CHAPTER 11
Reed
I wake up with a start.
My chest is heaving, sweat is clinging to the back of my neck, and the tender flesh between my shoulder blades is burning so hot, I can still feel the lingering pain that hasn’t been there in decades.
I dreamed of him again.
My bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor a moment later, refusing to keep me in bed. I need to move.
Because being on the go, keeping busy, is the way to forget.
At my wardrobe, I reach for a clean shirt and a pair of slacks and set them over the crumpled sheets. My mind is on autopilot as I open the door to the attached bathroom, drop the boxers I sleep in, and get in the shower.
The waterfall of ice-cold water sobers me up, and I throw my head back, willing it to soothe me.
It does nothing to numb the pain—not the physical but the invisible wounds.
You’re a fucking joke, boy. You’re no good for nothing but a good beatin’.
My back burns despite the cold water, and I scrub my body faster just to move on to the next task. Once again, it’s no use. Because the second I’m out of the shower, my eyes find my reflection in the shower glass, and it’s impossible to look away from the scar marring the skin between my shoulder blades.
The vile reminder of what my father did to me. Of what my mother didn’t stop.
Silence greets me when I get out of the bathroom. I bought this two-story detached home not far from campus on a whim when I moved back here to Warlington—my hometown—for good, after spending a whole decade getting my qualifications and working all over the United States.
Haniyah thought buying this place would be a good investment.
“So you can settle down,” she had told me in her usual gentle voice when she’d come with me to see the listing. “There’s plenty of room here if you want to start a family one day.”
I said nothing to that. I didn’t want to break her heart by telling her that the concept of a family was so fucked up to me, starting one of my own felt more daunting than it should.
My thoughts are interrupted by the alarm on my phone, signaling that I need to leave the house right now if I want to get to work on time.
Sighing, I decide I’ll just grab breakfast somewhere on campus. There are no emails that need my immediate attention, so I take advantage of the good weather to walk instead of driving in the morning’s awful traffic.
I blame the lack of good sleep for the fact that my thoughts go to Lila.
To her intoxicating scent, her sweet smile, her brilliant mind.
I know it’s wrong, and I’m sick in the fucking head, but that doesn’t make it stop.
It’s been three days since our first weekly group session. The kids seemed to warm up to her just fine, and it’s making me feel things I haven’t experienced before. Things I can’t name.
I can’t get her out of my system.
It’s possible that these thoughts are a direct result of a shitty night and the lack of breakfast. So, once I answer a couple of emails from my lab students, I head over to the only coffee shop on campus that doesn’t serve watered-down coffee.
I’m mindlessly scrolling on my phone when a flash of blonde hair catches my eye.
Ignoring the way my heart leaps at the sight of her, I watch as she fishes for something inside her bag. Why is her every move so damn mesmerizing?
Standing only a few feet away from the coffee shop, she looks up as I inch closer to the front door. Our eyes lock for a fleeting second before she glances back down, her cheeks flaming.
I’m about to walk up to her to say hi when, with one of the pockets on her backpack still unzipped, she scurries away in the opposite direction like a scared little mouse.
A pinch of rejection stabs the organ in my chest at her reaction, but I brush it off. I’m just sleep-deprived and not thinking straight. So, after getting my coffee, I bury myself in work all day and don’t allow myself to think of her again until she’s right in front of me that afternoon.
The ticking of the clock on my office wall is all I can hear, despite us both working within these walls.
When she got to the youth center, I told her I wanted her to review one of my closed cases from last year and write down a report with things she would’ve done differently. She asked me a quick technical question, and we’ve been working in silence ever since.
I don’t like it.
Because she’s ignoring me.
Growing up, I never craved attention. When I was a child, getting attention meant being the target of my mother’s meltdowns or the aim of my father’s belt buckle, so I learned to stick to the shadows and feel comfortable there.
Years later, when I lived in foster homes, getting attention was rarely a good thing. It meant that I was being too loud, too disruptive, too much of a bother. It meant that they’d send me away, forcing me to start all over again.
Throughout the years, I’ve learned to ignore the attention. Sure, I’m grateful for it because I want to bring awareness to what I’m working on, but personal praise isn’t my driving force.
So why am I so bent out of shape now that Lila is depriving me of hers?
I close my laptop and lean back on my chair, knowing I’m not getting shit done this afternoon. I had a terrible night’s sleep, one of my PhD students messed up some equipment in the lab—by accident, but it’s still a massive inconvenience—and now this.
This, meaning me losing my sanity over Grace and Cal’s daughter ignoring me.
I’m sick beyond repair.
“So,” I drawl anyway because, apparently, I have self-destructive tendencies now. “Didn’t know we were back to ignoring each other.”
She glances from her laptop, arching a single blonde eyebrow. “How many times are we going to have this conversation?”
“Exactly. You ran away from me this morning,” I point out.
“I was in a rush.”
“Don’t lie to me, little criminal.”
Her cheeks flush, just like they did this morning. I shouldn’t like that red on her cheeks so much, yet here I fucking am.
“I’m not lying, Dr. Abner,” she says, her voice small, not meeting my stare.
I scratch my jaw. “Dr. Abner? Gave up on Reed already?”
She types something on her laptop, pretending to be nonchalant. “Dr. Abner is your name.”
“I told you to call me Reed. Which is also my name, by the way.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to use it.” Her voice holds a sudden teasing edge I don’t shy away from. “Or should I call you Professor Hotshot too? Since that’s what they call you on campus. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
I didn’t, as a matter of fact.
Against my better judgment, I tell her, “If you’d rather call me Professor Hotshot instead, by all means, go ahead.”
“I think Professor Bossy suits you better,” she retorts despite her cheeks turning even redder.
There’s a big part of me that knows we’re playing a dangerous game, but my moral compass must be broken today.
“I’m not bossy,” I say, knowing damn well that’s a lie.
“Professor Control Freak, then?”
This girl.
I cross my arms in front of my chest, not missing the way her gaze lingers on the movement. “Tell me how I’m bossy, then.”
“That right there.” She shrugs, pretending to go back to her laptop when we both know she’s not looking at anything. “You could have said, ‘Dearest Lila, would you please give me an example of my bossy tendencies, if that’s not too much of an inconvenience for you? Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’”
“Mmm.” I watch as she tucks a piece of that long, wavy hair behind her pierced ear. “Do you have any more examples for me of said bossy tendencies?”
“I might need some time to think—wait, no, I got it. That night at the awards ceremony, when I didn’t want to talk, and you gave me no choice but to bare my soul to you.”
“If I remember correctly—and I do—I told you multiple times that you could leave if you wanted. I wasn’t holding you hostage.”
“Really?” She blinks several times, innocently, knowing damn well that yes, really .
“I could tell that you needed to talk that night. Let it all out. And it worked, didn’t it? You needed to vent about your ex.”
I cringe on the inside, knowing deep down I’m only fishing for crumbs about her current love life because on top of being sick in the head, I’m also curious. But only because I don’t think it would be a great idea if she got back with that guy after he cheated on her. Nothing else.
Lila snorts. “I’ll make a mental note to go to you the next time I think getting into another relationship would be a good idea so you can talk me out of it.”
Is she saying she’s single? Does she even want to talk about this with me?
I narrow my eyes at her, thirsty for more but not wanting to look or sound obvious. “If you think something is a good idea, I can’t talk you out of it. You should make your own choices.”
“If I ever think getting into another relationship is a good idea, it must be because I’m starting to lose it,” she deadpans.
I should, but I don’t stop myself from asking my next question, even though I doubt it would be appropriate. “No relationships for you ever again, then? Seems a little drastic.”
Her shoulders rise and fall. “What’s the point? No offense, but men aren’t worth it. I’d rather focus on my career,” she explains. “I gave up something I really wanted for a man once, and it won’t happen again.”
Her summer camp internship—I remember.
“No offense taken.” Some men are pretty terrible, I’ll give her that. But it surprises me that she’s so quick to say that when I know she grew up with one of the best—Cal is a good man and a good father. “Focusing on your career is important.”
I don’t stop to think about why the thought of Lila dating someone makes my body itch.
She takes me aback with her next question. “What about you? Are you also married to your career?” A pause in which my heart skips a beat. “Or to an actual woman? Man?”
My fingers are bare of any ring, so she must know I’m not married, but she’s still asking.
Interesting.
“I don’t have time for relationships,” I tell her the half-truth I keep telling myself. Because time isn’t the issue, but I refuse to dwell on the real reason for too long. “Not into men, but I wouldn’t have time for relationships with them either.”
She hums. “I guess there’s not much room for relationships when you’re a world-renowned researcher, professor, board member, volunteer, and whatnot.”
“You’d be right.” I clear my throat, feeling like I’d cross an invisible line if we kept talking about relationships. “So, circling back to you ignoring me on campus but calling me names behind closed doors.”
“I did not call you names.”
I arch a questioning eyebrow. “Well?”
“See, you’re being bossy again.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Then don’t be so bossy.”
I’ll show you bossy.
Where did that thought just come from?
I sigh. “Lila.”
“Reed.”
“Nice to see I’m Reed again.”
An urgent knock on my office door bursts the dangerous bubble we are wrapped in.
I don’t have time to instruct whoever’s knocking to come in because the door flies open, and I’m met with Haniyah’s worried face.
“Reed, it’s Cameron,” she says, breathless. “He just punched another kid in the face.”
Fuck .