10. Konnor
CHAPTER TEN
konnor
When I wake up, head throbbing and mouth parched, the right side of my bed is empty. I can tell. I lie there for a moment with my eyes closed, brain growling, tongue like sandpaper as I move it around my gums, waiting for the sound of her. Nothing. Just the room.
I roll over and look at the dent in the pillow beside mine. I’d been dreaming about her hair spread across it—her body facing mine, her fingers threaded through my hair.
Blesk.
But no.
Flipping onto my back, I stretch my arms above my head, feeling a dull, satisfying pop in my shoulders.
The sun glows through the window as if it’s been up for hours, and somewhere below, car horns are already going.
I should have water. I should have had water last night.
Didn’t I? Didn’t she give me water? Yeah, she did.
I squint at the alarm clock on my bedside table, the empty bottle of bourbon behind it catching the light. 10:00 a.m. Goddamn it, I hate that clock.
With a grunt, I roll off the mattress and hit the floor harder than I mean to. I stay there a second, cheek against the carpet, feeling sorry for myself. My brain throbs in my skull, reminding me that the cure and the cause are in the same fucking bottle.
I get into push-up position anyway.
Dip and push.
Dip and push.
I focus on my elbows, tucking them in. On holding my spine strong. I channel my mind to the moment, to my posture. It almost works. Almost.
Her hair comes back.
I push faster.
Her sad face when she left.
Faster.
The fact that I just stood there and let her leave my apartment—the look she had, and how that look was because of me. My fault. I keep pushing until the thoughts dissolve into the burn.
Fuck.
Fuelled by disappointment, I hit four sets of thirty reps before slumping onto my back. I stare at the ceiling, my mouth open, panting, my mind chewing on thoughts of her and me and yesterday. There was something there—between us. Not just her hair, her eyes, her hands. Something…
Alcohol does most of my heavy lifting; I know that. There is no fucking excuse for yesterday, but… there almost is. Yesterday was the anniversary of her death.
I push to my feet and shuffle over to the kitchen bench. I flip my laptop open and log into the university’s student portal. Another empty bottle of bourbon catches my eye—fair enough, it was half empty from the night before. I look away. I find my class list and scroll through it slowly.
There!
Her name appears. My fingers stop on the trackpad. Blesk Bellamy. I stare at it for too long—too long for a man who has his shit together. At least I know I get one hour a week with her.
One hour to make it right.
I leave my apartment with that thought. I’ll make it right. Jogging down the stairwell, I hit the ground floor and stride out, crossing the lobby. The sun illuminates the marble tiles, the light like a drill to my hungover-brain.
Adolf hauls himself upright from his chair as if he’s been sleeping there. “Looking sharp today, Mr Slater,” he says, nodding once with approval.
I stop at his desk. “Pemberton came up yesterday while Blesk was here.”
He blinks. “She’s on the list, sir. She doesn’t need—“
“Take her off.”
“Of course, sir.” He works the keyboard in front of him, tapping away with two fingers like he’s only just learnt to use a keyboard. I wonder what his previous job was.
I exhale hard. “Sorry, Adolf.”
“It is fine, Mr Slater.” He doesn’t look up. “Miss Pemberton has been removed.”
I drum my fingers once on the desk. Then stop. A question repeats in my mind, but I’m not sure I want the answer. Still, I ask, “Was Blesk okay? Miss Bellamy, I mean, when she came down yesterday?”
Adolf sighs hard. “She was crying, sir.”
I stare at the desk for a moment, a sharp sensation dragging through my chest. “Dammit.” I force a smile. “Thank you, Adolf.”
As I walk towards the sliding doors, he calls, “Mr Slater!” I turn. A hint of something—knowledge, perhaps—curves his lips. “Would you like me to put Miss Bellamy on the guest list?”
I lift a brow, finding it hard not to punch myself in the face for what happened yesterday. “Aren’t we optimistic?”
He gives me a measured look—the kind my dad gives me. Ben Slater. The man who fought the foster system to get me and won. “In my experience, sir, people don’t cry over people who don’t matter to them.”
I hold his gaze for a second, then nod once. “Put her on the list, Adolf.” I turn and make it almost to the sliding doors before I stop. I don’t know why I stop, but—
I turn back around. “Adolf.”
He looks up from his desk.
“What did you think of her?”
He looks out into the distance. For a moment I see a young man, thinking about a girl. “Beautiful, Mr Slater.” He grins. “Inside and out, I would wager.”
My heart squeezes. I look at him for a moment, nod, then head for the sliding doors.
Couldn’t agree more.
My trainers hit the pavers, rhythmic and determined. I walk to campus, my bag slung over my shoulder, mind rotating the same three questions. Do I pull her aside and chat with her? Wait until after class? Am I going to come across as desperate?
I am bloody desperate.
Twenty minutes later—beat my walking record—I am nearly at class.
The scent of freshly cut grass clings to the morning air as I round the corner of Block F, then I freeze.
Blesk is sitting with Jax. She’s dressed in black leggings and a white lace dress that barely covers her arse, and— Images assault me: that mini-dress, no leggings.
The lower curve of her arse would show. My cock stirs. Fuck.
Feet, move. I stand here like a fucking idiot stunned because she simply exists.
I think about yesterday, about her teary eyes, guilt claws inside me.
I clear my throat with a grunt meant for myself.
That long, golden hair is up in a high ponytail.
She is squinting slightly into the morning light, one hand picking at the lace seam of her dress, not posing or repositioning or— She is just completely focused on Jax and their conversation.
She is fucking mesmerising to everyone around her and she has no idea.
I want to go over there. I also want to turn and jog back to my apartment. Sit with my hangover. Have a fucking bourbon. Hate myself again. Like I deserve.
I approach them, my stomach bottoming out at how closely Jax is sitting to Blesk. I have fuck all right to this feeling of jealousy. I have every right. I know that rationally. She is mine. I tighten my jaw.
Then tense up when she laughs at him.
At him.
He’s making her laugh.
I made her cry.
And he is making her laugh.
Fuck. Fuckidy. Fuck.
I stop in front of them, my gaze fixed on Jax. “What up? You’re not hassling my students, are you?”
Blesk blushes and lowers her head—I don’t like that.
“Oh, no, B, you’ve got this dickhead as your tutor?” Jax grins. “Well, you’re so lucky I know him.”
“Mr Slater knows not to treat me any differently,” she says, still avoiding my gaze.
Mr Slater?
“Mr Slater,” Jax taunts. “So, Mr Slater, we’re still on for tomorrow night, right? I’m gonna kick your arse.”
Friday night is poker night, and I usually lose. I completely ignore his comment.
I turn to Blesk. “Seriously, just call me Konnor, okay?” I dip my head, trying to get her to acknowledge me. Her eyes drift everywhere except my face, her smile wavering. This is not good. She needs to know what happened, that I spoke to Pemberton, that—
“See you at six, okay? I’ll pick you up outside your dorm.” Jax hands Blesk her bag.
Why did he have her bag?
What the hell is going on?
“Okay,” she mutters, cheeks flushing. He made her flush. She’s blushing because of him!
Barely getting the words out through clenched teeth, I ask Jax, “So how do you know each other so well all of a sudden? What have I missed?”
Real subtle.
“We bumped into B at…” He pauses, and with every second his silence grows heavier. “At The Basement Lounge.”
Right.
The one place I can’t go.
“Had a few bevies,” he adds.
“Right.” I try not to choke on his words. I don’t know what to say to that, don’t want to think about that. That he might have purposely taken her somewhere that I can’t go— No. He wouldn’t. “Well, B needs to get to class now.”
“Later, Blesk.” Jax edges to leave, but turns back, wraps his arms around her, and hugs her.
My teeth snap on a growl.
Fuck.
Jax: One.
Konnor: Zero.
My cheek muscles pulse.
Blesk looks stunned, her eyes widening over his shoulder. But then, for the first time today, her eyes sweep to me. I part my lips, needing to say something—like sorry, I’m a dickhead, we need to talk, why do you feel like mine?—as our eyes hold each other…
Suddenly, we are interrupted by noisy students moving around us, and she looks away. The moment’s gone.
It’s okay, because he hugged her and she looked at me. Her eyes went to me. She likes me.
I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. Just got to get through class. I nod at her, before trailing the students.
My heart pounds in my chest as I study the newbies; everyone is pulling chairs out from the stacks like they already own the space. Small class—fifteen students. It seems that some of them know each other. Blesk doesn’t know anyone, sitting down by herself.
But not for long.
I can pick out the players straight away. A few of the boys are positioning themselves beside her.
“Hey,” one says.
“Hey.” She gives him a shy half-smile.
I want to tell her that won’t help. That any smile from her lips will only spur these arseholes on—can’t exactly blame them. She is… perfect.
“Right-o.” Chairs are still gliding across the floor as I drop my bag on the desk. “My friends call me Slater, so you can call me Konnor.” A few students chuckle. “Icebreaker. Raise your hand if you want to sleep with someone in this room?”
Giggles precede awkward glances, but no hands rise.