Chapter 5 Chapter 5
Quinn’s POV
There was an unspoken rule at Ashcroft Academy.
No matter how badly your life was falling apart, lunch still happened.
Unfortunately, Theo had decided I was going to participate.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You said that at breakfast.”
“I wasn’t hungry then either.”
“Exactly. That’s becoming a problem.”
He grabbed a tray and shoved it into my hands before I could escape. Around us, students whispered over their lunches, their phones strategically positioned beside their plates so they could refresh The Velvet Ledger between bites.
Apparently, watching my life implode worked up an appetite.
Theo dropped an apple onto my tray.
“Eat something.”
“I need a new life, not an apple.”
“Start small.”
Sebastian appeared behind us, carrying a plate of pasta.
“For what it’s worth, you don’t need a new life.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That sounded almost supportive.”
“You need to get this one back.”
I stared at him.
Sebastian Blackwell had a habit of saying something unexpectedly kind and then acting like he hadn’t just reached inside your chest.
Theo cleared his throat.
“Well. That was unsettlingly emotional.”
“It won’t happen again,” Sebastian assured him.
We carried our trays toward our usual table, where Luca had apparently ordered enough food to survive a natural disaster.
He looked up.
“Congratulations.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Surviving the morning. I was preparing a memorial speech.”
“Was it any good?”
“Beautiful. I cried writing it.”
“You don’t write.”
“That’s what made it so moving.”
I sat down across from him.
For the first time since waking up, I felt something resembling normal.
Then Luca noticed the apple.
“Is that your entire lunch?”
“Apparently.”
He pushed half his sandwich onto my plate.
“Here.”
I looked at him.
“You just gave away food.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Theo leaned toward Sebastian.
“Should we call a doctor?”
“Immediately.”
Luca pointed a fry at them.
“I can take it back.”
I picked up the sandwich.
“Too late.”
Evie arrived carrying coffee and a plate of fries.
“Good. He’s eating.”
“Why is everyone so invested in my nutritional intake?”
“Because you’ve been surviving on caffeine and bad decisions,” she said.
“That’s Luca’s diet.”
“Mine includes protein,” Luca protested.
Sebastian glanced at his tray.
“French fries aren’t protein.”
“They’re emotional protein.”
Evie laughed and slid into the chair beside him.
I was halfway through the sandwich when the dining hall changed.
The conversations didn’t stop completely, but they softened enough for me to notice.
Charlotte stood near the entrance.
She was holding a tray and looking directly at our table.
My stomach tightened.
She could have sat anywhere. There were hundreds of students in that room, plenty of whom would have happily welcomed her, especially now that dating me had apparently become a public-relations disaster.
Instead, she walked toward us.
Luca quietly moved his bag off the empty chair.
Charlotte sat across from me.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
Brilliant.
Three years together, and we’d apparently forgotten how conversations worked.
She reached for the hot sauce and slid it toward me without thinking.
It was something she’d done a hundred times.
Our eyes met.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
Theo suddenly became fascinated by his lunch.
Evie stirred coffee that didn’t need stirring.
Luca, for once in his life, kept his mouth shut.
I looked at Charlotte.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“Some.”
“Evie says that means half a granola bar,” Theo volunteered.
Charlotte gave him a look.
“Why is everyone monitoring what we eat?”
“It’s my new calling,” he said.
Luca nodded solemnly.
“He’s thinking about becoming a nutritionist.”
“I’m thinking about throwing you into the fountain.”
“See? Passionate about his work.”
Charlotte laughed.
It was brief, but I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to hear it until that moment.
She caught me looking.
The smile faded a little.
I wanted to reach across the table and take her hand.
I didn’t.
Not because I didn’t love her.
Because I wasn’t sure she’d let me.
Sloane joined us a few minutes later, notebook tucked beneath her arm.
“Tell me you’ve discovered something,” Luca said.
“Hello to you too.”
“Sorry. Hello, beautiful investigative journalist. Have you discovered something?”
“Much better.”
She sat beside Sebastian and lowered her voice.
“Actually, yes.”
I put down my sandwich.
Sloane showed us an old Chronicle photograph and an equipment list.
“Three years ago, Ashcroft helped organize a charity run near North Ridge Estates. Facilities installed a temporary traffic camera at the entrance.”
I stared at the paperwork.
“Near where Noah was hurt?”
“Very near.”
Sebastian leaned forward.
“The installation date was before the accident. The scheduled removal was afterward.”
Charlotte frowned.
“So the camera might have recorded something?”
“Possibly,” Sloane said. “We haven’t confirmed it was operating that night, or that any footage survived.”
“Still,” Theo said, “that’s more than we had this morning.”
It was.
Three years of silence, and my friends had uncovered something in a few hours that my father had never mentioned.
I didn’t know whether that should make me hopeful or furious.
“Who signed for the camera?” I asked.
Sloane tapped the document.
“An Ashcroft facilities employee. I’m going to ask about the equipment records.”
“No,” I said immediately.
She looked up.
“Excuse me?”
I hesitated.
The last thing I wanted was someone else getting dragged into my family’s mess.
“If my father finds out you’re investigating, he might—”
“Might what?”
I didn’t answer.
Sloane’s expression softened, but only slightly.
“Quinn, I appreciate that you’re worried. But you don’t get to decide what questions I’m allowed to ask.”
Charlotte looked at me.
The words were almost identical to what she’d told me that morning.
I sat back.
“Okay.”
Sloane blinked.
“Okay?”
“You’re right.”
Luca pressed a hand to his chest.
“Somebody document this. A Sinclair admitted another person was right.”
“Eat your fries,” I told him.
“Gladly.”
Charlotte watched me for another moment.
Then, beneath the table, her foot touched mine.
She didn’t pull it away.
Neither did I.
We spent the next ten minutes talking about ordinary things.
Theo complained about conditioning drills. Luca insisted hockey was the superior sport because football players weren’t brave enough to compete on ice.
“We wear blades on our feet,” he announced.
“Attached to boots,” Sebastian corrected.
“Deadly boots.”
Evie shook her head.
“You make hockey sound like organized stupidity.”
“That’s because you’ve never appreciated its artistry.”
“I’ve watched you crash into a wall.”
“Art requires sacrifice.”
Even Charlotte laughed at that.
I looked around the table and realized how much I stood to lose.
Not the Sinclair name.
Not the stadium.
Not the future my grandfather had mapped out for me before I was old enough to hold a football.
This.
My friends arguing over lunch.
Charlotte’s foot resting against mine.
People who’d known me for years and were still willing to sit beside me when everyone else wanted a scandal.
I couldn’t keep lying to them forever.
My phone buzzed.
Then Luca’s.
Then Theo’s.
Sebastian checked his screen.
“That’s unusual.”
I opened the notification.
ASHCROFT ATHLETICS
Mandatory meeting. All team captains and football leadership report to the Athletic Center immediately. Attendance required.
Luca looked at me.
“Please tell me this is about the new equipment budget.”
Theo snorted.
“During lunch?”
“Maybe they finally approved the espresso machine for the hockey locker room.”
“You requested an espresso machine?” Evie asked.
“Three times.”
“Why?”
“Team morale.”
Sebastian stood.
“I doubt that’s why we’re being summoned.”
I looked toward the far end of the dining hall.
Coach was standing near the doors, speaking to two men in dark suits.
One of them held a folder.
The other was watching our table.
I recognized him.
Mr. Harris.
My father’s attorney.
He’d been at our house the morning after Noah’s accident.
I hadn’t seen him in nearly three years.
My appetite disappeared.
“Quinn?” Charlotte asked.
I pushed back my chair.
“My father’s lawyer is here.”
The joking stopped.
Theo followed my gaze.
“That’s not good.”
“No,” I said.
It wasn’t.
Because if my father had sent Mr. Harris to Ashcroft, he wasn’t simply trying to remove a website anymore.
He was trying to take control of what happened next.
And this time, I wasn’t fifteen.
I didn’t intend to let him.
