Beautiful Storm

Beautiful StormWestlake Royals Jaime Ellis Copyright © 2023 by Jaime Ellis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Contents 1. Atticus2. Atticus3. Lili4. Lili5. Atticus6. Atticus7. Lili8. Atticus9. Lili10. Atticus11. Lili12. Lili13. Atticus14. Atticus15. Atticus16. Atticus17. Lili18. Atticus19. Lili20. Atticus21. Lili22. Atticus23. Lili24. Lili25. Lili26. Lili27. LiliAlso by Jaime EllisAbout the Author Chapter 1Atticus Organized higher education was a joke and a pain in the ass all at once, but I wasn't stupid enough to turn my nose up at a private education. I was a Rainier, and we'd been going to Westlake U since we’d immigrated to Greenwich, Connecticut. Call it convenience or a curse, but Westlake was in West Hartford, an hour and a half from my childhood home if you adhered to the speed limit—I sure as fuck didn't. Having the stamp of approval from one of the most prestigious universities in the country was the equivalent of a VIP pass. Go to jail? The judge will let the crime fly. Want that job? Hey, the CEO is an alumnus. Get in a debate on the laws of human nature? Just mention a theory class at Westlake U, and the other guy shuts the fuck up. Today, on the first day of the second semester of my sophomore year, I'd rather have been anywhere else but on College Street, at a red light, four blocks from the campus, but here I was anyway. It wasn’t that I disliked school, but American institutions—especially the ones with sticks up their asses—tended to do things the way they've always been done, not the way they should be done. Tradition was the death of progress. Whatever. Two more years, and I'd be done with college. The light turned green, and I pressed on the gas. The middle of the city wasn't exactly quiet, especially not at eight a.m., but there was a dull, continuous roar that, once you got used to it, was more like a natural part of the ecosystem than anything. A few hundred cars rolled across the urban grid. Laughter bounced off every concrete surface, and a thousand pairs of feet slapped the concrete as students moved from coffee shops and convenience stores toward the campus. A comforting chaos, I guess. The familiar sounds were severed as soon as I crossed the intersection. The only warning I got was a deep, thundering rumble before a streak of black shot past me. For a moment, I thought it was going to go like lightning down the street, but instead, it slowed enough to cut in front of me. I slammed on the brakes and narrowly avoided ramming it, but only barely. It was a completely restored muscle car, likely built around the time The Beatles had broken up. I rubbed my finger against my mouth, a habit my mother used to hate but I’d never been able to stop. I should have hit the asshole. It wasn’t like I couldn't afford the fix or, hell, a new car if I wanted to be a precious bitch about it. There would’ve been a vindictive satisfaction in doing it. But no. I’d known enough broke dumbasses in my life and called many of them friends to know that some kid swinging his balls at my BMW didn't deserve a financial fuck in the ass. I should have been used to it anyway. Back when I had a Ferrari, everyone wanted to race me. In the end, dear old Dad stripped the car away from me. He called it my death wish. Perhaps he was right. The car in front of me slowed down despite the next green light a few feet ahead. My speakers were thumping Sabbath. The tiny urge to press on the gas pedal and smoke the asshole stirred inside me, but I didn't switch lanes to start playing chicken with the dude who was now driving about ten miles below the speed limit. It would be just my luck if an old man were crossing the street right as I went from twenty to sixty in four point seven. The light turned yellow, and the car in front of me practically rolled into the intersection. Frustration gripped my stomach. I should have gone around the car and gone through the light. I hated holdups more than almost anything. But it was too late. The light flashed to red, and I was stuck while the asshole who’d held me up merrily zoomed away. Fuck. I shouldn't have let it annoy me. There were minor inconveniences, and then there were things to blow a fuse about—I wasn't going to have a conniption fit over it. It had been a hard lesson to learn when I was a kid, but it stuck with me. People wanted a reaction, and not giving it to them gave you a power over yourself that nobody could ever take away. The calmer I was, the madder they got, and the madder they got, the funnier it was. That guy was still a prick, though. About five minutes later, I made it to the campus and drove down a dozen or so streets before I got to the reserved parking lot closest to the main building. Every one of my classes was spread out through the sprawling grounds of the university but I liked parking by the principal building anyway. There was a sense of excitement in the front green that I never got tired of. Freshmen gathered around there usually, but so did everyone else. As I rolled by the oak tree, my gaze swung over the small crowd. Girls from every one of the sorority chapters clustered by the university's official oak tree, chatting and laughing with steaming mugs in their mittened hands. Alpha Xi Alpha was