Page 69 of Dark Little Game
When we used to hang out, it was at his house.
Which was big, lavish, and practically a mansion compared to the tiny apartment where I used to live with my mom.
Weston played football, so I started playing it too, way back in middle school. He was also the one who was dead-set on going to Crimson College and joining Onyx.
I told him I’d never get in, but lo and behold, after he talked to some people, I was accepted into the college and able to attend alongside him. Lord knows I could only afford it through financial aid and a hefty scholarship.
Weston actually offered to pay my entire tuition, once.
I shut him down on that fast.
I liked being helped, but I didn’t need to feel like I owed him so much.
“I just want to pretend he isn’t here,” Weston tells me. “I don’t know shit about why he left London, and I don’t want to know. After growing up with him, I can tell you, your best bet is just to ignore Hunter.”
“Kind of hard to ignore him when he’s in my fucking room.”
Wes mimes a puking face. “Has he been doing his night terrors thing?”
I frown. “What?”
“Growing up, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, like, fucking screaming,” Weston says. “It was awful.”
“That sounds brutal. Was he okay?”
“Hunter was neverokay, but they put him on meds for a while. Eventually he stopped taking them, but then the night terrors never really came back, I guess.”
“Sounds kind of sad.”
“I guess it was.”
There’s a small rock on the pathway in front of me and I kick it with the toe of my shoe, watching it rattle down the sidewalk.
“I still just don’t get it. Why did he have such a problem withyougrowing up?”
When I glance over at Weston again he’s frowning, and he won’t meet my eyes.
“Rayne, just trust me. Our childhood wasn’t as pretty asyou might think. I don’t really want to talk about why he had problems with me. Quit fucking asking, alright?”
His words hit me like a light blow to the chest.
Weston never talks to me like that, either.
When we get backto Onyx, Weston immediately sits down at the big, round table in the front room where Roman and a few other guys are playing poker.
Noah’s making Oliver take Polaroid pictures of him in the hallway. He’s obsessed with old-school things, like his leather-bound notebook, Polaroid cameras, and vintage coats. Noah has recruited Ollie to take Polaroids of him wearing one of his new coats. I give Noah a little salute as I walk by the two of them.
I head upstairs and swing open the door to my room.
Hunter’s in there, lying back on his bed and reading a book.
And he’s wearing one of my shirts.
I stare at him.
He stares back, over his book.
And neither of us say a word.
