This Is Love (Evermore University #2)

12. Rya

12

RYA

My eyes flutter open when my alarm goes off at 3:40 p.m., but just as quickly, I slam them shut again. The pounding in my head that started after Hazel left me earlier hasn’t abated, and the tightness in my chest simply won’t let up. Behind my eyes, flickering images of this morning’s discovery taunt me. I slowly draw in a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. Hot on the heels of last night’s events, Logan’s and Jaxon’s deceit has shaken me. Badly .

The fact that I need to get my ass to the studio so I don’t lose out on the rehearsal time I signed up for is the only reason I finally unbury myself from the warm cocoon of my bed. Drowning myself in sadness isn’t productive when I have to rehearse for auditions tomorrow.

I slip from my bed, immediately seeing stars. Exhaling, I put my hand on the mattress and wait for the feeling to subside. Is it the drugs still in my system? The headache thumping my skull from the inside out? Lack of water or food? Probably all of the above. A moment later, the door creaks as it opens, and Hazel shuffles back into the room. “Are you okay?”

I nod, though I’m unsure whether she means physically due to how she just found me or if she actually wonders if I’m somehow miraculously past the earlier upset she witnessed, even though she’s clueless about the cause. “Yeah. I’m good.” I shove my feet into a pair of flip-flops, then turn to grab my shower caddy.

“I thought we could talk for a minute.”

I pause with my back to her. My jaw tightens, as I have no bandwidth left to explain things to her at the moment. Rubbing a hand over my face, I sigh as I turn to face her. “Look. I’m feeling a little sad and disappointed and a million other emotions all at once. I’ve gotta shower so I can get to rehearsal. We can talk after.” I say all of that while looking anywhere but at her. I know she was just drunk last night, but… those text messages hurt. And yeah, we just aren’t connecting lately like we usually do.

It’s not until I finally meet her eyes that I notice Hazel’s face has paled. “So do you not want to go to rehearsal together today?” She frowns. “I’m confused. I thought we were going to give each other feedback again.”

She’s right, we had planned to do that. But— “I need some alone time. You know I process when I dance. Today has been a lot. Too much to get into when I have to get going.” I shoot her a tight smile and lift the shower caddy between us. “I really need to get moving or I won’t make it on time and someone else will claim my hour. You know how people are when a studio room is open.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Vultures.”

“Exactly. I promise we’ll talk later.” I step close, hooking her neck with my free arm and pulling her in for a squeeze. “I’m just having a rough time lately. I’m overreacting to everything, and I don’t want that to affect us.”

When I release her, she peers at me with narrowed eyes. “Okay. Take this time to get your head right, then.” Her face suddenly breaks into a smile. “I’ll allow you a few more hours to wallow, then we’re gonna eat junk food and watch a movie when you get back from rehearsal. And talk. Definitely talk some things through. Okay?”

“Yes. Sounds great.” I exhale, winking before I turn to go. “See you later.”

“You better.”

Twenty minutes later, I bolt to the upper floor of the gymnasium that houses private rooms, as well as one of two women’s locker rooms in the building. I have the final studio hour of the evening and am already three minutes late, which has me feeling frazzled. I hope no one has noticed the room I signed up to use is standing empty. Pushing on the heavy door, I fly inside on a mission to get to my locker, grab my pointe shoes, and make a hasty trip down the hall. The need to run through my choreography a time or ten before tomorrow is gnawing at me, heightening my apprehension about the whole thing.

With my head pounding, I make a mental note to force some water down soon. I’m no doubt dehydrated. The nurse had warned me that I needed to up my fluid intake today, that I’d feel better for it, but— I simply haven’t been able to, and I can’t figure out why I’m like this. I don’t have a clue whether it’s my body physically rebelling against the drugs that’d kicked my ass or that mentally I’m just in one of those moods where I can’t seem to do anything I know is good for me. It’s a problem. One I’ve fought my entire life.

I rub a hand over my face as I head past aisle after aisle of lockers in the expansive locker room. One could assume my issue has to do with becoming aware of the fact someone is out there who attempted to harm me… but I don’t even think that’s it. My issues are more likely stemming from the feeling of betrayal that’d taken root inside me after walking in on Jaxon and Logan together this morning. I was plenty upset before that, but the ache in my chest only began when I stumbled upon them.

I wet my lips as I get to the final row of lockers against the back wall of the room. Turning, I lift my gaze from my feet and jerk to a stop. I blink. Once. Twice. What the fuck ? A breath stutters out of me, and I whip my head around, terrified of what—or who—I’ll find here with me… but I’m alone.

Alone with an entire row of open lockers, the contents of which are strewn about the floor. Nerves prickle all along my spine, and my palms dampen as I fight to swallow past fear. Who would do something like this? Why?

Struggling to comprehend the chaos before me, my eyes roam over the jumble of destroyed clothing and sports equipment, my stomach flipping as a wave of nausea rolls through me. Oh, fuck. No. Nonononono. As I stand there, frozen in shock, my breath comes out in short, sharp rasps. I lift one hand to my chest, clenching at the oversize sweatshirt I’d thrown on before leaving the dorm. Fighting to calm myself, I try to swallow, but it’s like there’s something lodged deep in my throat… and when it finally lets loose, it’s a wretched sound, full of disbelief. This can’t be happening. No. Please no. Not today. Not right before the audition. Not my pointe shoes that were perfectly and painstakingly broken in. Anguish crashes through my head, making me dizzy enough that I drop onto the bench, staring at the pink ribbons sticking up out of the chaos.

I lurch forward, falling to my knees, and tug at the ribbons. As I pull them free, my worst fear materializes in the form of a mangled ballet-pink satin and leather. Shit . I turn them over in my hands, desperate to see if maybe they aren’t as bad as I’m thinking, but they are. The ribbons are partially torn from where I’d so carefully sewed them on, and there are a couple of slashes in each shoe, rendering them unusable. Tears spring to my eyes. Shit. Fuck .

Somehow, I manage to drag in one breath, then another, then I finally pull my phone out of my pocket. Unlocking it, I tap to open my contacts and jam my shaking finger down on Hazel’s name.

While it rings, I try to steady myself, but it’s proving near impossible. My chin trembles, but I lock my jaw shut. In my ear, Hazel’s voice tells me to “try texting instead, you know I won’t answer.” Grimacing, after the beep, I shoot out, “You need to come check your pointe shoes and whatever you were going to wear for the audition tomorrow. Someone tore up the locker room and emptied half the lockers. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Closing my eyes for a second, I shake my head, jabbing at my phone to end the call before tapping out a quick message of warning to her in case she ignores her voicemail.

You’ve got to come check your locker.

There’s shit everywhere.

My pointe shoes are fucked.

Going to get my backup pair from home.

There’s no way I’ll be able to go all the way home and back in time to run through my audition piece. And frankly, at the moment, I’m too shaken to do anything at all. Opening my contacts again, I quickly find and call my mom’s number, but that goes to voicemail, too. Shit . Auditions start at eight in the morning. I’ve gotta get my shoes tonight . While my mind spins for a solution, I realize why she didn’t answer. It’s Saturday. My parents have done date night every Saturday without fail for as long as I can remember. Dinner and a movie. And because they use the time to reconnect, they have a phones-off rule.

What the hell am I going to do? I blink, my next inclination is to call Logan, followed closely by a strong urge to have Jaxon here at my side because he’s so good at calming me down when I’m freaking out. I bite my lip, blinking back the tears obscuring my vision. But the two of them kept things from me, and my heart is so bruised, I can hardly draw a breath without the pain of it cascading through me again. I can’t. I just can’t.

Exhaling hard, I pull up Evermore U’s free ride messaging group. I might be shit out of luck, though, because it’s Saturday. The student group that offers the service is a little hit or miss. Fridays are usually not an issue, but there’s something about Saturdays; there are simply far fewer of them willing to help out. Maybe it’s simply that they don’t want to deal with drunk people two nights in a row. Who knows. I fire off my desperate message that I have to get home tonight and how long it’ll take to get there, then allow myself a few seconds to sit in the middle of the disarray.

Finally getting to my feet, I hurry from the room, glancing toward the office area where a few of the dance teachers and coaches keep desks and their personal items. It’s empty. Of course.

Before I can do anything else, my phone pings twice in my pocket. I dig it out and read the response to my urgent plea.

I can take you.

Be there in five.

Hurrying, I jog through the empty halls of the gym to the exit where I’m met by a blast of icy air. The temperature has been bordering on freezing all day, and I wager it’s below now. I give a quick look around, but don’t see a car yet, so I bounce on my toes, trying to stay warm while hugging my arms around myself for good measure. The wind is freaking whipping. I exhale hard, noting streetlights turning on around campus. If my ride doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to really regret my choice to dash out of the dorm without a coat.

As I’m beating myself up, headlights come in my direction, and the vehicle slows to a stop, some sort of expensive-looking Jeep Wrangler. It’s all black—from the paint job to the hubcaps. I lift my hand, waving to the driver, who is hardly visible through the windshield, as it pulls to a stop.

“That was fast. Thanks,” I say as I jerk the rear door open only to find the back seat completely full of boxes and bags. Okay, guess I’m sitting up front.

I’m already sliding into the passenger seat when he gestures to the rolled-down driver’s window. “Sorry about this,” he practically shouts. My brow furrows hard as I notice he’s wearing one of those ski masks that covers his entire face and has a pair of headphones on his ears. “My window has been stuck for the last hour, but I promised to drive tonight, so…” His gaze wanders over me, noting my obvious lack of a warm hat and coat, then down to the tights on my legs. “Shit. Sorry,” he groans out. “You’re gonna be cold. Where’d you say we were heading?” He offers me a tentative smile as I buckle myself in.

With my teeth already chattering, I murmur, “It’s okay. I just need a ride to my house—88 West Grand Street.”

He nods, plugging my address into his navigation system. “Sure,” he says gruffly. “I have an idea where that is, but we’ll let the nav take us there.” Reaching forward, he fiddles with the temperature controls, casting his gaze at me before his eyes drift to my hands knotted in my lap. “That’s the best I can do for you.”

I nod, holding my hands out to the heat blasting from the vents as he pulls away from the curb. “It’s okay. Thank you. And, um, if when we get there, you could stay for a minute while I run in, then bring me back here, that’d be so appreciated.”

“No problem,” he grunts, staring straight ahead. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” Biting my lip, I bring my phone close to my chest, idly scrolling through social media to occupy myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, it registers that his attention is lingering on me. Great . The only thing I can think to do is ignore him. It’s a free ride. I know I’m just wigging out from the shock of the situation in the locker room, but I don’t owe this guy conversation or anything else. I look down at my phone again… but I’m inwardly freaking out. I stare blindly at IG posts, my skin beginning to crawl.

A little while later, I catch my masked driver’s eyes wandering my legs. He’s leering and not being especially inconspicuous about it. Running around in my dance clothes doesn’t usually bother me, but right now, his stare is making me uncomfortable. I ignore him but also silently will the car to pick up speed so this can be over already. The navigation screen shows us rerouting, but the audio is all being fed into his earphones, so I don’t know what’s going on. I guess I don’t know every route from campus to my house, but this definitely isn’t the fastest way. Maybe the navigation system warned him of an accident? But he’s using Waze, and it’s not showing our vehicle on the verge of encountering a car stopped on the road we’re on, much less something that would require us to change routes. I kinda know where we are, but… this feels off.

I think it’s best for the moment if I don’t say anything and try to figure out how to get him to pull over. Worrying my lip, I draw in a careful breath, then speak loudly enough he should be able to hear me. “Looks like I won’t need help with the return trip, so you can just drop me off and go.” His brow arches—or at least I think it does behind the ski mask. I hold my phone up, gesturing to it with a tip of my chin. “My parents insist I stay overnight.” It’s a little white lie, but merited… I want him to think I’ve told someone where I am. Shit. I’ve gotta text someone to let them know what’s happening. If I look like an idiot, then I do, but I don’t think I’m overreacting.

He bristles, readjusting his gloved hands on the wheel. “Whatever you say,” comes his gruff response, along with a narrowing of his eyes as he peers at me. There’s a certain glint there that has all my internal alarms blaring.

Oh god, does he know I’m not telling him the truth ? I let out a shuddering breath from between pursed lips. Slowly, my eyes peruse his face, hoping to take in some details, but his amused brown eyes are all I can distinguish from the face behind the ski mask. My heart rate ratchets, going into overdrive. “Thanks,” I murmur, not really caring if he thinks I’m grateful or not, and slide my gaze back to my phone. Fuck . The asshole is fully staring at me now, even though I refuse to meet his creepy fucking gaze again. I shiver, but whether it’s from the cold air from the open window that rushes over me or the dire circumstances that are worsening by the second, I don’t have a fucking clue. “Um, you could let me out here,” I choke out, unsure at first if he’s heard me.

After several seconds, though, a devilish smirk twists his lips. “Uh-uh.” Then as we round a curve in the road, the bastard pushes a button on the screen, pulling up audio instead of navigation. Uh-uh? What the fuck . My eyes widen as he selects music, disconnects his headphones, and slips them down around his neck while a heavy metal song begins to blare from the speakers.

Hands shaking, I open my texts, but I haven’t even gotten to figure out who might respond fastest to a desperate plea for help, when the bastard’s arm shoots out like a bullet, and he snatches the phone from me, tucking it immediately between thick, muscular thighs.

“Nope. You’re gonna spend some time with me.”

“Give me my phone back.”

“Go get it. And while you’re down there…” He shoots me a grotesque smile, his pupils dilating to such a degree that his eyes appear black, like a sick devil.

My phone can stay right where it is, if only he’ll let me out. “Where are you taking me? Stop the fucking car,” I manage to bite out, fear filling every single one of my senses.

“Not a chance, sweet cheeks. We’re gonna have some fun.”

His amused tone both pisses me off and scares the shit out of me. I strain to see in the dark. With every uneasy beat of my heart, I slide into a deeper state of panic that I make every attempt to disguise. “Fuck you, we’re not. Let me the fuck out right now.” I meet his eyes, hating myself for not realizing I was in trouble sooner.

“You want me to pull over? Good call, baby girl.” The Jeep slows and veers off the road.

The mad pounding inside my chest amplifies, filling my ears as blood rushes through my head. I put my hand on the door handle as we roll to a stop. His voice low and menacing, my driver rasps, “You’re awfully pretty. Thought we could take a minute to get to know each other. ’Cause I really want to know every square inch of you.”

The wild rhythm of my heart goes out of control at his words, and just as I’m telling myself this isn’t really happening, I catch sight of a knife in his left hand where it rests on his thigh. Oh god . My head hurtles headlong into way too many horrific scenarios to count.

“What? Don’t you have anything to say to that? Or is it that you’d rather be doing something else with your mouth?” He winks, his hand drifting down to the waistband of his jeans. Time seems to slow as his gloved fingers unfasten and unzip his pants.

As my stomach flips and bile surges up to the back of my throat, my gaze flicks from this psycho to the door. I’ve gotta get out of here. Three. Two. One. I grasp the door handle and squeeze, throwing the door open just as my captor’s hand encircles my upper arm. Fuck !

“Come on. Don’t you want to have some fun?”

“N-no.” My jaw clenches against the stutter in my voice. “Let me go.” I struggle to free myself of his hold, but he twists, bringing his left hand to rest on my thigh. I suck in a breath, looking from the blade to his face, which is way too close. We are in the middle of nowhere. Unbidden, a whimper climbs up my throat and slips from between my lips.

“Come on. Just suck my dick, and I’ll let you go.” He chuckles, a look of sheer mirth in his eyes—only I don’t think he’s joking, he’s simply amused by my terror. “And maybe let me touch you a little.”

Struggling again, I manage to unbuckle my seat belt, “F-fine. I’ll do it.” My eyes crash shut as his light up.

“Go ahead then,” he whispers, gesturing to the hard-on protruding from his underwear, “let’s see what you got. Take it out.”

I might be having a heart attack, but I swallow and nod, shifting in the seat. I lean in, and as I brace my hand on his thigh and reach for his dick with the other, he lets go of my arm. I make a fist and slam it down on his tiny, hard erection with as much force as I can muster. He howls as I use every bit of my dancer’s agility to turn and scramble from the Jeep.

“Motherfucking bitch!” Before I can escape, his gloved hand snatches at me, and as I wrench free, I crash to my hands and knees on the gravel. It abrades my skin, and I cry out in pain. Glancing back, I realize he’s got his door open, and a shot of adrenaline careens through my body. I push to my feet as he shouts more obscenities at my back. “Fucking cunt! Get back here!”

I suck in a breath as he comes after me, one hand cupping his junk, the eyes behind the ski mask blazing with fury. Oh my god, I can’t die tonight . Not happening. Taking off like a shot, I sprint toward the protection of the tree line at the side of the road. I scream internally and don’t dare look back.