“Don’t even fucking try me,” I say. “You’re the treasurer. You probably chose who to give it to.”
Preston works his jaw back and forth before answering. “Gloria Walton.”
“What?” Royal asks, straightening and glaring at Preston.
“Your family didn’t renew her scholarship,” Preston says. “I figured I owed it to her, even if she didn’t know it.”
“You told your father not to renew her scholarship?” I ask Royal.
He shrugs. “She’s a conniving bitch.”
I raise a brow. “You’re being nice to my friends, remember?”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But yes, I told him not to renew her scholarship after I found out that she told you.”
I press my fists to my temples, trying to figure out what I’m missing.
“Then who gave me a scholarship?” I ask.
“I did,” Royal says quietly.
“So, instead of giving it to Gloria, you gave it to me.”
“No,” he says. “My father gave those scholarships out already. I told him not to give one to Lo, that’s all. Everyone applying for a scholarship writes a letter, and the donors can choose from them or just let the school pick. I don’t know who Dad gave scholarships to. I’ve never been involved in that, and I only cared this year because I didn’t want her to get one from my family.”
“So… You used your personal money to give me a scholarship?” Our eyes meet, and I’m suddenly sure I know where he got money for something he doesn’t want his father involved in. I remember looking at his drawer full of cash and betting slips from the fights, wondering what he would do with all that money. Now I know.
He gives the smallest nod. “I convinced the school to add an additional one for you, well after the deadline. I didn’t use family money. I didn’t want my father thinking you owed him anything.”
“And you fucking let me thank you,” I say, turning to Preston. “Just like when Royal pulled me out of your truck and gave me the Escalade. Yeah, I know about those things, too.”
At least he has the decency to look guilty. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I didn’t want you to go back to him.”
Royal strains forward, but I hold up a hand.
“That’s not your decision to make, Preston.”
“I know,” he says. “But he doesn’t deserve you, no matter how much shit he buys you.”
“And you do?”
He scowls and turns to the window without an answer.
“What else did you let me think you did for me?” I ask.
Preston crosses his arms and sits back, a defensive posture. “I paid your bills starting last spring, when you told me they were coming after Lindsey. Half the time, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I kept telling you that, but you insisted. After a while, I just stopped arguing.”
“Fuck,” I say, slamming my back against the seat in frustration. “Like when I kept asking for my scholarship back. You said you didn’t know what I was talking about, and I thought you were being humble, but you honestly didn’t, because you’re not Mr. D.”
“Why does it matter who he is?” Preston asks. “He’s just some guy who gave you a scholarship last year? Write him a thank you letter and move on.”
“It matters,” Royal growls, glaring at Preston.
“I may have given him private, personal information about Royal,” I admit, giving Royal a meaningful look. I told him I’d make sure Preston didn’t tell anyone about the Hockington, and he told me not to talk to Preston about him, so I didn’t. I want him to know that I never repeated the information, even when I thought Preston was Mr. D. I knew he wouldn’t tell anyone if he hadn’t already. But I had it all wrong. He wasn’t hiding in his loft, hoarding information about the Dolces. He never had it to begin with.