Author's Note:Firstly, I just wanted to clarify one thing about the previous chapter that was mentioned in a comment. Lucas did not take advantage of Brooke. Her drink was spiked and the kiss from Lucas was a figment of her imagination whilst under the influence. Lucas is the one who found her passed out on the back lawn. The calling of her name during the supposed "kiss" was Lucas' voice as he was trying to wake her up, hence the volume of her name being said becoming louder and louder as she came around. I hope this makes more sense.

Secondly, thank you so much to the people who take the time to share their ideas and opinions about the story. Your words actually give me pause to reflect and think about my story, and where to take it next. I hope this latest update is something you enjoy.

Finally, I'm updating this as fast as I can, but please be mindful that I have a son, and a family, a full-time job, and an incessant need to make this story just right. I also don't like short chapters, so it takes some time to get a new chapter just where I want it. I'm doing my absolute best – I promise 😊

- Chrissy

~ My Favourite Game ~

x~X~x

Chapter Five: The Brother

I had two more classes with Lucas that week, but I was lucky enough to be able to avoid him both times. Although thankful for his help that night, I had made a solid effort to steer clear of the basketballer as much as humanly possible. I swerved him in the cafeteria. I dodged him in the hallways. I literally turned around and walked in the complete opposite direction from where I needed to be if I ever found him walking within my vicinity across campus. The boy was everywhere, and on everyone's lips, and the stories of a drink spiking and a passed-out freshman on the back lawn of the basketball house soon swirled. There were whispers and there were assumptions… and there was me. Me and my thoughts of what could have happened that night had Lucas not found me. Thoughts of why he came looking for me in the first place.

Thoughts of why my clouded mind had thought only of kissing him when under the influence. Stupid, traitor mind.

I was just silently thankful that it was a figment of my imagination and that it would stay that way, locked in the corners and never to be spoken of again. He was never ging to know that I had thought that way about him, even for a split second, and we were going to go back to being normal. Me hating him. Him hating me and getting off on making me annoyed at every little thing he did.

So yeah, I avoided him. I avoided him as much as possible. It was better that way.

Since we didn't have to get together for our group assignment, I was thrilled when Peyton offered to work together for the two class discussions we had to do. Jake didn't seem to mind when she reached out for my hand and motioned for us to pair up. Besides, even if I wanted to work with Lucas, Rachel was faster than a cheetah during a hunt and was by his side, arm draped around his shoulders and leaning in before anyone else stood a chance, making sure she warned everyone off through her obvious glare. Judging by the disappointed faces that circled the eyes of those around us both times, I would say there was a long line of willing participants that would have willingly paired up with the bronzed-haired Scott had she not been so quick to ward everyone off.

The girl could glare with the best of them, so I had to give her that. Even if said glare was usually firmly pointed in my direction.

When I ignored Rachel though, it was also nice to begin to unpack what Haley meant when she referred to Peyton the other day. Although I knew she was concerned for my welfare and she had supported my roommate through the ordeal, I didn't really know much about her and so these past two days, working side by side, I got a glimpse into the world of the quieter, more straightforward of the girls in this social group. It was refreshing and interesting.

From a purely physical standpoint, it was not difficult to see why she belonged with them. Golden hair, sometimes wavy, sometimes curly, sometimes straight, the girl was the epitome of southern beauty and charm. But then she contradicted that by wearing edgier clothes that you wouldn't expect to see on a belle from the south. Band t-shirts, cut off denim minis, midriffs, low-riding jeans, leather jackets, tank tops, vans adorning her feet. Another contradiction? She wore gloss, and eyeliner, and mascara that set off her soft green eyes. She knew how to make herself look good. Great, even. And I had to admit, it intrigued me. I had spent so long avoiding people that belonged to social cliques, or popular tribes, but I felt a little jealous that she not only belonged, but that she didn't even bother trying to fit in and be like the rest of them. Rachel and Bevin were clearly cut out to be social 'it' girls. They were stunning, they wore the right clothes, they knew the right way to flirt. But Peyton was different. She was who she was, and they either accepted it or they let it go. She didn't seem to care when girls came up and tried to speak to her as she walked alongside the Scott brothers through the halls. She paid them no mind.

What was her secret?

"Jimmy Eat World," she announced, breaking through my thoughts as she grabbed my phone and opened my Spotify. "Trust me, you will thank me later."

Class had wrapped up for the week, and we were sat together and finishing off our final notes for homework when she reached for my phone. I barely had time to register what was happening but like I said, she did what she wanted when she wanted. Flipping through the search key she found the band's page and clicked follow before adding herself to my friends follow list. I was following exactly two people. Beyonce and Clay Evans. She raised her brow at the second one.

"I thought we weren't a fan of basketball?" She smiled as my eyes shot open in surprise, frozen in mild fear as my breath hitched, but I saw no malice in her eyes. She was genuinely curious. "And yet we have a sophomore superstar on our following list?" She quickly scrolled again, looking at the single follower I had.

Clay Evans.

I had no words. I wasn't planning on every having to answer to anyone about Clay because no one was ever going to find out. Panic swirled through me, flashes of high school splintering my vision as I remembered what it used to feel like to be the known sister of the school's sporting hero. I looked away from her and down at my hands, tangled together in their own anxiety. I suddenly felt a gentle hand over mine and looked up. She smiled and slid my phone into my trembling hands. It was as if she had an epiphany right in front of me, like somehow everything suddenly made sense to her. Her smile turned into a grin and as the people around us began to move out of their seats and the room began to empty, she leaned in and whispered.

"Good for you, Brooke. Who needs freshman basketballers when Clay Evans is an option, right?"

I blinked, startled by her words.

"It makes sense. You're beautiful. Anyone can see that. Especially Rachel. It drives her crazy!"

I looked at her in horror, but she shook her head slowly, indicating that this was just between us. I relaxed a little however I also felt a pang of shame because I knew she had the complete wrong end of the stick. As I stood to my feet and reached for my bag, I suddenly felt the presence of people standing around me as the others came to join Peyton and I. Felix smiled as his eyes trailed up and down my body, nodding his head in approval. Nathan smacked him up the back of his head and sent a nod my way, the younger Scott having kept his distance since the party except to ask how I was. I had appreciated that until he mentioned something about telling the Dean about the incident at the house and then I simply turned and walked away. The rumours had obviously gotten to him, and he was just trying to protect what was his. Whilst I understood it, I was glad he had the good sense not to try that again. Jake sidled up to Peyton and laid a hand tentatively on her lower back as she grabbed her jacket and Bevin was making some statement about the cafeteria and lunch. Rachel agreed that she too was starving, and then leaned in gently towards Lucas, the brooding blonde merely looking at me through those hypnotic baby blues.

"Are you hungry?" Peyton asked as she slid her satchel over her right shoulder and tore my eyes from his stare. Rachel glared at her, but she merely smiled back at her, and I liked her a little more in that moment.

"I'm fine," I replied, wanting nothing more than to escape back to my room and curl up with a book and Adele playing in the background. "I was just going to head back to my room. It's been a week, you know?"

The group fell into silence then, unsure what to say. We hadn't spoken about the spiking at all since that night, not as a group, and there hadn't been any get-togethers at the house since. No parties, no study sessions – nothing. Lucas had put the place on lockdown and by all accounts, the boys had followed his command.

That shit doesn't sit well with me.

"It's fine, really," I insisted, grabbing my books and beginning to move to the front of the pack. "I'm just tired, is all."

"Great," Rachel announced, not even trying to contain her enthusiasm at the fact that I had declined the invitation. "More for the rest of us. See you later, um…" she smiled and fluttered her eyelashes, feigning ignorance. She knew my name, but she was going to do her darndest to make it seem like it wasn't one worth remembering. Not for her. Not for them. I was beneath them, and she was going to make sure I stayed down there.

"Leave it off, Rach," Felix boomed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. "Do you want some company? I hear dorm rooms are cute and… cosy."

"Brooke." Lucas said my name and Rachel's eyes fell slightly before correcting themselves. "I haven't forgotten your name and if you're hungry, then you should come and eat."

I could feel the weight of Felix's arm draped around me and turned to look at Lucas. His eyes were on me, the intensity of his gaze burning a hole within me. I steeled myself, my indignance boiling in the pit of my stomach as I readied for whatever was to come. This was part of the protection process, and I felt like Lucas was always going to be someone who caused a reaction in me. That he was always on alert and aware of everything around him. It was both unnerving and intriguing at the same time. Rachel nudged him in his side, and he finally looked away, releasing me from his gaze. My body expelled air from the relief of it and I slid out from underneath Felix's hold, grabbing my bag and sending a small wave to the others as I began my retreat.

"I'm good by myself," I replied, shutting down Felix's advances with one look. "I prefer my own company."

As I walked away, I could still see the smirk that lit up Lucas Scott's face.

x~X~x

It was late at night when a knock broke me from my evening of studying. Knee-deep in Faulkner, I placed the book on my side table and unwound my legs, my bare feet sinking into the carpet below as I made my way to the door and opened it. Blonde hair and stern eyes met my gaze, and I could feel my eyes widen at the sight of him.

"Care to tell me why I'm only just hearing now that my little sister was the one drugged out on my back lawn?"

Tiny hands reached out and grabbed hold of the polo shirt that adorned him, yanking Clay Evans inside my room. I felt the whoosh of his breath and I reached round him to slam the door shut, my fixed eyes staring at him in horror.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Thick arms folded across his chest and Clay raised his eyebrows at my nervousness, but quickly settled into a look of insistence. He knew his little sister and he wasn't going to allow her to freak out and avoid the question. It annoyed me a little, but he was the one person who saw through me, and I knew I had to get creative if I was to avoid a night of unyielding interrogation.

"Spill, Brooklyn."

"Your house?" I tilted my chin and lifted my eyebrows, calling out his words. "You said you lived in a dorm."

Clay sighed in frustration but played the game, raising his hands up in explanation.

"That is a dorm. Kinda. Could you imagine if I told Dad I lived in an actual house? He would be on the phone demanding his son have a house of his own."

He moved around me and sat on my bed, motioning for me to sit next to him. I did as he instructed, feeling the welcoming hold of his big brother arm as he pulled me into his side. I rested my head on his shoulder, wanting nothing more than the comfort of my big brother in that moment and hoping that this was a gesture of dropping the subject. If it wasn't, I was going to try and change it for us.

"That doesn't sound so bad. I'd love to have a house of my own."

"Says the daughter living in a shoebox." I could feel his chuckle then, his chest vibrating with the movement.

It was true. Our father would be on the phone instructing that the school provide only the best for their best player. And he had a point. Clay was the best, in every way. He was kind, he was talented, and he was the best at whatever he put his mind to. I always wondered why he didn't let our father help him more. Lord knows Robert Theodore "Ted" Davis Jr, business shark and powerhouse, could make anything happen. And yet, his own children didn't want his help with anything. As much as I would have loved a place of my own, and for Clay to not be at all associated with the likes of the boys who lived under the roof of the house of basketball, I got where he was coming from.

We had to do this on our own.

"It's cosy." I announced, referring to my room. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling a sense of peace and calmness for the first time in days. "And my roommate is really nice. Nicer than the jerks you live with."

"Well, they're not all jerks, and besides, I like being there and working with the sophomores this year. It feels like I'm actually paying it forward, you know?" Of course, he felt that way. Of course, he was nice and friendly and wanting to help others. Of course, he saw the best in everyone and everything. That was Clay.

Like Dashboard Confessional said, he was the best one of the best ones.

"Like right now, I'm working closely with the Scott brothers." My throat tightened at the mention of them, and I forced my body not to react and go rigid. It was harder to do than I would have liked and that irritated me. Everything about them – him – irritated me. "Do you know how good they are?"

Like that, right now. When people mentioned how great the Scott brothers were I felt such an overwhelming sense of annoyance.

"You're better." It wasn't a word of a lie, or a means to distract my thoughts from one brooding, arrogant basketballer who seemed intent on injecting himself into my thoughts. No, it was the actual truth - he was. He was better than everyone and the only person who didn't believe it, was him.

"Flattery will not get you anywhere." His hand reached out and ruffled the hair on the top of my head. I slid out from his reach and tried to fix the mess that now adorned me, but I couldn't escape his insistent stare. "Start talking."

Of course my avoidance tactic hadn't worked. Like I said, he was the best at everything.

"Clay, I am fine." I stared back, a forced smile coming to my lips. "Really."

"You say that word too much," he sighed and leaned back on his elbows, nudging me in the leg with his knee. "I almost feel as though you use it as a shield sometimes Brookie-monster, but shields crack. It's me. I can help you."

"I don't need help." I smiled again but I wasn't fooling him. I could fool everyone else, but not him. Never him. He gave me a pointed look and I knew I wasn't going to get him out of here unless I told him exactly what happened, and I couldn't fault him. If the roles were reversed, I would expect the same from him. In fact, I would demand it and we both knew it.

"It was just a stupid mistake; one I do not intend to repeat." He lifted his eyebrows and I continued. "I took one drink, from a stranger, and learned my lesson before anything serious happened."

"I see," Clay tugged at his shirt sleeve and lifted himself back to a seated position. He raked his hand through his hair and tried to control the look of confusion that etched across his features. "What were you doing at the house in the first place? I thought we were avoiding all things basketball? Carving your own path? Ignoring thy brother-"

"I am," I narrowed my eyes, forcing down the annoyance that was rising within me, as I stood and paced the room. "But I cannot help it that basketball walked into my English lit class and became part of my study group, can I?"

"English lit?" His eyes turned thoughtful, and he nodded his head as if confirming something to himself. "That's… interesting… but drinking, too?"

I could get why he was confused. I never drank. I never smoked. I never took drugs. I never did anything that took away my control, even in the smallest of ways.

"Like I said, I made a stupid mistake. We are all allowed to make them from time to time, right?"

"Oh, of course Brookie." He stood then, walking over to me and halting my pacing with the placement of his hands on my shoulders. He held me in place and I looked up, soft eyes looking down on me with nothing but concern and love. I really did have the best brother in the world. "Are you really alright?"

"Better now, actually." I reached out and pulled him into a hug, gripping tight as my head fell into his comforting chest. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too." His arms dropped and wrapped around me, a long sigh escaping his lips as his chin rested on top of my head. "God, I could have used you this week."

And then it hit me. Clay had gone home for a visit and I hadn't even tried to ask him how it was, too caught up in my own drama. I scolded myself for being so selfish. Trips home were hardly on the top of either of our 'to do' lists, but they were especially hard for Clay. I wasn't the only one who needed to escape our home.

"Tell me." I pulled out of the hug and looked up at him, opening the doorway for him to unload on me this time. He closed his eyes and let out another long sigh, and for the first time I saw a look in him I had never seen.

Exhaustion.

"It was just more of the same. Duty-bound, obligatory home visit. Standard." Except there was nothing standard about the way he was right now. He was more tense than I had seen him each time he had come home for a visit, and it made my heart hurt to see him like this.

"Did you visit her?" My voice fell to a whisper, a lump catching in my throat.

"Of course." His lips pressed together, Adam's apple bobbing slightly at the words.

"Did she-"

"Remember me?" His eyes went from being right with me to being so far away, breaking off my sentence with the words he knew I wanted to ask. I waited, breath catching in my throat as he pulled himself out of his thoughts and came back to me. "No, not this time. Sometimes I think she does. You know, she'll smile and reach out for my hand and hold it to her cheek. Other times, it's like the most uncomfortable therapy session with a stranger. But I have to do it."

"What about Dad?" I had always wanted to get our father to help but Clay was adamant he would do it. I never understood why. "Why can't he help you?"

"I don't want to get into this." He shook his head and stepped back, willing me to drop it. "You draw the line with publicly knowing me; I draw the line with this."

"But he's your dad," I breathed, stepping towards him. "He could help you with her."

"I have to do it." His words came out stronger this time, forceful. He stepped back again, and his eyes flashed at me, a look so strong it stabbed me in the chest. He hurt. I could see it and it made me hurt right with him. I stepped forward and closed the gap between us, reaching up and placing my hands on either side of his face, drawing his eyes towards mine.

"You have to take care of yourself, too, Clay." We stood there and I could see the change in his light cobalt irises. They brightened now and I knew it was because they were beginning to well under the pressure of it all. He sniffled then and closed his eyes momentarily before opening them and looking straight at me, resolute.

"She's my Mom, Brookie."

So we stood there, at an impasse. My hands on his face, his arms by his side. Frozen in time, my heart aching at the sight of him. It wasn't fair that he dealt with this on his own. It wasn't fair that he felt the pressure of this on top of everything else – not when our father could help. My hands began to shake in anger and he reached up and held them, encircling my hands with his own and bringing them down between us before giving them a tight squeeze. Even now, in his moment of need, my big brother was comforting me.

"Just be careful, okay? I can't be worried about every important woman in my life."

We didn't even register the handle of the door moving as it swung open, a look of shock exploding on Haley's face as she stood in the doorway, books dropping to the floor in surprise. Her eyes shot up to his face, then to mine, and then finally down to our encircled hands.

"Oh. My. God."

x~X~x

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