Better to Believe (Harrison Campus 4)

Liam winced. “Oh man, that sucks.”

“It’s fine.” Coury shrugged. “I’ll have plenty of time to study since I can’t practice for three more weeks.”

Liam hmmed. “Beckett mentioned you tried to commit suicide by snowboard.”

Coury frowned. “Your brother’s a twat waffle. I wasn’t a newb on the slope. I know how to board.”

“I like the cartoonish way I’m picturing how things went down.”

“There was no out-of-control snowball. I was just warming up when this kid came screaming down the slope. He was heading toward the tree line, so I grabbed him.”

Coury felt the echo—the awkward twist, the burst of pain in his oblique.

“Oh, so you’re spinning this as an act of heroism?”

What cheek! Coury shook his head and grinned. “Since when do you side with Beckett against me?”

“I’m not on Team Coury or Team Beckett. But rushing to save the doomed child? The way I heard it, the kid barreled into you, and you were saving your own ass.”

Coury raised his arms in defeat. “Okay, fine, but he might have hit a tree if I hadn’t stopped him.”

Through the archway, Coury caught the blur of the front door opening. A whoosh of frigid air tunneled into the house; Slider jumped off the couch, barking at a red-faced Beckett.

Beckett dropped a bag and swung his backpack off his shoulder.

“Yo! Yo!” He shut the door, slipped out of his coat, and rubbed the dog’s head. “Slider, you little attention whore.”

“Leave my dog alone.” Pop hugged his grandson. “He remembers to call me more than once a semester.” Pop’s smile was infectious.

Beckett tended to sweep people up in his wake. He thumped his grandfather on the back and thundered into the main room. “Yo, C-man.”

He wrapped Coury in a giant hug.

“Whoa! Watch it.” Coury squirmed, conscious of his injury. Liam watched them, frowning, but kept silent.

“Sorry,” Beckett held his hands up and stepped back. “Forgot you turned into a delicate flower. How’s it going?”

“I’m healing ahead of schedule.” Coury winked at Liam. “At least I was until Hurricane Beckett swept into town.”

“Whatever.” Beckett turned to his brother. “Yo, Squirt. Looking good.”

Beckett rubbed his brother’s head.

Liam grimaced. “Hey, Beck.”

“So, C-man. What par-tees we got lined up for the weekend?”

“I got stuff lined up. Can’t have a dull moment when Becks is here.” Coury rolled his eyes at Liam and was rewarded with the quirk of his lips. He looked back at Beckett. “I was just talking with—”

“Come upstairs while I drop my stuff off. Then we should shoot some stick until dinner.” Beckett looked at his grandfather. “That okay, Pop?”

“Sure. You three have fun.”

“Great. Come on, Coury.” Pop’s emphasis was lost on his grandson. Coury got it, kind of. Liam was his little brother. He didn’t tag along. But . . . the whole point of staying here was supposed to be to help Liam grow his confidence back, right?

Old habits die hard.

Beckett grabbed Coury’s arm. “Tell me what we’re dragging Liam to tonight.”

And like that Coury was swept up in the tornado that followed Beckett. He glanced over his shoulder when they hit the stairs. Disappointment creased Liam’s face, and Coury felt it tug in his gut.

* * *

Liam

Less than two minutes in the house, and Beckett dominated everything.

For a moment Liam thought Coury might invite him to join them, but it looked like even Coury—always-at-ease, chill Coury—was overwhelmed by Beckett’s demands.

Liam pushed off the armchair.

He got it. This was their time.

Upstairs, footsteps thumped along with the murmur of voices and deep laughter.

Liam hung up his brother’s coat, moved his wet shoes to the mat, and gazed up the stairs. He shook off the curl of longing and headed for the kitchen.

Pop sighed. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

“Wasn’t exactly invited.”

Pop opened his mouth, then looked over Liam’s shoulder and shut it again.

Liam whisked around to find Coury gripping the doorframe above his head. He had the kind of athletic body expected of a pitcher—a slightly lanky Adonis. Sandy-gold hair, chiseled jaw, typical come-hither blue eyes. The ass-hugging jeans were a slight to the rest of mankind, and there was something about Coury’s T-shirts that always had Liam staring at his chest. Maybe it was the V line at his neck—or maybe it was the V line at his hips.

Liam shut the thoughts down immediately.

Coury drummed a beat on the frame and dropped his arms. “Beckett’s in the bathroom. He’s demanded water.”

“Of course,” Pop said, rolling his eyes. “Liam, show Coury where the glasses are.”

“You know this is enabling him,” Liam said, opening the cupboard wide.

Coury grabbed two glasses. “Like you putting away his coat and shoes?”

He’d noticed?

Coury’s gaze met Liam’s with a punch that never failed to get Liam’s heart pounding. “We’re going downstairs. You coming?”

“Um . . .” Liam glanced at Pop, who made a face and motioned with his eyes for Liam to go. “If it’s okay.”