Page 11 of Triple Play
I was just a mistake.
My phone buzzes. A text from my lab partner at my old school.
Sarah: Missing you already. Crestmont better be worth it.
I stare at the message.
Worth it.
Worth leaving behind friends, familiarity, and a life that made sense.
Worth living next to a guy who kissed me like salvation and then spent two years pretending I didn’t exist.
I type back a lie.
Me: Already love it here. Best decision ever.
The thing about lies is that they’re easier when no one can see your face.
I set my phone down and look at the wall separating my room from Grant’s.
Through it, I can hear him moving around, the sharp sound of something hitting the floor.
I grab my laptop and pull up my schedule for tomorrow: advanced anatomy at eight AM, followed by organic chemistry, then research lab orientation.
I came here for Johns Hopkins. For my future. For the chance to be more than the girl whose mother resents her and whose father left.
Grant Wilder can think I’m a mistake all he wants.
I’m going to prove I’m the best decision I ever made.
CHAPTER THREE
THE AGREEMENT
Elise
The housing office smells like stale coffee and desperation.
We’re all crammed into a conference room that’s too small for the emotions it’s trying to contain: me, Grant, Wyatt, and Jordie. Four people who should not be living together. Four people who are about to sign a legally binding document saying we will.
The administrator is a woman in her fifties, wearing a pantsuit and an aggressively cheerful smile. Her name tag says Carol.
Carol has no idea what she’s walking into.
“Good morning!” She’s practically chirping. “I’m so glad you could all make it. This won’t take long.”
Grant sits as far from me as physically possible. His hand is bandaged—white gauze wrapped around his palm from the broken vodka bottle. Nobody mentions it.
Wyatt is next to him, one leg bouncing under the table. His eyes keep flicking to the door like he’s calculating escape routes. I don’t know his story yet, but I know that look. It’s the same one I wore in every meeting with my high school guidance counselor.
Jordie is across from me, sprawled in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But his smile is too bright. Too forced.
And I’m gripping my pen so hard my knuckles have gone white.
“Now.” Carol spreads papers across the table. “Crestmont takes cohabitation very seriously. We want to ensure all residents feel safe and respected.”
“Sounds great,” Jordie says. “When do we get to the part where we sign in blood?”
