In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(84)

Frankie groaned. “I have been waiting four years for the damn season to be over. You have no idea.”

Mint nodded, running a hand through his hair. He was flying high now, his wingman by his side. “No more rules. Time to cut loose.”

Frankie handed him a shot glass, then knocked it with his own. “Here’s to Mint, in rare form. And to a wild fucking night.”

***

They’d taken round after round of shots, plus Coop’s pill, and Mint was just getting started. He was filled with a nervous energy, keeping one eye on the staircase, waiting for Jess to show, or even Jack, his hands twitching in anticipation.

“Hold up a second,” Frankie mumbled, dropping an empty Solo cup on the floor. “I need to talk to Courtney.”

Courtney? But Mint only shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t leave me hanging too long.”

Frankie strode off and disappeared somewhere, neither Courtney nor Heather in sight. Great. Now he was standing here alone like a loser.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mint sensed movement. He turned to find Charles Smith circling him, walking back and forth in front of the keg. Charles: lacrosse douchebag and Trevor’s bulldog. Worst of all: his parents were friends of Mint’s, back in the city.

How much did Charles know?

The look in Charles’s eyes was clear. He was bruising for a fight, and he thought that would intimidate Mint. But Mint wasn’t weak. He was drunk, the concrete wobbling under his feet. But he wasn’t soft. He’d show Charles, just like he’d shown Trevor.

Mint cocked his chin and raised his voice. “You got a problem, Smith?”

Charles smiled. It was a look of satisfaction, like he’d been fishing, and Mint had taken the bait. “Actually, now that you mention it, yeah. You sent Trevor to the emergency room. He’s eating through a tube tonight. Feel like a big man?”

The people orbiting Mint paused, stopped their conversations, and leaned in instinctively.

“Trevor talked a lot of shit,” Mint spat. “So I did everyone a favor and shut him up.”

Charles smirked. “Oh, Mark Minter, what a hero. Big man on campus. You know no one actually likes you, right? They kiss your ass because you’re rich and you pay for things.” His smile stretched wider. “I wonder what would happen if you suddenly lost all your money.”

Charles knew. Mint’s heart hammered.

Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Will you look at this? My dad emailed me earlier. I guess he’s a Minter Group stock owner—a pretty pissed stock owner. He says your company’s in the trash and your family is dead broke. How many friends do you think you’ll have left when everyone finds out?”

The people gathered around them started whispering. No—this couldn’t be happening, not again.

Charles sensed blood in the water. He moved in, teeth bared. “Rumor is, your dad went AWOL. Let me guess: he ran off to the Caymans with all the money. Taking the coward’s way out, eh, Mint?”

It was like pulling a trigger. Mint shot forward, not caring who was watching or what it would mean, knowing only that he needed to smash Charles Smith’s face into the floor until it was a pulpy mess, until it could no longer utter a word about his dad.

But a small, dark-haired girl appeared out of nowhere, throwing herself in his path, hands braced. “Whoa, Mint! Charles! Stop. What are you doing?”

Caro. Dressed in white, with angels’ wings and a quiver of arrows over her shoulder. Yet another cupid in the night’s menagerie. The whole of them flashed through Mint’s mind: the lineup of pledges in their embarrassing cloth diapers; the paper cutout of the old, gray cupid, the one who’d sparked Charles’s joke; and now Caro herself, small and beautiful. So many angels.

He gripped his head, trying to clear the thoughts, to see through the red fog that told him, You are being destroyed; hurt someone else to make it stop.

Caro took one look at him and spun on Charles. “Chuck, what the hell? He’s my friend.”

The look Charles gave Caro was confusing to Mint. It was defiant, but also ashamed. Like he was actually worried what Caro thought of him.

“Your friend is an asshole,” Charles said bitterly. “Like I’ve told you a million times.”

“Get out of here.” Caro made a shooing gesture.

Charles recoiled like she’d slapped him. “You’re choosing him? But you’re my—”

Caro stopped him with a level look. “Walk it off, Chuck.”

Charles leaned in. “Fine. Get a girl to save you. Sounds about right.”

Mint lunged, but Caro’s arms, surprisingly strong, held him back. Charles escaped, swaggering to the back of the room, where a group of guys from the foyer—Trevor’s guys—gathered, shooting Mint icy looks.

Charles’s words haunted him. Taking the coward’s way out, eh, Mint? His dad was lying broken in the hospital, and all anyone could say about him was that he’d failed. His dad, who was supposed to be a giant of a man but didn’t have the backbone to stand up to his mother. He’d made the wrong investments, all the wrong choices. And then he’d chosen to end his life—to abandon Mint—rather than deal with the mess he’d made. If Mint didn’t rage, he was going to break. If he didn’t hurt someone, he was going to hurt worse than he ever had, and he didn’t know if he’d survive.