Chapter XIII – Brotherhood
“Because once someone else knows, it stops being ours.”
The house smelled like Pine-Sol and stale beer, as if even the air had been scrubbed for inspection. The chapter room was hotter than it should’ve been, windows sealed, candles sweating down to puddles on the folding tables.
Clay’s voice was low and raw from a week of shouting. “Gentlemen,” he said, pacing the line of pledges like a man inspecting livestock, “you have survived Hell Week. That means you have earned the right to stand here.”
Ethan kept his chin up, though the collar of his shirt still clung to his neck. Released from the basement less than 8 hours ago, the six of them stood shoulder to shoulder in rumpled blazers, mud still crusted under their fingernails, faces pale from the sleepless night.
Jason stood at the front of the room, holding a tray lined with tiny pins. “Tonight,” he said, “we stop calling you pledges.” The brothers crowded the edges of the room, jackets dark, expressions unreadable. The flicker of candlelight carved shadows across the wall where the fraternity’s crest hung. Someone coughed. Someone else muttered, “Finally.”
Clay’s mouth twitched, but he ignored it. “You have been broken down and built again,” he continued. “You have learned obedience. You have learned humility.” He paused, then added, “You have learned that the house always comes first.”
Jason stepped forward. His voice carried differently — steadier, cleaner, like someone accustomed to ceremony. “When I call your name, step forward.”
The first pledge — Connor — moved stiffly. Jason pinned him with surprising gentleness, clapped his shoulder, murmured something Ethan couldn’t hear. Teddy followed, eyes glassy with exhaustion but smiling faintly. Marco winked as he stepped up, earning a few laughs. Tyler went last before Ethan, his hands steady at his sides.
Then it was Ethan’s turn.
“Ethan Harris,” Jason said.
Ethan stepped forward into the warmth of the candlelight. Jason met his eyes briefly, then fixed the small pin to his lapel. “You belong to something bigger than yourself now,” he said softly, so only Ethan could hear. “Don’t forget what it cost.”
Ethan nodded once. His throat was too tight for words.
Jason straightened, raised his voice. “Brothers—welcome them home.”
The room erupted. The sudden roar — clapping, whoops, someone pounding a chair against the floor — crashed over them. Clay grinned at last, relief breaking through his usual edge. Someone popped a beer, a bit of the spray caught Ethan’s cheek.
Catherine and the Kingston crew appeared as if on cue, it was turning into a proper party.
Ethan tried to smile, but the sound felt far away, like he was listening through water. The pin on his chest caught the light every time he breathed.