He made no attempt to hold the door for the idiot he called a brother. In fact, the way he felt right now, he hoped the door would hit Wes in the face. The kid desperately needed someone to knock some sense into him. “Deacon, wait,” Wes called. He kept walking. His Porsche convertible was parked in a visitor’s spot right outside the building. “Deacon!” His brother was behind him, the flip-flops he wore slapping the pavement. “Get in the car.” “Can’t you listen for one minute?” “I was just at a meeting with your coach and a very nice woman from the dean of students office. A meeting in which I fully expected to listen to what you had to say, but— Wait a minute. You weren’t there, were you? They were talking about kicking you out of school, Wes, and you couldn’t be bothered to show up?” “I got there.” “A whole hour late. The meeting was over before you managed to drop by.” “Aren’t you even going to listen to my side of the story?” “How can there possibly be ‘your’ side to paying your roommate to do your work?
