Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Weston
I have no reason to be here. To be wandering these hallways looking for an office I have no business with.
Not on paper anyway.
Berlyn is always reason enough. Berlyn being in trouble? More than enough to say screw everything, the phases, the plan, our cover, even my brothers.
I’ll worry about covering my tracks after I know our girl is safe.
Right now, she’s the furthest thing from it.
I almost didn’t listen in on her meeting with this jackass professor.
I rarely tap into the speaker on her phone.
It’s not the best way to listen to her, often low quality, and my favorite part is always watching her.
I like to let her have some privacy and I figured there was nothing that would happen that would be worthy of note today.
If I hadn’t let my curiosity get the better of me… No, it’s not even worth thinking about.
All that matters is that I did change my mind.
Whether it’s because her anxiety over this meeting rubbed me wrong or just because I’m obsessed with our girl doesn’t matter.
What I need to focus on is getting her out of this situation before she’s hurt anymore than she’s already been.
Even if it means barging into this man’s office and killing him.
I make a sharp turn in the direction I’m almost positive is the right way when I’m nearly taken out by someone rushing in the opposite direction. Instinctively, I move to shove them away from me before her warm scent wraps around me.
Berlyn.
I catch her before she ricochets back and falls on her ass. Bright hazel eyes, wide with panic and wet with a sheen of terror look up at me. Papers fly around us, similar to the first time we met, but her laptop and bag are pressed tightly between us.
“I got you,” I whisper, my voice sounding raw and husky even to my own ears as my hands rest on her hips, holding her up.
Her breath catches in her throat and confusion drowns out some of the panic in her gaze. I almost smile. Anything is better than the wild petrified look she was just wearing.
“Weston?” she whispers back, her voice flat.
She lays her hands on my arms and lightly squeezes as if to see if I’m real.
I attempt to smile down at her, helping her get steady but unease creeps down my spine at the expressionless look on her face.
She isn’t even rambling or giving thirty apologies like she normally would.
“You okay?” I ask, the words feel scratchy and dry, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her head is already bobbing the way it does when she’s nervous or overwhelmed, but it’s missing some of her natural exuberance.
I arch a brow, not believing her for a second but not knowing how to say that either. Would it be okay to call her out that way? What would I even say? Call her a liar? I scrunch my nose and shake my head, warding off the thoughts of even trying.
This is why it’s easier when my brothers are with me.
They know what I’m thinking without me having to say it.
Ezra would know exactly what to say to comfort Berlyn and Jude would already be making her laugh.
I kneel down, gathering the papers she seems to have forgotten about and hand them back to her.
She sighs and chuckles, taking them and shoving them and her laptop back in her bag haphazardly. “You don’t believe me?” she asks, her voice small as her shoulders curl in on themselves. I hate watching the way she shrinks in on herself.
I try to give her a reassuring smile but it feels awkward and lopsided as I shake my head.
She attempts to withdraw from me but somehow I know it would be a mistake to let her walk away. I shake my head again before tilting my head to the side in question. She leans towards me and I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. I hold my breath, not wanting to startle her.
It’s intimate, the way we’re standing. Closer to her than I’ve ever been while she’s awake. While I can get lost in the amber depths of her eyes, swirled with greens and browns and flecks of gold. More shades than I can even count, but they don’t hold her usual brightness.
“I’ve been better,” she admits, looking behind her shoulder towards the direction she ran from and shakes her head again. “A rough meeting with my professor,” she continues, tears filling her eyes before she huffs a self-deprecating laugh and the flash of emotion disappears as quickly as it came.
I let go of her hips and grab her hand with mine instead, an idea forming.
I don’t have the words to make her feel better, but I know she can’t be alone.
Not until her light comes back. This is her favorite time of year and she said she likes to do every fall activity she can.
Surely I can find a way to cheer her up.
She gives me a bewildered look but follows me when I start to pull her hand and walk back the way I came. “Where are we going?” she asks, her tone still flat, but at least there’s an edge of curiosity there now.
I look back over my shoulder at her and wink. “Surprise.”
Her face flushes and she dips her head. “Are you trying to cheer me up?” she asks almost as if she can’t believe I would even want to try. She barely seems like the Berlyn I know, like pieces of her are completely unreachable. Whatever is going on in her head, I want her to be free of it.
I shake my head, putting my own insecurities and doubts aside.
“I’m going to cheer you up,” I respond confidently.
I won’t stop until she’s forgotten every moment she had to spend with that sick and twisted professor.
Then after I make sure she’s home safe, sound, and secure, I’ll come back to finish the job.
Make sure he never has the chance to touch our girl again.
Her smile, small and broken as it may be, infuses me with an unfamiliar warmth. “Alright, I’ll trust you then.” My heart stutters at her words. No one has ever trusted me but my brothers and even they still doubt me at times.
Berlyn rushes to match my pace and I slow my strides so it’s easier for her to keep up with me and lead her to my truck. We can worry about coming back for her car later. We have the whole day to figure it out.
The drive across town won’t take long. Berlyn is quiet, more so than I’ve ever seen her.
Even when she’s alone, she is always humming, whistling, singing, or just talking to herself.
I don’t think she likes the silence. I don’t either.
I hate the way silence balloons and echoes to the deepest parts of myself, making everything feel heavier and my demons seem larger than life.
Memories and flashbacks sneak in through the silence.
A gateway to the worst moments and thoughts I’ve had to endure.
I don’t want that to happen now, between us. I’ve never been one to fill the silence the way Berlyn does though. It’s one of the many things that draws me to her. I would never have to endure the deafening silence again with her around. Usually anyways.
My gaze flicks towards her every few seconds as we pull out of the parking lot, but she barely moves. Her own gaze is locked out of the window as trees in all shades of color fly past us. It doesn’t seem like she’s taking in any of it. Not uncomfortable, not sad, it almost feels lost.
The right words don’t come to the tip of my tongue. The more I try to force them, the more I feel like I’m drowning. Maybe she’ll like what I do when my thoughts get too loud and make me feel isolated.
It only takes me a second to pull up the playlist I made for her.
I like the music she listens to. The most bizarre and random playlist I’ve ever curated, but that’s how all of her playlists are.
From dark heavy music, to the silliest pop song, before a song so raw and deep it almost demands to be bellowed with your whole body, all to end up back to a haunting alternative pop sounding song.
All over we jump from genre to genre, from emotion to emotion.
The first song made her look my way in surprise. The second made her smile and bob her head, by the third she was singing, though not the way I normally see her perform. Her gaze never drifts back to the trees, the light not back completely, but at least there’s a sliver of it now.
I almost wish the drive would last longer, but before I know it, I’m pulling into the gravel parking lot and Berlyn is gasping at my side.
“The pumpkin patch?” The first real flicker of her normal shine finally showing itself.
I nod, not being able to stop myself from grinning.
“Better than the haunted house,” I tease.
Not that it would be hard to beat that horror show.
We have the state’s largest pumpkin patch and Berlyn makes a point to come here every year.
Sometimes with Summer, sometimes by herself, but in the years we’ve been here, she’s never missed it.
She laughs, shaking her head at my comment but doesn’t argue about the haunted house. “I love this place,” she squeals, grabbing my hand in hers. For the first time since I eavesdropped on her meeting, the pressure in my chest eases.
It feels strange to be somewhere with so many people, screaming kids, laughing adults chasing after them. Everywhere I look there are more people and it’s still the early afternoon. I can’t imagine how busy it gets on the weekends or after school hours.