In My Dreams I Hold a Knife by Ashley Winstead

Chapter 38

February, senior year

Mint

Mint stared at his laptop, a chill spreading over him. There it was, in black and white, the headline screaming “Housing Crash Claims Real Estate Giant Minter Group.” Just like his mother had warned: It’s coming for us like a tidal wave, and we can’t stop it. Your father made terrible investment decisions. He failed us. We’re going to lose everything.

But they couldn’t. Mint didn’t know what kind of life that would be, to go from everything to nothing. The only thing he could think of, the closest comparison, was senior year of high school, when everyone found out his mother had cheated on his father and his father did nothing—just let it happen, let her walk all over him, let the man she cheated with remain on the board of the Minter Group. When rumors spread through school that his father, a man everyone used to envy, had been witnessed staggering up the driveway outside the Blackstones’ twenty-fifth anniversary party, begging his wife not to leave him. The way people had whispered about Mint in the hallways, the way they’d laughed in the locker room. The way he’d felt. Helpless. Worthless. Humiliated. Losing everything would be like that, but worse.

The door to his room flew open with a bang, as if kicked, and Trevor Daly sauntered in. “El Presidente. Just the man I was looking for.”

Mint snapped his laptop shut and shoved it away. He forced his voice to come out even. “What’s up, Daly?”

Trevor was the last person he wanted to see right now. Not only because he was annoying, one of those teacher’s pet types nobody liked but everybody had to put up with because he was a legacy—but because Mint had hated both Trevor and Charles Smith ever since that humiliating vandalism on the East House float freshman year. Even though he couldn’t prove it, Mint knew it had been them. They’d always been gunning for him.

Trevor shut the door, which made Mint raise his eyebrows.

“I have something to tell you that’s sensitive,” Trevor explained, and Mint stifled a groan. Trevor was also a tattletale; this was probably some story about a brother skimming a few bucks off the beer fund, or something equally inane.

He planted himself on Mint’s bed and kicked up his feet. Honestly, the nerve.

Mint turned around in his desk chair and glared. “Trevor, spit it out. Sweetheart is two days away, and I have details to iron out.”

“Speaking of sweethearts,” Trevor said, with a smile Mint didn’t trust for a second, “I have some unfortunate news about yours.”

He stiffened. “Jess?”

Jess had been distant, though it was hard to pin down exactly how long it had been going on. Maybe a few months, maybe longer. He’d wanted to ask her what was going on, but it was strange, not to mention a little embarrassing, to have to beg your girlfriend to open up to you. The worst part was, she’d stopped touching him. Stopped throwing her arms around him when she saw him, stopped snuggling in bed. She’d even recoiled once when he bent over to kiss her. She’d immediately backpedaled, saying he’d caught her by surprise, but still, it was proof that something was different.

And it was starting to get irritating. Jess had adored him since freshman year—that was what had drawn him to her in the first place, the way she’d looked at him like he was the king of the world. But lately Mint couldn’t help thinking of all the girls on campus who threw themselves at him, literally begged him to take them home at the end of frat parties, when Jess had already gone to bed. He couldn’t help thinking of Courtney Kennedy, the hottest girl on campus, and the way her gaze lingered, the way her mouth curved in a smile that always felt like an invitation. As puffed-up as it sounded, he was Mark Minter, president of the best fraternity on campus, off to Columbia Law next year, heir to the Minter Group fortune—

Wait, no.No longer heir to a fortune, as of today. What would that mean about law school, about his place on campus, his place in the fraternity? His heart hammered as he thought about what the guys would say when they found out their leader had fallen. He pictured them lining the halls to point and laugh as he passed, just like in high school, but so much worse—

“Yeah, who else? Look, you better appreciate this, because I’m actually taking a big risk with my grades and my future by telling you.”

Mint refocused on Trevor. “Say what you came to say.”

Trevor made himself comfortable on Mint’s bed. “You know I’m a TA for Garvey, right?”

“That big-shot econ professor Jess is obsessed with.”

Trevor smirked. “You don’t say. Well, something you may not know about Garvey—it’s kind of an open secret for those of us in the inner circle, but, anyway—he’s a total horndog.”

Mint raised his eyebrows. “Why do I care?”

“You care because Garvey likes to hook up with his students.”

“Disturbing,” Mint said, starting to turn back to his desk. “Why would any college girl do that?”

“I’ve wondered myself,” Trevor said. “I’m sure it comes down to the power. Garvey’s been economic advisor to two presidents, probably going to be advisor to another one after his book comes out. He’s connected. Hell, why do you think I suck his dick? Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“All right,” Mint said, waving his hand, hoping Trevor would get the hint and leave.

“Man, for a smart guy, you’re really thick.” Mint could hear the satisfaction in Trevor’s voice. He swung to face him, and sure enough, the jerk was smiling. “Either that, or you’re in denial. Dude, your girlfriend is fucking Garvey.”

Mint froze. “That’s absurd. Get out of here.” He rose from his chair to tower over Trevor, but the guy didn’t budge.

“Scout’s honor. I saw it with my own eyes. Apparently she asked him for a recommendation letter, and Garvey pulled his favorite trick of asking for a dinner in return. I saw them last Friday night at Garvey’s usual spot.”

The very air seemed to waver around Mint. “Last Friday?”

“Yeah, the night of the Eurovision party. Your girl went to dinner with Garvey, and I hate to say it, but he took her home after.”

Mint fell back against the edge of the desk. “I couldn’t reach Jess that night.” He remembered: dressed in a ridiculous tracksuit, hair in a fauxhawk, dialing and dialing with no pickup. But what Trevor was saying couldn’t be true. Even if Jess was distant lately, Mint had specifically chosen her because she worshipped him, and there was no threat she’d cheat or embarrass him. That was the core of her value: she was loyal.

Trevor rose from Mint’s bed and started for the door. He clapped his hand on Mint’s shoulder as he passed. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Figured you’d want to know you were being two-timed by an old guy, though. Pretty embarrassing.”

Embarrassing.From deep within Mint, the panic and fear, rage and indignation, all came together, sparking into a fire. It rose up, dark and terrible, licking over his skin, and he fed it until it grew into an inferno, until he was gripping the desk so hard his knuckles turned from red to white. Just like your father.

***

Mint spotted her from a hundred feet away, walking into Bishop Hall. He’d been waiting for almost an hour, expecting her right after class, but clearly she’d had other plans. The fire burned hot inside him, wanting to get out, but he held it close, jogging after her into the building.

“Jess!”

She froze and turned, face pale. She was the kind of pretty that was safe, that wasn’t supposed to give you any trouble, that was grateful. And she always had been, had adored him, practically worshipped him ever since they met freshman year.

“Hey.” Jess crossed her arms as he approached. She used to open her arms, want to hug him. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a break and wanted to see you.” Mint glanced at the other students hanging in the lobby. “Come here.” He tugged her to a couch in the corner and she sat, frowning at him.

He took a second to study her. Could she really have done it? Betrayed him in the worst, the most humiliating way? It seemed impossible. Trevor had to be lying.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I wanted to know what color dress you’re wearing to Sweetheart so I can get a matching bow tie.”

Instead of smiling, she flinched. “Um…pink, I think.”

“Got it.” He brushed his hair off his forehead. “Hey, by the way, remember the Eurovision party I threw last week? The one everyone said was our best theme yet?”

She nodded, staring at her shoes. “Sorry I couldn’t come.”

“Remind me where you were again. I forgot.”

Jess met his eyes. She looked so innocent, so guileless, that the suspicion washed out of Mint’s heart, replaced by guilt.

“I was with Caro. Girls’ night. Just wine and popcorn and Buffy. You know how she’s always going on about spending more time together.”

Mint kissed her forehead. “Totally. The usual. Well, I have to run.” He hopped up and brushed off his jeans. “But I’ll see you Friday, if not before then, yeah? I’ll be the one in the pink bow tie.”

She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “See you there.”

***

“Tiny, wait up!”

Mint pushed through the lunch crowd outside the dining hall, heading for the short, dark-haired girl a few paces ahead.

Caro turned and unwound her scarf from where it was looped around her face. “Minty. What’s up? Why you chasing me?”

He threw his arm around her, the height difference so extreme it was almost comical. “Last Friday, girls’ night, you and Jess. Hit me with your favorite Buffy episode.”

“Easy—‘Hush.’ It’s genius.” Caro elbowed him. “But last Friday Jess was with you at that Euro party, remember? Must have been a good time if you don’t.”

Mint stopped walking, causing Caro to snap back to him. “Are you one hundred percent sure?”

Caro rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I’d have to crack open the history books to figure out the last time we had a girls’ night. Haven’t you noticed Jess and I have barely hung out this semester? And don’t even get me started on Heather. Besides, we finished Buffy freshman year. I wasn’t going to sleep on sexy vampires.” She looked thoughtful. “I actually get why my parents forbid that show, in retrospect—”

The fire inside Mint was back, quick and bright and deadly. Jessica had lied. She’d sat across from him, looked him in the face, and fed him bullshit. Which meant Trevor was right. She really had betrayed him. And if Mint knew anything about tattletale Trevor, soon everyone would know.

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about Jess, and what happened over Christmas break.” Caro said the words carefully, as if they were a test. “I assume you know more about her family than I do, but ever since, she’s been really—”

Caro wanted to talk about Jessica’s family right now? “Not now, Caro. Later. I’ve got to go.”

Mint pulled his arm back and rushed away, feeling Caro’s shocked eyes tracking him until he slipped around the corner.

***

He stood in the middle of the Phi Delt foyer, surrounded by brothers, all of them taping red tinsel and Valentine’s hearts to the walls, and knew he was seconds away from screaming. First the market crash—Minter Group stock tanking, investors pulling out, his mother and the board in a panic, and his father—the coward—missing in action. Old friends from high school were emailing him to say they were sorry to hear his family was burning out so spectacularly, and he could bum a room, or some money, if he needed.

And now Jessica, sleeping with her professor, going out to dinner where that slimy, loose-lipped Trevor and who knows who else could see. Essentially a public declaration that Mint was a loser, a chump, not worthy of respect. How dare she. He wanted to put his hands around her neck.

But this was no time to have a meltdown. He had to hold it together, even the score, undo the damage she’d done to him. Tonight, at the Sweetheart party, he’d confront Jessica, make her confess. Maybe he would do it in front of everyone, so they’d see. Maybe he would make her cry, beg him on her knees. He thought of his father begging to be let into their dinner party, standing just on the other side of the window as Mint and his mother and their friends watched and shook their heads. People had met Mint’s eyes after that, letting him be one of them again. No longer the butt of the joke.

He felt a deep satisfaction settle over him as he imagined how he would catch people’s eyes tonight and shake his head sadly, looking down at a crying Jessica. The humiliation hers, not his.

He just had to hold it together until then—pull the shreds of his sanity back into a calm mask. He leaned forward and taped a cutout cupid to the wall—not a simpering, cartoon baby but a gray-haired angel, a joke cupid with jaunty wings.

“Yo, Minty. That cupid looks like the old dude your girlfriend’s banging.”

Mint froze midtape, and the easy chatter in the foyer fell silent. When he turned, he found the brothers wearing hungry, excited expressions. Trevor was planted in the middle of them, trying and failing not to smirk.

Mint’s voice turned deadly cold. “Who said that?”

“Dude, chill.” Charles, wearing a stupid lacrosse hoodie like always, grinned lazily at him. “Or does getting owned by a sixty-year-old make you a little uptight? Bet it sucks knowing your girl likes old dick better than yours.”

Mint dropped the tape dispenser. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

All the brothers laughed. They were enjoying this, enjoying the sight of him laid low. They were wolves circling, eager to see the alpha ripped to shreds.

“I’ve gotta say, Garvey might have more game than Mint.” Trevor’s eyes sparkled. “He’s actually got a few girls on rotation.”

“Damn,” said Palmer, a fucking pledge. “Mint’s getting sloppy seconds from a teacher.”

Everyone laughed, a few of them so hard they dropped their decorations. Trevor pounded on the wall.

The fire inside Mint burst open, shooting him forward, but then his phone rang. It was his mom. He eyed it. Normally he wouldn’t pick up while he was with the guys, but lately every time she called it was some new emergency. And it was probably best to get the fuck out of here anyway.

He spun on his heels and flew out the front door, slamming it behind him, cutting off the sound of their laughter.

“Yeah, Mom,” he bit out. “I’m here.”

“Mark.” Instantly he knew something had happened. His mom’s voice was charged. He stopped in his tracks, in the middle of the street outside the frat house.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your father.” She took a deep breath. “We finally found him and told him about the takeover. He took it hard—”

“What takeover?”

“I’m taking control of the Minter Group. Me and Boone.” Boone—not the board member she’d cheated on his father with. There was no way this man would be allowed to take his father’s wife and his company. “The board passed a vote of no confidence in your father and ousted him this morning. It’s for the best. But—”

“When were you going to tell me?” Mint wasn’t proud of the way his voice cracked, but this couldn’t be happening.

His mother’s voice turned cold. “I’m telling you now, Mark. This is the apocalypse. You want a company to run one day? You want to inherit some goddamn money? Then you need me and Boone in charge. We’re the only ones who can fix the royal fuckup your father left us.”

“What happened to Dad? You said he took it hard.”

It was strange, really, how your entire life could change just like that, from one second to the next. And there was no fireworks show, no dramatic tilting of the world on its axis to signify how everything had suddenly flipped upside down, and nothing would ever be the same.

“I won’t sugarcoat it. Your father tried to kill himself last night. He took the coward’s way out.”

Mint was vaguely aware that he’d dropped to his knees in the street. That a car had swerved to avoid him, honking.

“How?” he whispered.

“An old-fashioned throw-yourself-out-the-window.” Her voice was grim. “Like a goddamn investment banker in the Depression. So dramatic. Don’t worry, he survived. Couldn’t even get that right.”

The world, spinning and spinning.

“You’re being quiet, Mark. Say something.”

He tried to speak but couldn’t get words out past the utter destruction, the firestorm of anger collapsing his chest.

“You can visit your father starting a week from now,” his mother said. “He’s in Mount Sinai. Send my assistant an email if you want to go, and she’ll book you a ticket—”

Mint snapped his phone shut and dropped it on the pavement.

He died right there on his knees, in the street in front of Phi Delt. The tidal wave of rage he’d been holding burned him to ashes, from the inside out. And so the person who staggered to his feet, who strode through the front door of the frat house, who grabbed Trevor Daly by the collar and lifted him nearly off the floor, who hit him, over and over, feeling the skin split under his knuckles, the bone snap, who ignored the hands pulling at his shirt, the raised voices, the shrill scream of the freshman pledge—that person was someone else, someone new, a creature born from fire.