“UGH, THIS SUCKS,” I say to my empty room, scrolling through the list of classes still available for spring semester. After filling my schedule with a whole array of classes this semester, I still haven’t found anything I’m passionate about — nothing I would want to make a career of, at least — and so here I am, on a Friday night, throwing darts at a spinning wheel again and hoping something sticks.
This semester has been hard.
Classes have been weird, none of them meshing together which, surprisingly, made studying even more difficult than usual. Poker has been consuming my life, especially since I officially decided to enter the big tournament next May. I haven’t paid my entry fee yet, but I did give an exclusive interview to one of my favorite poker blogs. Now the poker world is buzzing about my entry, and it’s crunch time.
Clinton still isn’t talking to me, ignoring all my apology texts and voicemails. And, in the strangest turn of events, I haven’t had a boy to occupy my time, other than the now two drunken times I’ve found myself hooking up with Adam. If it wasn’t for him being cool with a no-strings drunk hookup situation, I likely would have gone mad from No D Disease by now.
Sighing, I pull the trigger and sign up for my last class — Writing for Television. And with my course load full, I snap my laptop shut, head collapsing on top of it once it’s closed with my hair splayed all around me. My phone buzzes from the corner of my desk and I reach for it blindly, peeking through my hair at the name on the screen.
And then I sit up straight, eyes widening.
Sliding the message open from the home screen, Clinton’s contact opens, showing me all the unanswered texts I’ve sent since Halloween. But now, right under the last one, is a text from him.
- Can you come over? -
I don’t even bother running a brush through my hair or changing out of the leggings and tank top I have on before I’m running down the stairs and out the door. I’m about halfway down Greek Row when I realize I also didn’t stop to but a bra on, but I don’t turn back, because all that matters in this moment is that Clinton texted me, and he wants to talk to me, and that’s all I care about.
My mind is running wild with all the things I’ll say when I get to his room — how sorry I am, how I never meant to upset him, how I’ll make Clayton do some kind of work for the money if that will help, or let Clinton pay me back if he wants. But I don’t get a chance to say any of it, because when I burst through the Omega Chi Beta doors, the entire house is full of brothers.
And all of them are staring at me.
Josh, Clinton’s Little, steps forward first, eyeing my outfit with appreciation and a wink that makes me roll my eyes before the first word leaves his mouth.
“Skyler, Bear called on all of us to help him, because apparently he’s been a real fucking idiot and not a very good best friend lately,” he starts, and it’s then that I realize every brother in the room is holding a notecard in their hands. “He didn’t want to just apologize, he wanted you to know how special you are to him. So, he wrote down something for every day that you guys haven’t talked.”
He holds up the notecard in his hand with a goofy smile and my hands fly to my mouth, eyes glossing. I am not a cryer, but damnit if the tears don’t gather, anyway.
“You are, by far, the best poker player this country has ever seen, and I can’t wait to see you take the title in May,” Josh reads, and then another brother steps forward, reading from his card next.
“No one cuddles better than you do.” The guys all laugh as he steps back, and then another card is read. And another. And another.
“There’s no one I’d rather split a twelve-pack with.”
“I would go to war for you if you asked.”
“Your laugh is the best sound in the world, and the only thing that makes me feel better on a shitty day.”
“There isn’t a girl on campus who looks better in cut-off shorts and a sorority jersey.”
A slew of whistles rings out at that and I laugh, blushing.
The list goes on and on, some of the cards making me smile, some making me laugh, and others making it really difficult not to cry. And after every brother standing in the living room and on the stairs lining to the upstairs has read their card, Clinton steps out from the back hallway, walking straight up to me.
“No matter how many cards I write, I could never truly tell you what you mean to me, Skyler,” he says, apologies in his eyes before he even says them. “You are my family — no, you’re more than family. You’re my best friend, and I’m so sorry I let you think for even one second that you don’t mean everything in the world to me, because you do. I am so, so sorry for being a giant dick. Will you please let me make it up to you by taking you to Semi-formal and being the best date you could ever ask for?”
I sniff, nodding with tears blurring my vision before launching at him. He catches me easily, wrapping me in the fiercest Bear Hug yet.
“You owe me so many burritos for this.”
All the guys laugh again, clapping and cheering, and Clinton high fives them and thanks a few as he tucks me under his arm, leading me back to his bedroom. I can still hear the guys laughing and joking with each other, reading the cards with girly voices as Clinton shuts the door behind us.
“Seriously, Skyler. I am so sorry.”
“No, no,” I shake my head, wrapping my small arms around him again and resting my head in the dip of his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you before I did what I did. At the very least, I should have told you. It was selfish and stupid and—”
“It wasn’t selfish,” he says, cutting me off. “It was sweet and kind, and something I would have done for your family in the reverse. I just… I was upset, he’s my brother and I want to be the one to help him, to protect him. I needed a little bit of time to see past my pride, Skyler. And I’m sorry I took so long.”
He squeezes me tight, and when he pulls back, I grab his large hand and drag him to his bed, climbing in first and sighing with relief when he slides in behind me and wraps me in his arms again.
“I’ve missed you so much, Bear. Everything has been so hard without you.” My voice sounds small, weak.
“I know,” he says, kissing my hair. “I’m so sorry. Tell me everything. How many hearts have you broken since Halloween?”
I laugh. “Zero. Poker has been my only serious relationship this semester.”
“Well, who knows. Maybe next semester, some guy will sweep you off your feet and you’ll have a date in Vegas.”
Rolling my eyes, I twist in his arms and snuggle into his chest, his chin fitting on top of my head like we’re the last two puzzle pieces. And for the rest of the night, he catches me up on his life — including how his brother is doing in Pittsburgh — and I tell him my fears about the tournament, and how hard it will be to earn the last bit of the entry money.
Suddenly, everything is right in the world again.
I have no idea what next semester holds, or the rest of my life, for that matter. Maybe I’ll figure out my major, maybe I’ll win the poker tournament, or maybe I’ll still be a confused girl with a best friend who will support me no matter what happens.
And that’s more than okay with me.