Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
“Hey,” he says, awkward and a little nervous, like he always is. But there’s a glint of determination in his eye alongside something else I can’t identify. It’s unsettling.
Why does the sight of him turn my knees to jelly?
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders.
Today, he’s wearing a black button up shirt that makes him like a waiter at an Italian restaurant underneath a dark raincoat and rain boots. It hasn’t rained today, but I’m not entirely sure if Duncan pays attention to things like that. As far as I can tell, he’s kind of eccentric.
Or maybe he’s just having a mental breakdown. It can’t be easy to keep his identity a secret.
I remember belatedly that I’m also a shifter, and feel faintly ill.
“Hey,” I say back, trying to sound nonchalant. By now, my head hurts so bad that any fast movement might make me vomit.
He tilts his head. Strands of hair fall across his forehead. “Everything OK?”
“Yeah,” I say, instead of nodding.
“I just wanted to talk real quick,” he says. We’re standing between the theater and the bookstore, a ten minute walk from my dorm.
“Sure,” I say. I am so good at not throwing up. There is zero reason to think that I’m going to barf on Duncan Stirling’s millionaire shoes, except that my stomach is roiling and my head hurts so fucking bad—
Duncan looks at me like he’s about to ask if I’m OK again, but I beat him to the punch and double over, gagging. I don’t throw up on his shoes, but it’s a near miss. He steps away just in time.
“Sorry,” I groan, wiping my mouth. The pressure in my head has abated, but my stomach is furious.
“Um,” says Duncan, comically panicky. He looks around. People are staring, but nobody approaches us. “Maybe we should sit down? We don’t have to talk in the shadows like vampires. Or do you need to go lie down?”
I lean my forehead against the blessedly cool brick wall and mumble, “I just need to die.”
“Um, OK,” says Duncan slowly. “If you’re asking for help, I think that’s a felony.”
“Only if you don’t make it look like an accident.”
That draws a laugh from him. He gestures to a bench across the lawn. “You want to sit down?”
I’m not gonna make it that far. I slide down the wall until my ass hits the pavement. “Sure.”
A little baffled, he joins me on the ground, like his jeans don’t cost a thousand dollars. Is he gonna bill me for those? Shit, is he gonna bill me for everything?
I want to vomit again.
“If it’s about the hospital bill,” I begin, but he shakes his head.
“No, no, that’s… It’s fine. I jumped in of my own accord, remember? I just wanted to ask how you were doing. I didn’t get a chance in class. Um, I think you were in shock the last time we talked.”
I make a conscious effort not to let my jaw drop. “You thought I was in shock?”
He blinks big gray eyes at me. “Yeah. You seemed really, uh, freaked out.”
I want to deny it, but I know he’s right. I was freaked out. “I thought you were gonna die,” I say finally, averting my gaze.
I shouldn’t have sat here. We’re at the very edge of an alley, not quite in the shadows, and there’s a puddle of puke not ten feet away. Sooner or later, we’ll be able to smell it. As a wolf shifter, Duncan probably already can.
The onslaught of embarrassment is so strong that it would’ve knocked me to my knees if I were upright.
“I guess I can see why that might be traumatic,” he says finally.
“Holy shit, I thought you were gonna drown or bleed out or get washed away by the tide,” I say, and I’m definitely talking too fast. I can’t stop. “And I couldn’t walk and—”
I’m getting all choked up, so I force myself to stop before I start crying again. And fine, Duncan’s seen me basically naked, half-drowned, terrified out of my mind, possibly the most vulnerable I’ve ever been except for when Jeremy cheated on me and then my mom fucking died.
His hand lands on my knee. I stare down at it, taking in the neatly trimmed nails, the popping tendons, the green veins, the tapered fingers. “It’s traumatic as fuck, right?”
“Right,” I groan, tipping my head back. His hand is too warm. I don’t want him to move it, but he does. We’re in public. We barely know each other. There’s no reason to leave it there. “God, fuck, I was so afraid it was going to be tentacles.”
He blinks at me. “Tentacles?”
“I don’t know.” I bury my face in my hands. My head throbs. “I knew there was a reason my mom told me not to go into the ocean. It was like, her whole personality. And then I got here and I thought maybe she was in a cult or something, and I-I was just really worried about tentacles.”
His answering laugh is warm, almost fond, and it takes some of the ache out of my shoulders.
“I don’t want to be a tentacle monster,” I groan.
“I have good news for you,” he says, and there’s something genuine in his voice that makes my chest hurt. “You’re not.”
“Thank fuck,” I moan. Now that my nausea is starting to fade, my brain is working again. And I have questions. I force myself to look him in the eye. “But seriously. Why did you jump?”
He studies my expression, then drops his gaze. “I told you. I didn’t want you to drown.”
I drag my fingers down my face and sigh. “The smartest person I know just said she would’ve called 911.”
Duncan hums in thought. “Sounds like there’s a reason she’s the smartest person you know.”
Do I detect a note of bitterness? Have I somehow offended him? “I mean, I’m really grateful. I just… I don’t understand.”
When he answers, he sounds like he’s about to break in half. “I didn’t want you to die.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But I barely missed the rocks. Why risk it? Are wo—” I only just catch myself. “Are you a really good swimmer?”
He folds his arms. I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Yeah. I’m a good swimmer. Maybe not as good as you,” he adds, sounding thoughtful rather than resentful.
When I answer, I’m resentful. “I don’t know about that,” I grumble. I want to keep arguing. I want to protest. You could’ve died, rings in my head. I don’t want you to die.
Instead of examining that thought, I settle for another question. “How come you keep passing me notes?”
Even in the dim light, I can see the color burst into his cheeks. “Um,” he says, like he’s panicking. Like he really doesn’t want to answer this. “You said you were new to this.” He gestures around us.
“Yeah.” I cross my arms. “But I’m not stupid.”
He’s quick to protest. “I never said you were!” Now it’s his turn to look away. “But you panic when you don’t know the answers.”
My nausea returns. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Finally, I say, “Thanks, I guess?”
Duncan looks like he wants to climb out of his skin. Like he’s wildly uncomfortable all the sudden. “I’ll stop,” he says, more to himself than to me. “I can do that.”
Why is he always so weird? I should’ve barfed on him. Then he’d never come near me again.
But I don’t want that, either.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it—”
“I just said I could stop—”
“But why are you doing this in the first place?” I cry, exasperated. “You don’t even know me.”
He shrugs. “Why is it so hard to believe I want to help?”
It’s difficult to put into words. Maybe it’s because we aren’t friends. He hasn’t exactly tried to be my friend—at least, not in any normal capacity. Maybe it’s because he’s so weird around me. “We aren’t friends,” I finally admit.
That bothers him. He squirms like he’s uneasy. “I… Sorry. I was afraid you’d find out about… you know.”
Oh. That, at least, makes sense. “I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. “Not even Jane,” I add, since I’m sure he’s wondering.
“Thanks,” he sighs. Then he looks at me, abruptly serious. I want to break eye contact, but there’s something hypnotic about the intensity. My stomach twists. “I’ll always be there for you,” he says. “Seriously. If you ever need anything, tell me.”
This is getting too weird. I’m gonna throw up again. My head is pounding. “Um, OK,” I say. Then, because I’m praying this is the last time I ever talk to him about anything, I add, “I’m sorry about your neck.” On impulse, I reach out, brush the tip of my finger over the bandage.
He shudders beneath the touch, starts to reach for my hand, then stops himself. “Don’t worry about it. You were unconscious when it happened.”
Oh, thank fuck. I pull away. “I was?”
He shrugs. “Well, you kept flailing, but you wouldn’t wake up.”
Which leads to another question. “If you saw… what I was, then why didn’t you just let me sink? I would’ve been fine, right?”
There’s a burning fervor in his gaze. I shudder beneath it. Heat pools in my stomach.
“I didn’t notice at first,” he admits. “And… I wasn’t sure if you would be OK. I don’t know how any of that works. I mean, what if you got lost at sea? Or what if your gills weren’t working?”
Gills. Of course I had fucking gills. I reach for my neck, run my fingers over smooth skin, trying to imagine what the fuck gills feel like.
“Look,” he says, leaning forward, teeth gritted. “If you ever want to talk,” his voice lowers into something barely above a whisper, “about shifter stuff, I’m here for you. I’ve been this way my entire life. There are things you should probably know.”
He’s not wrong about that. I tense. “Like what?”
“Like laws and ethics. How to keep people safe. How to keep yourself safe. That kind of thing.”
I nod slowly. “I’m guessing there aren’t many research materials at the library.”
“Not as many as there used to be,” Duncan grouses. He runs a hand through his hair. It sticks up enough to reveal the pointed tips of his ears. “I checked.”
Well, fuck. Maybe I should take him up on that offer. I climb to my feet, extend a hand. He hesitates before he takes it. When our palms touch, his nostrils flare.
“Text me your number,” I say. “I need to…” I rub my temples. “I need to get this concussion under control. My head is killing me.”
“Do you need anything?”
He looks worried enough to make this awkward, so I quickly say, “No, I have pain meds in my room.” And then, because one of us has to be awkward, apparently, I say, “Thanks for checking on me. I’m glad you’re doing OK.”
And then I bolt. My temple is screeching, my stomach is in knots, and I honestly have no idea what to think of that fucking interaction.
It’s a relief to get home.