston doing here?” Micha asks, his narrow eyes watching him.
“Heston is working with me this semester,” Coach says with no further explanation.
“He can’t be here,” I hotly insist. “Right? Not after what he did!” To Micha. To Sydney. To me. Not after admitting it in court. I’d left for the summer, and out of my own need for sanity, shut out any information about his case. Seeing him last night was a shock, and I’ve been avoiding wondering how and why he’s free.
But here he is again. Not only free, but free at Preston.
What the fuck?
“Headmaster Collins made the decision for Heston to assist me,” Coach James says. It’s clear he’s not a fan of the decision. “I know he’s had trouble with a fair number of students in the high school, but he’s an excellent swimmer, and we’ve always had a positive relationship. My plan had been to have him work with the elementary and middle schoolers—he’s less likely to have a history there—but you two are asking for special circumstances. Unfortunately, if you want that to happen, it would involve Heston being your instructor.”
“You want us to work with him?!” I don’t need to look at Micha to know he’s sharing my expression.
“I don’t want you to. It’s not required. But know that if you’re looking for special treatment, this is all you’re going to get. If you want to pass intro quick, it’ll have to be done with him. Otherwise, you take the class with everyone else.” He shrugs, and for the first time, I think Coach James might be a little scheming. “I need to know your decision by this afternoon so I can make sure it’s approved by the office.”
He pops his whistle in his mouth and blows, calling out to the kids in the pool. Heston slams the closet door and struts down the pool deck, that long stride of his looking casual and comfortable in a space that’s probably more familiar to him than most. I watch him reach out to snatch a wayward pair of goggles from the ground and a shiver rolls down my spine like an avalanche. I can still feel the ghost of his palm around my throat, can still remember the coldness in his eyes as he hissed all those accusations at me. I’d never admit it aloud, but in that moment, I’d actually been afraid of him. I reach out and grab Micha’s arm, pulling him toward the doors and back into the hall.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I say once we’re alone.
Micha glowers at the door to the pool. “That there’s no way Coach James is expecting us to choose to work with Heston?”
“Yeah,” I say, shooting my own glare at the door. “Looks like we’re spending the semester in Coach’s class after all.”
“Speak for yourself,” Micha replies, giving me a strange look. “I’m taking the offer.”
I blink at him, lost. “What?”
“I’m not scared of that asshole. He pulled a shitty prank on me over two years ago, and he hurt my sister. But he can’t do anything to me here.” Micha looks over his shoulder, making sure we’re alone. “Hamilton said he’s on probation or something. If you think about it, one word from either of us will send that jerkoff right back to jail. We’ve got the power now.”
I laugh bitterly. “Micha, that’s not how Heston works. He’s going to make you miserable.”
“Georgia, Georgia, Georgia,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Did it ever occur to you that I’m going to make him miserable?”
I’m not sure what that evil glint in Micha’s eyes means, but I know that it’s pointless.
All Heston’s ever been is miserable.
“You want to tell me what’s going on with your brother?” I snap into the phone while storming across campus. I’d texted Bass the minute I separated from Micha and told him to pick up the damn phone.
“Georgia! My little peach! How are you?” There’s a muffled voice in the background, and then Bass adds, “Sugar says hi.”
“Bass, don’t avoid my question.”
“I’m not avoiding it,” he answers, still sounding half distracted. “Why would I have any idea what’s going on with my brother? Just like you, I spent the summer zig-zagging across our magnificent country with my super sexy girlfriend, forgetting about that asshole.”
“Well…” I start, coming to an abrupt stop. I’ve inadvertently crossed into a game of Frisbee and the disc sails two inches from my nose. “Buck!” I shout. “Dude, come on.”
“Sorry, Georgia!” Buck calls out. He gives me a sly grin that makes me think it wasn’t an accident. “Saw your ChattySnap pics. Looking good on that boat, girl.”
I roll my eyes. Buck and I hooked up at a party at Elena’s house two years ago. I was on a particularly destructive streak at the time, and Buck was an easy target. Stalking off, I grip the phone, explaining in a tight whisper, “Bass, I just saw him.”
“You saw who? Heston?”
“Where?” Sugar has apparently taken over the phone. “Where did you see him?”
“Here!” I hiss, stomping toward the dorm building. “At Preston, helping with the fucking swim team. He’s Coach James’ new assistant!”
“Are you serious?” Sugar’s voice is low with anger. “They let him go? Jesus ass-fucking Christ. You called it. You all called it.”
She sounds so defeated and disappointed, a mirror to my own feelings on the matter. You try to do the proper thing, right a wrong, help the entire female gender by exposing a predator, but what do you get? The same old, misogynistic, protect-one-another bullshit.
“Georgia,” Bass says, taking the phone back. He sounds more focused now, voice low and tight. There’s a jingle of keys. “I’m going to drive down there tonight, okay?”
“What?” I ask, stopping dead in the dorm lobby. “Sebastian, that’s insane! It’s a fifteen hour drive here from New Haven!”
“They kept me in the dark about this for a reason,” he insists, sounding angry. “He can’t just do what he did and get to work at fucking Preston, of all goddamn places.” Quieter, he adds, “There’s no one there for the three of you,” and I know who he means. Me, Vandy, and Caroline. The last remaining Devils.