He groaned aloud. “Stupid Wes and his benefit dinners.”
“Stupid Wes and his benefit dinners that bring in money for the Pacific Northwest Group Home you own?”
Gabe paused. “Fine, see ya then. Love you.” He turned quickly and kissed my cheek.
I shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Trembling, I walked over to my backpack and dug out my mail. With shaking hands, I ripped open the letter.
Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know your secret, wanna know mine? —Anonymous.
“Stupid bastards.”
I ripped the letter in half and grabbed a granola bar before heading back down to the student center. A shower could wait. I needed my books.
The last time I’d been at the center I’d seen a guy I could have sworn looked like someone from my past.
I hadn’t seen him in a week, so I knew it was my imagination… after all… Taylor? The Taylor I knew was dead.
I would know… after all.
I’d killed him.
CHAPTER TWO
One night I asked her to trip one of the other models then throw food in her face. Mel hesitated, but only for a minute, before not only doing just that, but laughing and posting a picture to Facebook and The Site. When she came back, she asked, “How’d I do?”
I gave her a smug smile and said, “Better, you can do much better.” And then I kissed her. It was a hungry kiss, a possessive one. The demons laughed in my head as she embraced my neck, and I took everything she’d been willing to give. Every. Last. Drop. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
MY FINGERS DRUMMED along the dashboard of my truck as I waited by the student center for her to walk by. Students milled about, most of them laughing, talking on their cell phones, looking excited about the school year. Campus was extremely busy since classes were about to start. It was probably useless, waiting for her like this. Every time someone walked by, I leaned over my steering wheel to get a better look, only to be left disappointed. Irritated, I shook my head at myself. She had to get books at some point. After I scared her off earlier that week, I’d been monitoring her, asking around about her. The good news? I was university staff, so it didn’t look too creepy. It just sounded that way.
I groaned.
The university had given me a week to get adjusted from the sudden move, meaning, I hadn’t even taught my first class yet. Meaning, I should probably be preparing for class, but I couldn’t, not until I saw her again, not until I knew it was her. Should I be in my truck acting like an insane person? Negative. What I should have been doing was finishing off the syllabus for first semester.
But I’d always been a procrastinator, not that I’d ever tell my students that, especially since they always assumed someone as young as I, who had a doctorate, was crazy-smart and totally by-the-lines.
If they only knew.
I checked my cell. Maybe she wasn’t coming. I’d probably missed her. I rubbed my face with my hands and cursed myself for the fiftieth time that week.
I really should have kept my mouth shut, but instead I’d said her name, scared the ever-loving crap out of her, caused her to nearly fall over, and then run in the other direction.
Honest moment. That was the first time I’d ever had a girl run away from me, and I wasn’t so sure how I felt about it. The least I could do was apologize.
I snorted. Right, how would that go? “Um, I’m sorry I look just like him?” Or how about, “I’m here because of you”?
Right.
That sounded totally sane. She’d laugh, I’d laugh, I’d ask her out to coffee, she’d say yes, I’d hand over all his stuff, tell her what I thought of her — what I really thought of her — and be on my merry way.
Stick to the plan, Tristan.
The plan only included a semester at UW.
A semester to find out the truth.
Even if it hurt her.
After all, she’d been a bigger player in the mess that was his life than I’d ever realized — until it was too late.
Without even knowing it, she had pushed him until he’d finally snapped and lost his mind. I still felt the overwhelming sense of guilt when I thought of him. He’d been nothing but a kid — both of them had been kids.
I wasn’t heartless; I understood that he was a monster in the making, if his notes were anything to go by; she should have run away rather than encouraged it. What type of girl stays in an abusive relationship like that? In my mind, she should have seen the writing on the wall. All I had to go off was the journal… the journal of a lunatic, and I was only halfway through that specific piece of evidence.
“Whatever. She’s not coming,” I said to myself then started my truck, just in time to see a flash of dark hair. Pausing, I watched, praying she would turn around.
And when she did, I swear I almost choked on my tongue.
Lovely.
She was absolutely lovely.
When she’d run off the other day, she’d looked a bit stressed, and her hair was longer then. Now it was short, elongating her neck, showing off her sharp chin, full lips, and gorgeous cheekbones.
My heart started hammering against my chest; my hand hesitated on the ignition. Did I approach her now? Soften her up? Would that even lessen the blow? The plan had been to befriend her at least. I fought between being angry at her and wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
Whoa! Where had that errant thought come from? My internal response wasn’t expected; it had come out of nowhere, a protective need to jump out of my truck and touch her face.