Campus King | 18+

Chapter Forty

"Who wants to do body shots!" A naked man ran past me, his pale hairy ass an eyesore.

It seemed like I wasn't going to get that rest anytime soon.

"How are you holding up?" A voice asked from behind me.

I turned my head to see Tate walking up to me, holding a closed soda can. I offered him a tired smile and accepted the cool fizzy drink he offered me. The two of us had formed an unlikely partnership as we tried to stop things from getting too crazy — like sober-buddies. Tate, I quickly learned, was a genuinely easygoing guy who had zero tolerance for anyone's bullshit. It increased my respect for him tenfold.

"I'm okay — just ready for the night to be over." As I sipped the soda, my eyes scanned the sea of intoxicated festival-goers. "How does anyone expect to be able to drive home tomorrow morning? They're all going to be nursing hangovers from hell."

He chuckled. "Experience. For many of them, this ain't their first rodeo."

I nodded in agreement, taking another sip. My attention shifted to Tristan, who was laughing at something one of his friends said, head thrown back as his deep rumbling laugh reached even my ears. And then he had to right himself as he nearly fell onto his back.

"Including Tristan?" I asked, my gaze fixed on him.

Tate remained quiet for a moment, studying Tristan until he finally spoke, "This isn't his first rodeo, no. Back when he was a freshman and staying in the football house with the rest of the guys, a lot of his nights were like this. But that's the football house for you. There's a reason a lot of us leave — and why some stay."

"But he stopped all of that stuff when he left, right? He told me he doesn't drink."

I began to wonder if it was to avoid developing a problem. Was he a recovering alcoholic? If so, was he risking all his progress by drinking tonight? 

Tate looked down at me, a hint of something indiscernible in his dark eyes. "Yeah. He did. Moved out and went cold turkey on the drinking."

"So why is he acting like this now?" I asked, frustration lacing my voice.

He shrugged, clearing his throat. "It's hard to say what's going on inside that head of his."

"Do you think it's because of me?" Guilt wrapped its cold hands around my throat and squeezed.

He shook his head. "Even if you're the reason, I don't think you're the only reason, so don't pin the blame on yourself."

"What other reasons could there be?" I scoffed bitterly.

He sighed, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms. "Tristan's dealing with a ton of pressure right now — from everyone, including his family.  He has to be the perfect athlete, the perfect captain, the perfect son. That kind of pressure tends to build until it inevitably explodes. He holds himself to everyone's impossible standards and somehow manages to reach them, but everyone has a limit to how long they can keep that up for. Maybe he's hit his — but these lessons, you can only learn them by going through them."

He was... right.

Tate's words forced me to reevaluate everything, and I released a soft breath, running my hands over my face. Tristan was pushing himself to the brink, trying to fit into everyone else's mold of perfection, and it was taking a toll on us, on me. It dawned on me that unless he changed his approach, shifted his perspectives and expectations... we had no future. We were both heading straight for that cliff.

The realization hit me hard — I didn't really understand Tristan as much as I thought. His outgoing personality, striking good looks, and charming demeanor were like tools he used to create a sense of closeness with everyone — but beneath that facade, I realized I knew nothing of value. It became apparent that Tristan was a pro at crafting an image that resonated with others while keeping his real self hidden.