Page 162 of Forever Relentless

“Not yet,” he told her father with a casualness that I envied. “Don’t write me off, though.”

Dean Cole snorted. “Seen you play — only a fool thinks you’re out of the game before the final whistle.”

Dante’s grin widened.

Dean Cole’s gaze settled on me. “Matthews?”

Dante sat silently. Right, this was all me then.

“I need some advice.”

“Does the advice need a lawyer?” he asked, and it wasn’t asked unkindly.

“I didn’t do anything,” I assured him. “My brother did.” I saw he was confused. “My little brother goes to Cedar Hill U in Texas, and he’s a good kid. He’s only seventeen, very smart, and advanced in everything in his classes.” The dean nodded in approval. “He was bullied through high school. I managed to dissuade the guy once or twice, but unfortunately for Tate, his bully also attends the same college.” I saw the dean’s eyebrow rise. “Not intentionally, I’m sure.”

“That’s unfortunate. No, I will not be your alibi if something has happened recently to this bully.”

I didn’t have an answer to that. “Um . . .”

“Noah has been here all weekend,” Dante spoke smoothly. “We played the spring game yesterday.”

“I . . .” I looked at the dean. “No offense, you’re the last person I would ask to lie for me, if I ever needed anyone to lie for me. Which, for the record, I never have.”

Dean Cole’s smile was a wide one and possibly genuine. “It was a joke. And a test, I admit.” His gaze flicked to Dante’s, and I wondered who the test was for.

“How can I help you? I assume you want advice?”

I shifted in my seat. “My brother told me his bully had been bothering him.” I cleared my throat. “He didn’t want to tell me, because, as I said, I’ve had words with Brock before.” I saw the dean didn’t need an elaboration on what ‘words’ meant. “And Tate, my brother, was worried I’d maybe visit.”

The dean didn’t look at all surprised that Tate had made this assumption.

“He didn’t,” Dante cut in. “Just so you remember that.”

The dean gave him a flat stare and returned his attention to me.

“Long story short, Dean Cole, Tate took matters into his own hands.”

“He stood up to his bully?” The dean looked impressed. “Well, that’s a good thing.”

“He broke his arm.”

The dean pursed his lips. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Is your brother okay?”

“No. Tate broke the bully’s arm.” I saw the surprise. “Yeah, I had the same reaction. He decided to stand up to him, to stop me from going down there, and from what I can tell, Brock didn’t react well, so Tate threw the first punch.” I quickly looked the dean over. “Tate’s pretty much the same size as you, sir. Brock’s more or less like me.”

“I see.”

“Tate,” Dante stepped in easily, “is smart, and while we don’t know if he did it on purpose, he said he’d read a tutorial on how to break an arm.”

“A clean break,” I added, wincing when I realized that sounded even more intentional. “I believe he told the administration that when they questioned him.”

“Because Brock? Right?” he asked, and I nodded. “Because Brock reported him for the attack?” Dean Cole surmised. “Of course, so typical.” He looked between us. “I’m still struggling to understand why you’re here.”

“He’s suspended for a week, and it’ll go on his academic record.”

The dean nodded. “Yes, it would.”

I leaned forward. “He did it for me, sir. He knew I’d come down. I need to ask his school to drop it. And I don’t know how.”