Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

I didn’t like being angry at my brother.

We’d grown up fighting more often than we got along. And I wasn’t sure if he’d just gotten older, or if he really did seem more unhinged today than I remembered him ever being. Even when we were shouting and screaming through our entire summer house so loudly the walls shook—he’d never seemed quite so on edge.

I’m dealing with shit you don’t know anything about, and I did you a favor despite it.

We argued, we fought. Then, our parents died, and all of a sudden our fifteen-year-old lives were thrown into a whirlwind of lawyers, press, and therapists. To me, it felt like Henry was all that was really left of them.

After the accident, it was hard to plan for the future. Mom and Dad had planned theirs perfectly, and it didn’t matter at all when air turbulence had catapulted them into the Atlantic. What the fuck was the point when life was so, so fickle? When somebody could be a constant in your life at one moment and wiped out of it the next through no fault of their own?

The realization had made me want to cling to my brother like a lifeline. Fifteen-year-old me never wanted to let him out of her sight, never mind accept what had become apparent quite quickly: he did not feel the same way.

At fifteen, Henry had bought his first planner and became the crisis-averting top student and athlete he was today—with a mind for nothing but his meticulously planned, picture-perfect future.

Even though that meant we weren’t fighting anymore, it kind of felt like I’d lost my brother that day as well. When we’d been hurling petty insults at each other, pulling hair and teeth, at least we’d still been talking.

It’s all I could think about now. We were fighting, yes, but at least we were talking . At least he’d been looking at me, speaking to me, probably thinking about me too. In a way that I should probably unpack with my therapist, I felt… cared for. Loved. I hadn’t felt that from Henry in so long; just the very hint of it made me itch for more.

That care had never extended past grades and career prospects—had never reached into my personal life. Until now.

I scoffed, trying to suppress the memories of better times, with parents who were alive and loving, when my greatest worry had been if Henry had snatched the last chocolate bar out of the fridge or how he’d messed up my hair on picture day. All of it was coming back to me now.

The way they’d tear us away from each other, take us into our respective rooms—Dad with Henry, Mom with me. I didn’t know what my brother had been told all those years, but Mom’s words lingered in my head even now.

“ Listen here ,” she’d say, softly. If I cried she’d wipe my tears. “ Henry has a hard time coping with his feelings the right way. But your brother loves you very much, Athalia. He admires your strength, your kindness, your humor. A little piece of him wants to be just like you.” She’d say , “And you love him, too, don’t you? His bravery, his confidence? ” Depending on how bad the particular fight had been, I would argue with her here. But in the end, she’d always won. “ See ?” she’d say. “ You’ll always have each other. Your brother will take care of you, and you’ll take care of him long after you would need to. And you’ll find it so annoying —” She’d continue in a whisper. “ He’s a little annoying, isn’t he ?” she’d joke. And I’d laugh every time. “ But you’ll be with him much longer than you’ll be with us, Lia. ”

A few things about Henry Mom didn’t mention… He wasn’t just brave and confident (although hewas). He was also stubborn, arrogant and couldnever, everbe wrong. And all of that got worse when he felt like he wasn’t in control. Of a situation, of his life––apparently my life too.

Sitting on a wooden bench perched up behind the main building of HBU, I noted that Henry Parker Pressley was an asshole. Then, despite my brother’s selfishness and ignorance, I scolded myself for wanting his attention like a child, regardless.

If I’d been more like him—driven, determined, destined to play pro sports or academically ahead of the rest of our classmates—maybe we’d be closer now. Maybe I wouldn’t need a fight to feel close to him, at all.

Unfortunately, I was none of those things, and a part of me was still that fifteen-year-old girl clinging to her twin brother.

“Please don’t tell me you come here often.”

I startled, my spine straightened, and my eyes squinted against the setting sun. McCarthy was still in his crimson shorts, a hoodie thrown over the jersey, and his hair still damp from the shower he must’ve taken after practice.

Could this get any worse?

“You’re really the last person I want to see right now,” I admitted, eyes shifting from his towering frame to the townhouses—mostly occupied by fraternities and sororities—across the wide, empty field separating main campus and frat row.

“Is that so?” As if to prove a point, he planted himself on the bench beside me.

I wanted to groan, then yell at him, before becoming seriously violent. “Today is not the day, McCarthy,” I warned.

Not that looping that fight with Henry over and over in my mind wasn’t enough, fate wanted me to stare the reason for it straight into his big brown eyes. I closed mine. And a wave of awareness flashed through me like lightning, my body stiffening for the second time.

The reason for it.

Dylan McCarthy Williams was the reason for it.

Not my need for independence or that I’d yelled at Henry. Not that I’d interrupted practice and caused a scene.

It was McCarthy. The mention of him, the thought of me spending time with the enemy .

I just don’t want that guy anywhere close to my little sister. Wasn’t that what he’d said?

I sorted through the information behind closed eyes, neurons firing at lightning speed, before I opened them wide.

If McCarthy hadn’t already taken a seat, I would’ve offered it now.

In a magical turn of events, he wasn’t the last person I wanted to see. He was exactly who I needed , sent not out of spite, but as my one-way ticket to Revenge-ville. And if it meant I had my brother’s attention for a little while longer, who’d complain? Certainly not me.

“That seems dangerous.” His words drew my gaze back to him, only noticing the sly smile on my lips when McCarthy pointed it out. Literally. His finger circled my grin a safe distance away when he added, “I’ve never seen you smile, Pressley. It’s terrifying.”

“Good.” I turned my body toward him, considering all my options carefully. The entire plan was still forming in my head, and once the words were out, I couldn’t take them back. “I have a proposition.”

“I’m listening.” McCarthy’s brow rose with interest. “What has that marvelous brain of yours produced this time?”

My body deflated with a groan, gleaming eyes narrowing into a glare. “If that’s a reference to my statistic skills—”

He cut me off with a snort, his head tilting slightly. “Skills?”

It was easy to forget how infuriating the guy opposite me was. With his thick, dark hair and the hint of a dimple working its way into his cheek, it was almost like that was the point.

“You know what—” As my nose scrunched up, and I was close to dropping the whole thing, his hands shot up in mocked defeat.

“All right, all right.” Amusement still played in his features. “I’ll admit it, I’m interested to know what’s going on in that little—” He cut himself off at my reinforced glare, clearing his throat. “In that very big brain of yours. Spill.”

Despite the urge to abandon my plan, I saw it through.

“I know you deeply despise my brother,” I began, still not quite sure how to go about my proposal.

No way back now.

McCarthy huffed. “Masterful deduction.”

“Well, I present you: the one thing that’ll show him just how much you really do.”