Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
CRAWLING IN MY SKIN
TARYN
Aquiet night is just what I need.
If Tucker and Colsen were disappointed that I didn’t feel up to hanging out with them, they didn’t show it. They respected my wish to have some me time, and that’s another reason why I think I might love them.
I encouraged them to hang out with their teammates tonight, and I reassured them that my need for space had nothing to do with our relationship. I didn’t want them to stress about it because I feel that with them I hit the jackpot.
When I think that they’re not going to ask me to choose, I can’t believe my own luck.
The only blemish on this situation is that someone seems to know, and they have decided to ruin my life.
There’s also Nash. Am I greedy for feeling like my heart is missing a piece? It’s like each of my three guys speaks to one important part of my heart in a way no one else can.
Tucker is warmth, sunshine, and laughter in a sweet, sexy, caring package.
Colsen is steady and thoughtful, giving protection. He makes me feel safe, and the chemistry between us is off the charts.
Then there is Nash. I’ve always been drawn to his quiet, brooding character that’s paired with a level of hotness that should be illegal. He’s wild and intense, but has a softer side that he hides from the world. He’s let me catch a glimpse of it, and I’m addicted. Obsessed.
But can I trust Nash? Is he behind these threatening texts?
At least I know that I can trust Tucker and Colsen.
Can you really? But most importantly, can they trust you?
An intrusive thought finds its way into my mind as I flip my grilled cheese sandwich in the skillet.
How would I feel if the guys were hiding something from me, like I am from them?
If our relationship has one chance in hell to last, jealousy isn’t our biggest problem. Honesty is.
The thought takes my breath away, and I almost forget about my dinner. I only remember about the grilled cheese when I begin to smell something burning.
“Fuck,” I hiss, lifting the sandwich with a spatula and dumping it on a plate. One side is slightly burned, but I think it’s salvageable; if I scrape the parts that are charred with a knife, I should be able to eat it.
Before cooking my dinner, I went to the communal laundry room in the basement level of the building and started a couple of loads of laundry.
Like I thought, everyone is partying or resting after the game, and the laundry room was deserted.
I used nearly half of the washers available, a luxury I usually don’t have because between hockey players and cheerleaders those machines are always at work. I even got the clothes in Jodie’s hamper as promised.
I settle on the couch with my sandwich and put on a true crime documentary that I can follow without giving it my full attention.
A timer is set on my phone for when the clothes need to be switched from the washer machines to the dryers.
All I have to do until then is eat my dinner and decompress.
But it’s easier said than done. Once the thought that I’m not being honest with the men I’m falling for has taken root in my mind, I can’t relax.
What would Tucker and Colsen think of me if they knew what brought me and Jodie to Star Cove?
Would they look at me the same way they are now or would they walk away like Nash has done?
If it’s true that I’m falling for them, I should be totally honest and not hide a secret so big that could blow our lives apart if it ever came out. If that seemed unlikely before, now someone knows and they seem hellbent on not letting me forget what I’ve done to Tim.
Or at least what I think I might have done to Tim. A shudder works its way down my spine, and I drop my half-eaten sandwich onto my plate. The memory of all that blood and of the feeling of his severed head making contact with my foot makes the food I’ve just eaten threaten to come back up again.
At this point, the documentary is running in the background, and I couldn’t tell you much about the serial killer in the show who kills young women he finds on Craigslist.
For a few terrifying moments, I’m back in Hemlock Beach. I’m in Tim’s room, in his bed.
A strangled sob comes out of me, and I press both my hands over my mouth. I know that Tim and I were alone in that room and that the murder weapon was on the floor right by my side.
I wish I could remember something, anything that would help me prove to myself that I didn’t commit that horrific crime. I’m a nurse. All I’ve ever wanted in my life is to help others; whether it is by healing them or by bringing them happiness through my art, my dancing.
I’ve never even contemplated violence. Ok, maybe that isn’t exactly true. When Gen kicked me during training, it took all my willpower not to head butt her and give her a bloody nose matching the one she had given me.
I wish I could remember something, anything, about that night. Or do I? If the reason I forgot, and that I did something so unlike me, is that I was drugged, that also means that Tim took advantage of me while I was unconscious. Not remembering that part is the only blessing about my memory loss.
But I’d rather face the inevitable trauma if that meant knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I’m not a murderer.
I can only imagine how Tucker and Colsen would react if they knew. I can’t tell them. If I don’t tell them, though, our relationship would be based on a lie.
A loud, shrill sound makes me jump out of my own skin.
“Fuck.” I put a hand on my racing heart and let out a loud, hysterical laugh. “It’s the timer. It scared the shit out of me.”
Maybe I need to change the alarm tune to something less annoying.
Doing laundry seemed such a good idea earlier; a productive way of using my time since I didn’t feel up to a loud, crowded party.
Now, though, I’m reluctant to leave the safe cocoon of my apartment.
I’d rather go to bed than switch the clothes from the washers to the dryers and then wait until everything is done.
I push off the couch with a frustrated huff. Now I have no choice but to see this through. Leaving my stuff in the washers or dryers all night would be rude in case people wanted to use the laundry room early in the morning.
The eco lights in the hallway come to life as I walk to the elevator.
I don’t bump into anyone on my way down to the basement.
Everything is quiet. You’d never be able to tell that there’s a party underway on the ground floor.
I guess when they said it would be a quieter shindig compared to the party a couple of weeks ago, they meant it.
A couple of weeks ago, we had no idea that socializing with the hockey team was a no-no.
I can’t help but think that if we had known, maybe Tucker and Colsen wouldn’t have spent that night out on the pier with me.
What happened at the club on the night of Tucker’s birthday would have definitely been just a fever dream if we’d known that being together could get me kicked off the team.
The thought hits me suddenly as the elevator doors open to the basement level. I don’t care. Yes, dancing is important to me, and making a living doing what I love would be a dream come true. But not at the expense of letting go of real love.
Maybe I’m a fool to think that this thing with Tucker and Colsen could last indefinitely. But I’ve never felt this way before for anyone.
If push came to shove, I wouldn’t hesitate to give up everything for them.
But do they feel the same way? Or am I just a fun distraction during summer training?
Will they still want to be with me and not make me choose between them when they’re back on campus with every girl—and a lot of boys—on campus vying for their attention?
Will they look at me like Nash did the last time we talked? Like I’m not worth the trouble?
This is why I’m staying the course for now. I don’t want to give up this once in a lifetime opportunity for something that might just be a dream. What happened to Jodie should be a cautionary tale.
If her long-term boyfriend hadn’t dumped her out of the blue, she would be opening her dance studio in New York while Andy began his career on Wall Street.
Men are fickle. My mom repeated that every day until I left for college.
She had to raise me by herself when her husband—my father—decided that the obligations of parenthood weren’t his jam.
So I have plenty of examples that following your heart without building something solid for yourself is a recipe for disaster.
A strange feeling makes me turn to look behind my back as I switch the wet clothes to the dryer.
My eyes dance over every corner of the dimly lit laundry room. There’s no one else here.
“If only they hadn’t put these eco lights everywhere.” I say to the empty room. “You can barely see anything, and the poor lighting makes you feel like something is lurking in the shadows.”
Sometimes voicing your fears out loud is a way to exorcise them, but not this time.
A shudder works its way down my spine, and goosebumps appear on my arms and legs.
I need to hurry up and go back to the safety of my room. Maybe I should hang the clothes to air dry upstairs so I don’t have to come back down here tonight.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I say to myself out loud. “I’m alone here. Everyone is at the party or probably asleep by now.”
My own words do nothing to ease the feeling of being watched.
If this were a horror movie, the monster would be right behind me. Ready to attack me the second I let my guard down.
My skin feels cold and clammy at the thought. Fuck this. I’m gonna go back upstairs and come back when this drying cycle is over. If the clothes are still wet then I’ll spread them out all over my room and let them air dry.
I do another scan of the laundry room and exhale a shuddering breath when I don’t see anyone.
“Let’s get out of here for now.” I say it out loud to feel like I’m not really alone.