Chapter Thirty-Two Damion
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Love is spring, lust is summer, yearning is autumn, and heartbreak is deadass winter. Those are my four seasons.”
—Remington
Damion
I looked out at the river and texted: Can we talk?
Because what was up with her?
She hadn’t been at school, and she hadn’t responded to any of my texts.
I wasn’t one to beg, but God help me, I was begging. Something had happened with us yesterday, something that felt important enough to make me beg.
I waited another thirty minutes, then sent: JULES. Please??
Oh shit, I am literally begging.
It was even colder today, blustery and raining, as I sat on the bench among wet leaves and wondered where the hell she was and what was going through her mind. I could go to her house and force her to talk to me, but that wasn’t the point.
The point was for her to want to talk to me.
I was dying to talk to her.
Because I realized after lunch, when Beckett said where is your little Nebraska today, that there was something about his verbiage I liked.
Something I craved.
The possessive part of it.
Mine.
Because on paper, I had everything, right? Money, clothes, a good family—Damion Rutledge had it all.
But none of it felt like mine, like mine alone.
It all belonged to my family.
And not that Julia “belonged” to me—or to anyone, for that matter—but her presence in my life had nothing to do with anyone, or anything, but the two of us.
And that felt like something I wanted to protect.
I sighed and shoved the binoculars back into my bag, because I hadn’t touched them since I’d sat down. Instead of doing the thing that usually relaxed me, I’d stared at the barges through the autumn rain and thought about her.
I texted: Are you there? JULES.
I sat there for another twenty minutes, but my phone didn’t make a single buzz.
Me: JULES!
Now I was panicking. Where was she? Does she regret it? Is she pushing me away?
Me: Jules. Can we talk?
Worried thoughts picked away at me one by one. I squeezed the phone in my hand, wondering what else I could do, what else I could say.
Another ten minutes went by. Nothing. Then another.
I started typing again, but nope.
Fuck it.
Twenty minutes later I pressed the doorbell and waited.
Waited with my hands in my pockets, wondering what the hell I was going to do, what I was going to say once I saw those amber eyes.
But it wasn’t her that answered.
Shit.
Liam swung the door open, looking shocked to see me. “Rutledge? What’re you doing here?”
“I need to talk to your sister,” I said, trying to see around him. My eyes searching for wild hair, long lashes, and perfect freckles.
“Too bad, she isn’t here,” he said, looking happy to deliver the news.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Not telling you,” he replied, arms folded across his chest. “Because it’s none of your business.”
And so I lied. “Fair, but it actually is. We had a tutoring session and she was supposed to meet me, so consider this me doing the responsible thing and making sure she’s okay.”
Even I was impressed at how easily the lie had slid out. Especially when I added, “Isn’t that what you wanted from me, to be responsible for her?”
I couldn’t deny myself the extra bit of snark when he was looking so smug.
Liam scoffed at me, his eyes sizing me up.
Jesus, this guy.
“She’s in Nebraska,” he said, narrowing his stare at me. “She went home.”
She went home?
“She… went home?” I asked, feeling even more panicked now as cold rain tapped the back of my neck like busy fingers.
“Yeah. Nebraska. Heard of it, right?”
Seriously. This fucking guy.
“Relax, Rutledge,” Liam added, the smugness growing. “And like I said. It’s none of your business.”
And with that, he slammed the door. Remi’s door.
Right in my fucking face.