There is nothing I can do about it.

  I want desperately to run, to shout, to flail. That will not improve this dire situation. Whatever Shaun has come here for, all I can do is stand and take the punch head on.

  “Mr. Carrington, I presume you received our letter?” Shaun says.

  “Letter?” Rhett says somewhere behind me.

  I flinch, wishing I could sink down into my own shoulders. Not only will they know I’ve failed, they’ll know I’ve hidden this issue from them for nearly a full month.

  “I … yes, I did,” I say.

  “We never received a response,” Shaun says.

  “I did not feel one was warranted.”

  Shaun’s eyebrow quirks just a little, his first blatant sign of annoyance. “Well, that’s a shame, Mr. Carrington. This mess could have been avoided if you’d simply replied instead of forcing us to come down here.”

  “Us.” The royal “us.” He’s proclaiming that he carries all the weight and authority of the entire university administration with him, like a bully showing off a sledge hammer. It’s supposed to scare me, I’m sure, but at present all it really does is make me angrier.

  “That letter made no formal request for a response,” David speaks up behind me.

  Shaun’s eyes snap to David. “Excuse me? Who are you?”

  “The letter did not require a response,” David says instead of answering Shaun’s questions. “He was not obligated to respond to you. Using that as grounds to come down here is specious at best, and I assume the university is well aware of that.”

  “David, please,” I say.

  Shaun’s mouth has tightened into an even harder line, but, incredibly, he doesn’t actually argue. Because David is right. The letter didn’t demand a response. It didn’t set some sort of timeline by which I had to reply. David has found the loophole in Shaun’s pretense for being here, but as much as I’m grateful, I also doubt it will actually forestall what’s about to happen.

  “I apologize for the lack of response,” I say. “I did not think one was required.”

  “Well,” Shaun says.

  He shifts, seems to gather himself. David’s interruption threw him off his script, a fact that has my heart pattering a little harder against my ribs.

  “Be that as it may,” Shaun continues, “a response could have prevented this interaction. We aren’t your enemy, Mr. Carrington. You’re a student. The university is only looking out for your best interests. You don’t need to treat us like a foe.”

  I hold back a snort. That is certainly not true. Universities and colleges are not benign, benevolent institutions of learning that only want to see their students succeed. That’s a nice concept, and perhaps some of the professors feel that way, but the university as an entity is a profit-driven machine, like most everything else. If my father and mother ever taught me anything useful, it was to follow the money, and to believe where it led. The money in a place like City University of Montridge — or any institute of higher learning — generally leads up to the coffers of those at the top. And none of those people are students.

  I say none of this. It is a philosophical argument that isn’t worth anyone’s time. Besides, it will not stop Shaun from doing what he came here to do.

  Instead, I cross my arms under my chest and say, “And what exactly does the university want by sending you here?”

  Shaun sighs as though this is the most tedious question I could have asked.

  “As you know, Mr. Carrington,” he says, “we have been concerned for some time about what uses you may be putting your house to. We have reached out, but received no reply, so I came here myself to see if our fears were unfounded. Sadly, it seems we were right to be concerned.”

  “This is my private residence,” I say. “I purchased the house. It isn’t on school property.”

  “That may be true but—”

  “If I have a party here, it is none of your concern. You will find absolutely no alcohol or drugs on the premises. Call campus security and have them conduct a search if you like. This is a simple gathering of friends, and far less disruptive than the parties we are both aware will be going on the rest of the weekend.”

  “Mr. Carrington,” Shaun interrupts, “all of that may be true, but it does not allay our fundamental concern.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you are operating an illegal business just off of school grounds.”

  There is it, plain and blunt, unavoidable. The truth thuds down into the basement, and all the bright decorations and soothing background sounds in the world can’t dull its keen edge. He has named the transgression in front of everyone, and I am hardly in any position to deny it.

  “The Boyfriend Café is a club,” I try anyway.

  “The Boyfriend Café is a business,” Shaun cuts in, “and it is bringing in an alarming amount of revenue in a way the university suspects is not up to code.”

  “Hold on,” Rhett says. “How dare you—”

  I hold up a hand. Even though I don’t turn around, Rhett cuts himself off.

  “But Albert,” he says more softly, “this is ridiculous. They can’t just barge into your basement and accuse you of this.”

  “Actually, we can,” Shaun says. “Mr. Carrington may live off-campus, but he is still a student enrolled at the university, and as such he is expected to abide by a certain code of conduct.”

  “He hasn’t done anything that violates the code of conduct,” Rhett says.

  “And he would never,” Mal adds.

  “Albert looks out for us,” Gabriel says. “He just lent us a little space that we could use for our club. There’s nothing in the rules that doesn’t allow that. Isn’t that right, Trent?”

  Trent grunts.

  I’m touched by their efforts to swoop in and save me from this disaster of my own making, but I can see on Shaun’s face that their appeals will go nowhere. Their care and concern only steels my resolve to fall on this particular sword for them. I can see them through this, though it may not end well for me. It might horrify my parents as well. But I can still protect them.

  “Quiet,” I snap.

  It’s too harsh, but the more they speak, the more they put themselves in harm’s way, and that is the one thing I absolutely cannot abide.

  “I understand,” I say to Shaun.

  His eyes narrow with suspicion, but after a moment, he says, “Very well, Mr. Carrington. Then you won’t be surprised to hear that we intend to conduct a thorough investigation into this matter. If you are found to be operating an illegal business, even off-campus, that could be grounds for expulsion.”

  Someone gasps behind me. It might be David. I struggle not to flinch at the sound. They don’t understand. As long as it’s only me, as long as I’m the target, then I can live with being expelled. I have the least to lose. I can bounce back, work for my parents or something; many of the others don’t have such a luxury.

  “I understand,” I say again. “I will abide by the university’s decision, whatever that may be. But please note that this is my home, my basement. Everything you see here was purchased by me. I take full responsibility for whatever the university uncovers in its investigation.”

  Shaun does not look entirely mollified, but he accepts my statement either way. Someone issues a soft, “Albert, no,” behind me, but I square my shoulders and hold strong.

  Shaun offers me a tiny nod. “Alright then. You should expect to hear from us soon. In the meantime, I would strongly suggest you cease engaging in any activity that might … weight the scales against you.”

  The threat is plain, but I simply nod and accept it. With a final cold sweep of the café, Shaun makes his way back up the stairs and leaves.

  The silence that follows his departure is thick enough to choke on. I stare straight ahead, not daring to turn around and face the fear and confusion on the faces behind me. Even worse is the possibility of pity. None of them should pity me. None of them should have tried to come to my defense. I have let every single one of them down through my own negligence and selfishness, and I want nothing so much as to flee and hide.

  I manage not to run, not right away. I hold my ground, even with my back to them, and say in a relatively steady tone, “I apologize. It seems our Halloween event will have to end a little earlier than anticipated. You will be issued a prompt refund in the coming days.”

  I start for the stairs. Still no one moves or speaks behind me. Before I reach the top, one final thought hits me, and I once more address the shocked crowd without actually turning to face them.

  “The Boyfriend Café is closed until further notice.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  David

  I HAVEN’T SEEN ALBERT since the Halloween event, and it’s starting to drive me insane.

  I’m surprised the carpeting in my room has held up with how much pacing I’ve been doing. I can’t seem to remain still, whether I’m supposed to be sleeping or I’m at my desk pretending I can focus on schoolwork.

  Yeah, zero chance of that.

  The moment that university guy, Shaun, left, Albert all but ran from his own basement. The servers ushered us all out as gracefully as they could, but I hung around, banging on Albert’s door, texting him, trying to get him to respond. He never replied, neither to me nor Rhett. Rhett and I exchanged numbers, promising to inform the other if either of us heard anything at all.

  I tried more during the weekend, sending a few tentative texts on Saturday and Sunday. Nothing. Rhett reported the same. Albert is as locked up as a bank vault. No one is getting inside.

  It’s crushing, honestly. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all weekend. I neglected my assignments. I slept fitfully. I barely even ate, though Quinn popped over at one point to make sure I wasn’t letting myself waste away entirely.

  “Mope all you like, but you’re going to eat, too,” she’d said. “He’ll come around.”

  “What if he doesn’t? You don’t understand. He thinks this is all his fault. He takes it all on his own shoulders. He won’t let anyone help him. So when it goes wrong like this he feels like it’s entirely his problem.”

  “Stubborn man,” she’d said with an eyeroll. “Well, that might be true, but you are not starving yourself over a guy. So eat.”

  I did, and it made me feel a little better, but a full stomach can only ease an aching heart for so long.

  Now I’m back to classes and essays and all the usual obligations I have during the week, and while the distraction is nice, I also feel like I’m barely here. I’m a shadow in my classes, hardly able to pay attention for longer than a few minutes. I drift between the academic buildings and my dorm, my heart hollow.

  If he would just respond, I might be okay. All I really want is to know he’s in a less sorry state than me. But no one can reach him, not me, not Rhett, not anyone.

  I sigh heavily and flop onto my bed. It only lasts a few minutes, then I’m up again and making a circuit of my little room. Bed, window, desk, door. Bed, window, desk, door. I don’t have a lot of space in which to work out my anxieties.

  A knock startles me. Quinn doesn’t wait for me to respond before she cracks the door open and peeks inside. She sighs the moment she spots me.

  “Oh, David.”

  She slips into my room holding a plastic bag.

  “Have you eaten?” she says. “No, of course you haven’t. Have you showered? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen that much stubble on your face. Not that it’s much, but still. God, you look like you haven’t sleep in a year. Okay, sit down. We have work to do.”

  “Quinn, please.”

  “Sit,” she says more sharply.

  She sets her plastic bag down to physically take me by the shoulders and force me to settle on the edge of my bed. I just sit there numbly as Quinn rummages through the bag, emerging with broth and pho noodles. She makes us each a bowl in the plastic containers from the takeout place, then forces mine into my hands.

  “It’s the veggie one that you like,” she says. “And you better freaking eat it. I used my very own hard earned cash on that.”

  I know I’m going to concede before she even finishes. Besides, she’s right. The moment I shovel noodles and broth and tofu into my mouth, I feel one hundred percent better than I did a couple minutes ago. The warm broth is a soothing blanket wrapping around my insides. My stomach gurgles, eager for more. Anything would have been good, but my favorite pho flavor is especially excellent right now.

  Quinn sits on the floor, her back leaning against my desk, and devours her own bowl of chicken pho. She groans with pleasure when she’s done draining the bowl.

  “That was totally worth it,” she says.

  I’m still working on my food, picking at the remaining bits of noodle and tofu drifting in the broth. Quinn doesn’t point that out, letting me take my own time remembering how to be human.

  “So,” she says, “no word from Albert?”

  I shake my head at my pho, pushing noodles around with my chopsticks.

  “You’re going to hate hearing this,” she says, “but he’s kind of a jerk.”

  I snap my gaze up to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, “but the whole reason this even happened was because he was so stubborn about no one helping him or knowing what was going on. You bullied your way in, but even that wasn’t enough to save him. Now shit has exploded, just like you told him it would, and he’s walling himself off again. And it’s not even just you. You said he won’t even talk to Rhett, right?”

  I shake my head again. “Rhett hasn’t heard anything either.”

  Quinn clicks her tongue. “Men. This is why I’m on my no-men break, by the way. You can seriously be so stubborn and stupid.”

  “Yeah, I don’t really have that option, Quinn. I only like men.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just saying.” She waves away the remark. “Either way, you deserve better than this, and I can’t stand watching you suffer over this stupid jerk.”

  “He’s not a jerk,” I say. “He’s just … having a hard time.”

  “A hard time both you and Rhett would be more than eager to help him with if he’d just let you. Hell, I bet all the guys from the café — and a good half of the clients — would be willing to help. If Albert wasn’t such a prideful, stubborn idiot, he’d have a small army at his back helping him deal with this. But no. He can’t possibly make things that simple. Has to heroically carry it all on his own shoulders. Something something macho stoicism.” She rolls her eyes so hard I fear they hit the back of her skull.

  “He’s just…” I say. “He’s just … trying to protect us.”

  “And that’s very cool and all, but he’s hurting a lot of people by shutting everyone out.”

  Her words strike a bit too close to home. I hunch, head hanging. She rises from the floor, gently pries my half-eaten pho from my hands to set it aside, and settles beside me on the bed, her arm around my shoulders.

  “Oh, Davey,” she says, employing a nickname only she would ever dare utter. “I hate seeing you so messed up for this guy.” She brushes my hair off my forehead, and I sink into her touch, resting against her shoulder as she hugs me to her side. “If it helps, I met this girl at the café and she’s super hot and we’ve been chatting a lot, but you probably don’t want to hear about that.”

  “I do,” I say quickly. Because her being happy genuinely would pick me up right now.

  She keeps combing her fingers through my hair as she talks about Danielle, who was dressed like an ironically un-sexy nurse for the Halloween event and who is so super smart and who is probably going to go on a date with Quinn on Wednesday.

  “I’m really excited,” Quinn says. “I haven’t been on a real date with a girl in way too long.”

  Have I been on a real date with a boy any time recently? Her words make me realize that Albert and I never really dated. We hooked up — largely accidentally. The Halloween event was about the closest we ever got to a date, and that ended in disaster.

  “You should call him.”

  I startle. “What? No way.”

  “Why not? You aren’t getting any response any other way.”

  “No one makes phone calls anymore.”

  “Well, maybe you do. Maybe you should. Come on, I’ll be right here.”

  Something about having her at my side grants me courage. I reluctantly pry myself from the comforting, safe circle of her arm to sit up straighter. My phone lies beside me on the bed. I haven’t been able to drag myself away from the device, always hoping I might get a response. Now, I hesitate, hovering over his name, too scared to make the call.

  Quinn reaches over and pushes the button for me. My eyes fly wide as “Calling…” flashes on the screen.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sorry at all.

  I could hang up, but I don’t. Maybe I need this push over the edge. Maybe I wanted it. I hold the phone up to my ear, not truly expecting him to pick up. Then…

  “Hello?”

  His voice makes my breath catch in my throat. The smooth, deep rumble of it fills my chest.

  “H-hey,” I say. “Albert?”

  “Yes.”

  He doesn’t ask who’s calling, but he also doesn’t hang up on me. Progress?

  “Hey,” I say. “I was just wondering how you’re doing. Are you okay? No one has seen you in days.”

  “I am well,” he says.

  There’s something short and clipped about how he’s talking, something strained.

  “Are you sure?” I say. “Could I come see you? Or—” I quickly back down. “Or Rhett, if you prefer.”

  “I’m sorry. That will not be possible.”

  “Why? What’s going on? Please talk to one of us, Albert.”

 

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