“You look a hell of a lot better,” I say as I plop down next to him.
He shoots me a look. “Yeah. Nice black eye.”
“Meh, it’s just yellow now.”
“You should see the other guys,” Reece yells out from the kitchen. “Scott has a cast on his arm. Parker hasn’t been seen all week. There’s not a Kappa on campus who will meet my eyes. Fucking cowards.”
I grab a handful of cheese fries and stuff them in my mouth. “Not one peep from them.”
Reece rummages around the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out pots. He must have seen me eating. “Yo, don’t be eating junk food. It’ll spoil dinner.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I call back.
Boone snorts. “Since I’m sickly, does this mean I don’t have to clean up after dinner?”
I look over my shoulder as Reece squints at a box of pasta, ignoring us. He knows he makes a mess.
“Yeah,” I add. “Last time you cooked, there was sauce on the stove, the floor, the wall, the ceiling . . .”
He slams a pot down.
“Don’t overcook the noodles,” Boone says.
“Or burn the bread,” I chime in.
“Or the sauce. Smoke-flavored isn’t my favorite. I want to be able to taste the tomato,” Boone snarks.
Reece curses at us. “You two will love every fucking bite.”
“This is true.” I grab a controller and jump in the game with Boone.
There’s a lull in the game, and I glance over at Boone. “So, you wanna talk?”
He picks at some lint on his jeans. “Before we left for the maze, Scott gave me a shot of vodka. Just me.” He puts his elbows on his knees and dips his head, seeming to be fascinated by the carpet.
“Something was in it?”
He shrugs. “Doctors didn’t find anything, but I probably tossed it up or it was too late to detect.”
My fists curl, itching to go back over there.
He doesn’t notice, his voice wavering. “Reece told me the other pledges dropped me off, but I don’t remember.”
“Will you keep on pledging?”
A bitter laugh comes from him and his own fists clench. “I’d never, but they’re saying they kicked me out. One of the pledges returned my phone at the hotel and told me. My dad threatened him and he ran off. You tried to warn me and I should have listened. My parents, they’re upset. Angry with Kappa. Angry with the administration that wants to sweep it under the rug. We’ll look into it is what they said, which we both know is bullshit.”
My eyebrows go sky-high. “They filed a complaint?”
He nods. “Yeah. Jesus Christ on a bike, I’m glad they didn’t see me in the locker room. My mom might have packed my bags and moved me home.”
I slap him on the back. “It’s over now, bro. Hockey is your frat. We’ve got your back no matter what, yeah?”
Reece calls from the kitchen. “Alright, get your asses in here and eat.”
Boone smirks as we rise up together. “Maybe it’s decent.”
“I can hear you,” Reece mutters.
I chuckle. “The hard part is going to be finding clean dishes.”
“Remember the time we used tumblers to eat spaghetti?” Boone says. “I pretty much tossed mine back and poured it down my throat.”
We walk in the kitchen. Reece stands at the stove with an apron on that says Mr. Good-looking Is Cooking. He stirs the sauce, drains the noodles, then grabs a potholder to take the bread out of the oven.
The aroma of tomato and olive oil lingers in the air.
“We didn’t have napkins last time either. Used toilet paper,” I murmur then call out a victory yell when I find a package of paper plates in the cabinet.
“And he scores!” Boone shouts.
Reece rolls his eyes then pulls out a package of new napkins from a bag. “I went to the store.”
“Good job, my man,” I say as I swipe at the crumbs on the table and set the table.
“We’re eating in the kitchen?” Boone says. “But the den and TV are right there.”
I shrug. “It’s up to Reece. It’s his masterpiece.”
“Kitchen.”
Boone grumbles, then grabs a piece of garlic bread and stuffs it in his mouth. He devours it in two bites. Things feel back to normal.
Later, as we’re stuffing our faces, we talk about classes, about hockey, about me and Julia—although I cut that off pretty quick. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to jinx us.