Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Iwander into the library ten minutes later on numb legs. My entire body is shaking. I go into the bathroom and stand in front of the urinal until I realize I don’t actually have to pee. Then I stumble back out and find Jane.
She takes one look at me and sets her pen down. “What’s wrong?”
I collapse into the chair next to her and try to type the password into my computer. The keys clatter beneath my fingers. Whatever I just entered is completely incoherent. “Uh, my ex just got engaged. To the guy he cheated on me with. They’re buying a house.”
Jane reaches both hands out in front of her and closes our laptops in a single, coordinated movement. “What do you need right now?”
“A stiff drink,” I mumble, because I’m not sure how else to respond.
By the way she bites her lip, I know she doesn’t approve, but she gives a curt nod and starts putting her stuff away.
“Then let’s go get a drink.”
Jane does not allow me to get shitfaced.
She buys me one old-fashioned and tells me that I’m not allowed to have anything else unless I can walk in a straight line and recite the alphabet backwards, which I already know I’m going to fail at, because who the fuck can recite the alphabet backwards? Do people practice this?
At first, I’m annoyed at her, but then I remember that I’m supposed to go stare at the ocean from a safe distance with Duncan Stirling later.
She’s right. As badly as I want to cancel, I shouldn’t.
I want to drink until I pass out and then do it all over again tomorrow, but I’m behind on my classes, fucked up with a concussion, and my personal life couldn’t be more on fire if I launched it into a volcano. Jane’s right.
“You’re a good friend,” I tell her, poking at the orange peel in my drink with a tiny black straw. I’m proud of myself. I’m not even slurring yet.
“He’s a fucking asshole,” Jane says, meeting my eye. She’s drinking a virgin Pina Colada and tapping her foot on the floor. “You’re allowed to be upset.”
“If I weren’t constrained by, like, physics and biology, I would’ve exploded like a… like a malfunctioning space station.” Too late, I remember that explosions in space are the furthest thing from spectacular. No fire, no noise, just a lot of force.
I blame the drink for this oversight.
Jane doesn’t point out my mistake. “I don’t even know him, and I want him to explode,” she says, taking a sip of Pina Colada, glaring dangerously off into the distance. “I can’t believe he said all that. Your mom was dying.”
“Epically,” I add, poking an ice cube. “It was… it was really ugly. She was in horrible shape. We couldn’t even let her die at home. She went downhill so fast we couldn’t get the house equipped in time.”
“Yeah, no.” Jane shakes her head. “That was fucking insensitive. He should’ve handled that differently.”
“He says I bring out the worst in him.”
“That’s not your fault.”
I give the ghost of a grin. “I know that. At least, in theory.”
I could tell her about the neediness. That I called him too often, wanted to see him too often, that he claims he moved me into his apartment because it was more convenient than dealing with me.
Then there were the finances. Jeremy always said I didn’t make enough money.
I had a good job, but it wasn’t comparable to his income.
The upward mobility wasn’t there. We couldn’t afford to go on more than a couple of vacations a year.
My beat-up Corolla was, as he put it, embarrassing.
He wasn’t going to buy me anything nicer, but insisted I needed to upgrade within the next year.
We were talking about getting married. He took me to look at rings, at condos. Left the minute things got complicated.
Intellectually, I can recognize that I dodged a bullet.
Emotionally, I’m devastated. I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t wealthy enough, wasn’t ambitious enough.
The one thing he always complimented was my body, but his standards were high, difficult to comply with.
If I ate dessert or skipped a workout, he’d make snide comments.
I was perpetually three pounds away from falling out of favor.
Even so, if he were to call and say he’d made a mistake, ask me to move back in, I would. In a heartbeat. I hate myself for it.
Three hours later, my eyes are red and puffy, and I’m dressed in jeans and my favorite old hoodie.
The string is missing, and there’s hole in the sleeve, but I feel safe and comfortable even though it’s oversized and ugly.
On my feet, I’m wearing a pair of rain boots.
I have no idea how much saltwater I need to touch in order to transform, but I’m not risking it today.
Duncan waits by the front gates, wearing a long, pine green coat over jeans that look tailored to fit. Today, his hair is artfully windswept, like he’s walked out of a photoshoot. As always, his expression is very serious, like someone has just relayed grave news.
I wave.
He doesn’t move.
“Hey,” I say, approaching him like I don’t notice his expression. Like I’m not torn between worry and offense.
He looks surprised to see me. As I approach, he sniffs the air, and his frown deepens.
Oh, shit. He’s a wolf. He can probably smell that I’ve been drinking.
“Hey,” he says, and his voice is slightly hoarse. “Are you ready?”
“I’m fine, how are you?” I say. Against my better judgment, I want to be friends with him. But I need him to be less… whatever the hell this is.
“Oh,” he says, blinking long eyelashes. “Um, I’m good. Are you… Um. You smell sick.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been crying all afternoon. I definitely drank in my dorm room. “Wow,” I say. “Nosy.”
“It’s hard not to notice,” he says, defensive. Maybe even a little hurt.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m having a bad day. It’ll get better.” That’s a lie. The shock will never go away. My legs are still numb. My heart literally aches. I have acid reflux from mixing whisky and rum.
“OK,” he says. His gaze never leaves mine. I can’t tell if he’s worried or annoyed, and I don’t want to know. “Do you need anything?”
There is literally nothing Duncan Stirling or anyone else can do to help me, so I shake my head. “Should I call a ride?”
He perks up at that. “You don’t need to. I have a car.”
Damn it. I should have brought my Corolla. I didn’t think I’d need it. Maybe I was a little embarrassed to be seen in it. But I wouldn’t be tied to campus like this. I could have offered to drive, proven that I’m not completely useless.
I follow him to the student parking lot. He has a space in covered parking, which I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by—he can clearly afford it.
Then I see the car and can’t help but stare. It’s a fucking Mercedes. A spacious, nondescript sedan. The kind of car Jeremy expected me to upgrade to.
I knew Duncan was rich, I think, heart sinking. Then I backpedal. A Mercedes is considered modest by a lot of people’s standards. It’s not a big deal.
But it’s still a nice car. What if we get sand in it?
“Did you eat?” Duncan asks, unlocking the door with the click of a key fob.
“Uh, kind of,” I say. I had half a protein bar, and I was lucky to keep it down.
“OK,” he says, nodding. “Let me know if you get hungry.”
I already checked my bank account. There’s no way I’m getting anything to eat off campus.
The drive to the beach is quiet. There’s no radio. I glance at Duncan occasionally, and notice that he’s breathing very shallowly, staring straight ahead.
Do I make him uncomfortable? As weird as he is, I don’t actually want to make him nervous.
Wait. If I make him nervous, is it because he likes me?
But that can’t be the issue. If he liked me, he’d just say so, right? There’s no need to dance around the subject.
Unless… Maybe he’s had some bad experiences? Or maybe he’s still in the closet, scared I’ll out him in more ways than one.
That bothers me, but I can’t exactly blame him.
My family is mostly supportive of my sexual orientation (save for an uncle or two), but a lot of people aren’t so lucky.
If he’s not ready to share, I’m not going to push.
“So,” I say, because I don’t want to think about this anymore. “How was your weekend?”
“It was good. I got a lot of homework done.” He is breathing through his mouth. Do I stink?
“That’s, um, productive,” I say, trying to figure out a way to check my pits without being obvious. “Hey, I—You can smell stuff really well, right?”
His shoulders stiffen. “Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something kinda weird?”
“Uh, sure,” he says, white knuckling the steering wheel like he’s afraid of what I might say.
I’m just drunk enough to be emboldened by this. “Do I smell different since I turned into a mer-thing?”
He lets out a startled little guffaw. “Um, no. I don’t think so.”
“Huh. OK. I thought maybe I smelled like fish.”
“Nope, sorry,” he says, and now he’s grinning a little.
I’m strangely encouraged by this. He has a nice smile, I think, even if his face is always doing other things and I don’t get to see it too often. “Where are you from?”
“Oh,” he says, and his smile starts to fade. Damn it. “Colorado. Up in the mountains.”
“Like Aspen?”
“Uh,” he says, starting to grin again. “Not exactly. We’re a little more rural than that."
“Probably not anywhere I’ve ever heard of, huh?”
“Not if you’re as midwestern as I think you are.” He quirks a brow and my stomach does a rebellious little flip.
“Hey, Chicago is awesome,” I tell him, even though I’ve never actually lived there. “And I’ve been to Colorado.”
It was a layover at the Denver airport. But close enough.
“Yeah?” he says. “Where?”
“Denver,” I say, crossing my arms.
“Magnificent how it’s right in the middle of the mountains, huh?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “There was a hiking trail behind our hotel. I saw a bobcat.”
He smirks. “You liar. Not in Denver.”
“What do you mean? It’s literally in the mountains!”
“Denver is on the plains,” he says. “The mountains are about an hour away. More, if there’s traffic.” He gestures to the empty road in front of us.
“That’s not—”