Their smiles, on the other hand, did match. Or so people said. As did their eyes; a warm yellow brown that gleamed like gold. And even though he had her by over a foot, their dispositions were virtually the same. Both super laid back and chill—when life permitted.
His dad, however, he looked nearly identical to. The same height, the same bone structure, the same build. Which worked out well since they both loved their basketball. Like Breck, his dad used to play in college. To this day, they still shot hoops together when Breck was home.
Which wasn’t as often as his dad would like during the school year. And honestly, even when Breck was home for a weekend, he tended to gravitate more towards his mom. Not that he didn’t like his dad. The man was just so damn demanding. Always hounding Breck to be the very best. To earn not just acclaim from others, but veneration.
And Breck got it. He did. He understood why his dad insisted. He’d had a hard life as a kid, living in the roughest part of town. Always broke, always bullied. But ultimately, he’d made something of his life. Had busted his ass and gotten a great job. Not the one he’d wanted, playing professional basketball, but he’d earned the respect he deserved and wanted the same for his son.
The fact that Breck excelled in basketball just fanned the flames, enticing his dad to live vicariously through him. He’d never had the chance to make it big in sports like Breck. So now it was up to Breck to take them both to stardom.
The man wouldn’t be satisfied, wouldn’t truly be happy, until Breck became the basketball superstar he never was. Until Breck won the adoration of the whole fucking world.
A goal that, incidentally, Breck was one hundred percent on board with.
He just wished his dad would give him a breather.
Exhaling, he headed for his fraternity’s front door—soon to be his as well if all went smoothly. He had no reason to think it wouldn’t, though. He knew most of the guys. Had partied with them countless times during freshman year.
Still, it was initiation night, and he wondered what the seniors had planned. From what he understood, they’d be the ones running the show. No outsiders or freshmen allowed. Just initiates and upperclassman.
And lots of beer.
Thrumming in anxious anticipation, he scaled the front stoop and gave the door a knock. Whatever they dished out tonight, he could totally take it. Would take it. Like a champ. He was no fucking wuss.
The door swung open. One of the seniors. “Breck.” The guy smiled.
Breck grinned and lifted his chin. “S’up, Cory.”
They bumped fists then smacked palms.
“Sticking around for tonight?” Cory waved him through. The guy was varsity. Specifically, the Patriot’s center. Dark and big. Easily six-foot-seven. With a strong jaw and short, black hair shaved close on the sides.
“Absolutely.” Breck made sure to sound confident. Stepping into the foyer, he spotted dudes with Solo cups ambling about. Some already wearing their togas. He smirked. “I see the keg’s been tapped.”
Cory chuckled. “It’s after noon. Of course it’s been tapped.”
Breck headed into the TV room. More frat bros lounged atop a huge sectional couch, sports games blaring from the surround sound as, in the kitchen, lively hip-hop thumped.
“Grab a beer.” Cory motioned to the keg in the corner. “I’ll catch back up with you and the others in a bit.”
He disappeared around the corner just as one of Breck’s sophomore buddies moseyed over.
“B.” The guy beamed, gripping his Solo cup.
“Jegs.” Breck grinned back and clapped his palm. Jegs was one of his favorites. Had the friendliest face. Damn near the identical twin of Malcolm from that Marvel series, Jessica Jones. What was great about him, though, was that despite his amicability, the guy was a total nonconformist. And ridiculously fun. Ready to party in the most outlandish of ways at the drop of a hat. Always kicking Breck out of his comfort zone. And Breck fucking loved it.
“You ready for this?” Jegs asked.
Breck lifted a brow. Wow. His brazen buddy actually sounded nervous.
Which, in fairness, Breck supposed made sense. Initiation night was notorious for a reason. And Jegs, like Breck, was one of the lucky initiates.
“Will be,” Breck chuckled, eyeing the keg. “Just need to chug a beer or two. Or maybe ten.”
* * * *
By nightfall, he was definitely good and then some. But so was everyone else in the house.
Breck laughed as he sat with his fellow sophomores around the kitchen’s old rickety table, their Solo cups nearing empty yet again, their drinking game in full swing. They’d been designated to the ‘servants table’ once the festivities had begun, while the upperclassmen convened in the dining room to play some poker. According to them, that was the initiates’ first undertaking; assuming the official role of the fraternity’s inferiors.