Chapter 3 Maybe You Can Go Home Again
The rest of the day passes in kind of a blur. I go to each of my classes, spend lunch in the library alone, and head back to my room as soon as school is officially over.
It’s a weird feeling to walk down the steps, weirder still to find everything just as I left it. It’s been a year since I set foot in this place, though it feels much, much longer.
And yet it looks like it was just this morning that I rolled out of bed.
Just this morning that I left the turntable open and an album cover on the table next to it.
I drop my backpack near the bottom of the stairs and move deeper into the room, not bothering to turn on the lights. There is a Kerouac book lying open on my coffee table, a bottle of water sitting on a coaster next to it.
This is what it looks like when someone dies, I realize as I trail a hand along the back of the chair I used to like to read in. A half-finished book, a half-drunk bottle of water.
A life interrupted, as half finished as everything else in this room.
The thought pisses me off, as does the memory of Grace’s face in the hallway this afternoon.
She’s my mate—my mate—and she’s horrified at the fact that she enjoys my touch.
So horrified, in fact, that she went running back to my brother like he’s the only thing standing between her and a dark abyss threatening to swallow her whole.
I used to be the person she ran to in times like that. I used to be— I cut the thought off before it can really form. That was then. This is now. I need to remember that and stop dwelling in a past she has no knowledge of. A past I’m completely alone in remembering.
Fuck. Just fuck.
This whole mess reminds me of that old question about if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it actually make a sound?
If two people went through what we did and I’m the only one who remembers it, does it even matter at all? Or is it just fluff floating in the ether, destined to disappear as readily as the sound waves in that forest?
It’s a depressing thought, but then this whole fucking situation is depressing as shite, so what’s new about that?
With a sigh, I walk toward my bed at the end of the room, and while there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to stretch out on it and sleep until this whole nightmare runs its bloody course, I know that’s not going to get me anywhere.
Not with Grace and not with the piles of homework currently waiting for me in my bag.
So instead of crawling into bed and burying my head under the covers, I go to the dresser set up against the side wall and pull out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. I change quickly, grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge, and get to work on my third-year Blood Chemistry homework.
Normally it would only take me about fifteen minutes to work through these equations, but then again, it’s been a very long time since I took this course, so I pause and do a little bit of a refresher through the textbook first. Or as much of a refresher as I can manage, considering thoughts of Grace continue to sneak into my head at the most inopportune times.
By the time I’ve finished Chemistry and Paranormal Brit Lit, I’m as fucked up as the rest of this mess.
I’m a pretty smart guy, and I can usually figure out what to do in any given situation.
But this one? This one is so screwed up, I can’t even begin to figure out how to get my feet under me, let alone how to work the problem.
Solving it seems like a distant pipe dream right now, and that just pisses me off all over again.
I tell myself that dwelling on this shit isn’t going to make it any better.
It sure as hell isn’t going to fix anything.
But I can’t seem to stop thinking about Grace’s face when she turned back toward that classroom—back toward my bloody tosser of a brother like he’s the lifeline she never wants to let go of.
Fuck!
I pick up my untouched bottle of water and throw it against the wall as hard as I can. It’s not glass, though, so it doesn’t shatter. Instead, it just bounces harmlessly off the wall and then ricochets back to hit me in the shoulder before landing on the floor and rolling harmlessly away.
It feels like a metaphor for everything else that’s wrong in my life, and I start to pick it up, to throw it harder and farther away just to prove to myself that I have some semblance of control in my own life.
But before I can, someone clears their throat from a few feet behind me, and I realize in horror that I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shite that I didn’t even realize someone had walked into my lair. What the hell, Hudson?
I whirl around, prepared for who the fuck knows, but it’s just Macy standing there, a small box in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she says, immediately throwing a hand up as if she wants to ward off an attack from me.
I want to tell her that she’s safe, that I’ve never attacked anyone unprovoked in my entire life. But she’s holding out the box like she wants to get rid of it as soon as possible, so I reach over and take it from her.
“That came for you,” she whispers. “Mrs. Haversham asked me to run it down here.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I answer, and I mean it.
Considering I haven’t been in a true human form in more than a year, I’ve completely misplaced my phone.
It cost a fortune to have one delivered out here today, but I don’t care.
It feels good to be connected again, even if I don’t currently have anyone to connect with.
“No problem.” Macy takes a couple of steps back, looking for all the world like she wants to be anywhere but here. But then she surprises me by asking, “Have you had anything to eat today?” She catches herself, blushes. “I mean anything to drink.”
“Are you offering?” I ask, raising a brow.
“No! Of course not. I just—I thought—I mean—” She stumbles over the words, face pale, eyes wide and horrified.
“I’m good,” I tell her, deciding to put her out of her misery as I rip the top of the box open. Sure enough, my new smart phone is waiting for me.
“That’s not an answer.” She comes closer as I pull out the phone. “Oh, hey. That’s the brand-new one.”
“Yeah, well, it’s pretty hard to keep track of your phone when you’re ‘dead’ for a year.”
“I can see that.” She comes even closer, her eyes focused on my face. “You don’t look so good.”
“Apparently, death will do that to a guy.” So will having his heart ripped out of his chest by the girl he loves, but whatever.
“Do you need anything?” she asks. “Maybe you should see Marise—”
“I’m good. Just tired from—” I break off because I’m not one to talk about my power.
“From bringing down the arena yesterday and saving Grace’s life?” Macy fills in. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
I lift a brow. “You hated the arena that much?”
“I meant saving Grace and you know it.” She rolls her eyes, and as she does, it’s impossible to miss the dark circles beneath them. “I know Jaxon is in no state to talk about it, but we appreciate what you did so much. I can’t stand the idea of losing my best friend so soon after getting her back.”
“Grace saved herself. I just gave her some space to heal.”
“Is that what you call that?” She moves her hands in the same motion as the trees exploded in yesterday.
I laugh because she expects me to. “I should probably get back to work. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
“Oh yeah. Right. Sorry to bother you.”
“You didn’t bother me.” I give the polite response, but even as I say it, I realize it’s true. Besides Foster, Grace, and Ms. Virago, Macy is the only person who has spoken to me today. And unlike everyone but Grace, she did it because she wanted to, not because she had to.
I appreciate it. So much so that I say what’s been on my mind since I first saw her. “I’m really sorry about Xavier.”
She looks away for several seconds before nodding. “Thanks.”
“You okay?” I shake my head as soon as the words leave my mouth. “Of course you’re not okay. Is there anything I can do?”
“Not really.” She shakes her head. “But thanks for asking.”
“Yeah, of course.” I can’t imagine how I’d feel if something happened to Grace, but I know it wouldn’t be good—for anyone. “If that changes, let me know, all right?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She turns away and heads for the stairs. But right before she exits, she turns back to me and says, “We’re meeting at the dining hall for dinner around seven. Want to join us?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t ask if it was a good idea,” Macy answers with a smirk. “I asked if you wanted to come. Besides, you’ll never know if it’s a good idea or not until you try it.”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain I know already.” I turn back to setting up my phone. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She starts up the stairs, but before she gets to the top, she calls down, “Jaxon and the rest of the Order have plans tonight. So it’ll just be Grace and me at dinner. You know, in case you’re curious…”
And just like that, my plans for the rest of the night go up in flames. Just, I’m beginning to suspect, as Macy intended.