The air in The Coffee House turns thick, like someone sucked out all the oxygen. My body tenses, muscles rigid under my apron, as customers' stares stab into me like needles. I feel Ethan's eyes, locked on me, worried, from across the counter. He's as thrown as I am. Nobody expected my dad to show up here, in the middle of my shift, like he's ready to tear everything apart.
Why the fuck now? What does he want?
"You look ridiculous in that apron," he says, his voice ice-cold, cutting, dripping with contempt that makes my blood boil. He looks me up and down, his lips twisting in disgust.
"Get out. We'll talk outside," he orders, crossing his arms, impatient, like I'm a kid he can boss around.
"No," I say, flat, holding his gaze without blinking.
He turns, his brow furrowing like he can't believe it. "What did you say?"
"I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm working," I snap, firm, my hands gripping the apron until my knuckles turn white.
He lets out a short, bitter laugh that feels like a slap. "Working?" he mocks, leaning toward me. "Since when does Noah Whitman work?"
His eyes harden, and I feel the weight of his disdain. "Was this your idea? Thinking you can keep up with a major that doesn't suit you?"
"None of your damn business," I spit, bitterness burning my throat. "Get out. I've got work."
"I'm sick of your tantrums!" he roars, his voice echoing through the café. "I came to give you a chance."
I step closer, my mouth twisting with irony. "A chance?" I say, venom in my voice. "Since when is your idea of a chance coming to humiliate me at my job?"
He holds my gaze, his eyes like daggers, trying to break me. But this time, I don't bend. My mind's at its limit, but I don't back down.
"You've never dared talk to me like this," he warns, his tone slicing the air. "Watch yourself, Noah."
"Watch what?" I spit, voice low but sharp. "You? What else can you take? The car? Want it?"
I yank the keys from my pocket and slam them into his hand with a sharp smack. "Take it. Keep it."
He stares at the keys, and for a split second, something in his face falters, like the gesture hits harder than my words. But I don't stop. "What else? My clothes? Why don't you go to the frat house and take those too?"
His face tightens, veins bulging in his neck. He tosses the keys to the floor with a sharp flick and crosses his arms, breathing heavy. "Don't test me, Noah," he growls, pure contempt in his voice.
"Okay," Ethan cuts in, his voice firm, slicing through the tension. "We're closed. Everyone out. Now."
His tone leaves no room for argument. One by one, customers get up, some muttering, others glancing back. When the last one leaves, Ethan locks the door. The café falls silent, just the three of us, trapped in air thick with burnt coffee and rage.
"Your friend?" my dad mutters, eyeing Ethan with disdain.
"What's it to you?" I snap, anger blazing in my chest.
"Enough!" he shouts, his voice like thunder, echoing off the walls.
I glance at Ethan, tense, ready to jump in but unsure how. I catch his eyes for a second, and those green eyes are full of worry, not the spark that usually pulls me in.
"You think I came here for you to treat me like this?" my dad snaps, eyes blazing.
"How do you expect me to treat you?" I fire back, rage climbing my throat. "After you cut off my money just to force me down your damn path?"
"I just want what's best for you, don't you get it?" he shoots back, slamming his hand through the air.
"Best for me or for you?" I cut him off, fury exploding. "You want to drag me into that shitty pharmaceutical business when I don't give a fuck about it. I'm not rotting behind a desk like you."
My words are pure poison. I step closer, my face burning. "And I sure as hell won't fuck my secretary in that office like you."
A flash crosses his eyes. His arm swings, and the slap hits my cheek hard. The impact echoes, my skin burning like it's been branded.
"Hey!" Ethan lunges forward, but I stop him with a sharp gesture.
"How much guilt do you have to feel to hit me for the first time?" I face him, staring into his eyes. His face tightens, guilt wrestling with anger in his gaze. "I can see it, Dad. It's eating you."
"Enough," he mutters, his voice low, almost broken. "I just want to give you a chance to get back on track."
"Back with that shit?" I spit, incredulous. "A chance?"
"If you go back to Economics next quarter, I'll reinstate your funds," he says, his voice trembling, like it costs him. "Your trust, your cards, and you won't have to keep working in this shithole."
I stare at him, stunned. His hands shake slightly. I step closer, face to face, my voice cold as ice. "Dad, do me a favor: take your money, your cards, and shove them up your ass."
"Whitman," Ethan says from behind, trying to cool things down.
I ignore him. My dad's eyes widen, like my words stabbed him. I know I went hard, I know it hurts, but there's no turning back.
"Have you lost your mind?" he roars. "You're throwing everything away for a tantrum?"
"No, Dad," I say, holding back the rage. "When you cut me off, my eyes opened. For the first time, I saw things clearly."
My voice cracks, but I don't look away. "For the first time, I haven't lived to please you. For the first time, I've been free from your fucking shadow."
The silence between us is a chasm. "Your mother will be disappointed," he spits, his words like knives.
"Mom and Elizabeth support me!" I shout, my voice echoing through the café. "They're pissed I lied, yeah, but they support me choosing my own path. Unlike you, who just wants a carbon copy of yourself."
"You'll never be like me," he says, cold, cutting.
"God, I hope not," I say, a tear betraying me, sliding down my cheek. "But I've got more of you in me than I want. I'm arrogant, self-centered… and a fucking womanizer. Just like you."
The silence is brutal. I glance at Ethan, his eyes a mix of worry and something deeper, like he wants to reach me but doesn't know how. There's no spark in his gaze, just anxiety, like he's feeling my pain.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" I continue, my voice shaking. "Hurts to hear the truth to your face."
"You don't know anything!" he roars, veins bulging in his neck.
"I know everything!" I yell, words like bullets. "We were happy! I looked up to you! But everything changed when I saw you with that woman at the club. Elizabeth saw you too, Dad. We saw you kissing her, touching her, while Mom was breaking at home."
"Noah, enough!" he shouts, his voice cracking, torn between fury and shame.
"You ruined it," I face him, words cutting like glass. "You caused Mom's pain. And you haven't fixed shit. Time passes, but the scars stay. I tried to see you as my dad, but now I just see a parasite eating us alive."
He raises his hand again, but I grab it hard before he can touch me. "I'm not a kid anymore, Nathaniel," I hiss, my breathing ragged. "You'll never lay a hand on me again."
"Why bring this up now?" he roars, his voice almost desperate.
"Because I hoped you'd come to fix things," I admit, shoving his hand away. "But the first thing you did was mock me. That was the last straw. I'm done carrying this anger for you."
"You'll sink," he spits, eyes blazing. "No one's paying your tuition or your damn degree."
"I'll figure it out," I say, ice-cold.
"With the paycheck from this shitty café?" he mocks, gesturing at the place.
"I'll find a way," I shoot back, firm. "But I'm done depending on you."
He sighs, rage still alive in his stance. "What's going on here?" Rose steps out of her office, her voice slicing through like a knife. Her eyes lock on me, and I know she sees the red mark on my cheek.
"Who are you?" she says to my dad, squaring up to him. "Get away from my employees!"
"Don't touch me!" he growls, trying to brush her off.
"Not her!" I shout, shoving him back. "Get out!"
"What's wrong, Ethan?" Rose asks, looking between us.
"Out!" I roar, my voice breaking.
My dad straightens his suit with that smug arrogance of his and walks out without looking back. The door slams shut. Tears spill, not from sadness but pure rage. I loved my dad, fuck, maybe I still do. But seeing him like this—violent, mocking—shows me who he really is. He just wants to control me, turn me into his shadow. And the worst part? I'm already partly him. And I hate myself for it.
"Noah!" Ethan steps closer, his voice thick with worry. His hand lands on my shoulder, his green eyes piercing mine, intense, like he's trying to hold me together. I just sigh, unable to speak.
"Noah, honey, it'll be okay," Rose says, gently touching my cheek.
"Rose… I gotta go," I mumble, brushing her hand away and standing.
"Wait!" Ethan says, stepping toward me.
"No, Ethan," I turn, my voice trembling. "Please, let me go."
"I want—" he starts, but I cut him off.
I bolt out, the cold campus air hitting my face, trying to outrun the pain, the rage, and everything burning inside me.
****
I don't know how long I've been running. My legs are shaking, my lungs burn, and the sun's long gone, leaving campus wrapped in cool darkness. I've been wandering aimlessly, past the Arrillaga gym, its lights off and the distant echo of weights fading, then by the Roble tennis courts, where the nets hang limp under the streetlights. I ran through the Quad, its sandstone arches looming in the quiet night, my footsteps the only sound breaking the silence, and skirted Lake Lagunita, dry and grassy, the air smelling of damp earth. I didn't stop anywhere. I just wanted the knot in my chest to unravel, to leave the rage and pain behind in some corner of campus.
It's late, fucking late, when I reach the frat house. I climb the wooden steps, creaking under my feet, and push open the door. The place is dead: no laughter, no music, none of the usual chaos. Everyone's asleep, or it seems that way. I walk slowly down the hall, past walls covered in faded photos of old parties and red-and-white pennants. My stomach's empty—I've barely eaten—but hunger doesn't register. I just want to disappear.
I climb the stairs to the rooms, barely noticing the mess of plastic cups and clothes strewn in corners. I reach my door, and the silence is so thick it almost weighs me down. I collapse onto my bed, the mattress groaning under me, and stare at the ceiling, letting out a sigh that feels like it takes a piece of me with it.
I pull out my phone. A bunch of missed calls from Mom. My dad probably already told her his version of the shitshow. I don't have the energy to talk—not to her, not to Joe, not to Chris. No one. I close my eyes, chasing sleep that won't come, when the door creaks open softly.
"Took you long enough," Ethan says, his voice calm, like an anchor in my storm.
I didn't want to see anyone after what happened. But seeing him there, leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette outlined by the hallway light, I feel a spark of something unexpected. Relief, maybe. "Worried about me, Bennett?" I ask, forcing a smile I don't fully feel.
"Not gonna lie," he says, slow, with that steady calm of his.
I don't know why, but his words chip away at the cloud around me. I'm glad he's here.
"You doing better?" he asks, sitting on the edge of my bed with a curiosity that doesn't push.
"After today's shitshow, I don't have the energy to stay pissed," I admit, my voice dull, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers.
"Didn't picture you having such a fucked-up thing with your dad," he says, soft but straight-up.
"It all blew up today," I say, resignation heavy. "Before, it was just… tension. But today, it shattered."
"Wanna vent?" he presses, those green eyes looking at me like they see more than I'm saying.
I hesitate, but the words spill out like a dam breaking. I tell him everything: the days we were happy, when Dad, Mom, Elizabeth, and I would hit the beach or the park, laughing like the world was ours. How it all went to shit when Mom found out Dad was cheating. How her sadness pushed us apart, how I hid in friends, parties, anything to fill the void. How I ended up here at Stanford, trying to be someone else, someone not stuck in Nathaniel Whitman's shadow.
"Damn," Ethan says when I'm done, his voice low, like he's carrying the weight of it.
"Yeah," I say, exhausted, staring at the floor.
"You know, we've all got shit at home," he says with a soft laugh that lightens the air. "I've fought my own battles. When my parents found out I'm gay, it was hell. Thought I'd moved past it, but scars stick around, I guess."
"Hold up," he says, standing. "I'm grabbing beers."
He comes back with a couple of cold cans, and we spend the night talking, digging up old wounds, laughing at out-of-place jokes that pull me out of the pit. He's trying to lift me up, and fuck, I'm grateful. His words, his laughs, the way he listens without judging—it keeps me afloat.
"You're braver than I thought," he says suddenly, his gaze serious.
"Thought I wasn't?" I say, managing a tired smile.
"Thought you were an arrogant asshole," he admits with a hint of teasing. "But now I get why you act like that. Doesn't excuse it, but it explains it."
"Guess I'll have to figure out how to pay tuition," I say, shrugging. "Without my dad's money, I'm on my own."
He looks at me, dead serious, then says, "I'm in."
I freeze, not following. "In for what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He stands, locks eyes with me, and a mischievous glint flashes in his gaze for the first time. Something stirs in my chest, a feeling I can't name. "I'll pretend to be your boyfriend, Noah Whitman," he says with a smile that looks innocent but hits me like a lightning bolt.
I jump up, eyes wide. "What? Are you serious, Ethan?" I ask, breathless, like I've been punched.
"Dead serious," he says, steady, no hesitation.
"Holy shit!" I shout, joy exploding in my voice. Without thinking, I lunge at him, hugging him so hard I lift him off the ground.
"Hey, easy!" Ethan laughs, trying to wriggle free. "We haven't even started, man."
"I can't believe it," I stammer, my voice shaking with excitement. "I thought you'd never go for it."
"After today, I think your intentions are good," he says with a smile that warms my chest.
"You're the best, Ethan Bennett!" I yell, hugging him again, like I need to make sure he won't back out.
"Shut the fuck up!" someone yells from the hall. "Let people sleep!"
We lock eyes and burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. I let him go, still grinning like an idiot. "Sorry," I say, chuckling, and look at Ethan. "I swear, if this goes south, I'll do whatever I can to keep you out of it."
"You better, Whitman," he says, serious, but with a spark in his eyes. "I'm sticking my neck out for this lie."
"Let's crash," he mumbles, heading for the door.
"Hey!" I call. He turns, expectant.
"Sleep tight, babe," I say, winking, testing the game.
He rolls his eyes, but a smile slips out before he leaves. "Fuck," I whisper to myself, alone in the room. I'd lost hope with him. But the one guy I thought could pull off this charade—to fake being gay, snag that scholarship, and get me out of this mess—said yes. I don't need a miracle anymore. It's all on me now. And even if it's wrong, fuck it, at this point, I don't care.