Chapter Five
Tatum
I shouldn’t feel like this. Not this quickly. Not this completely. But I do.
I lie back against my dorm bed, staring up at the ceiling while my thoughts circle the same place they always land lately. Lachlan. Everything leads back to him. Every quiet moment. Every pause in my day.
I’ve known I was in love with him since the night he sat in the dark in this room and asked me what my days look like. That part isn’t the question anymore.
The question is whether he’ll ever say it back. Or whether he even can.
Sometimes, he looks at me like I’m everything. Like I’m the only thing he sees. And other times, he pulls back so fast it’s like I imagined all of it.
My phone rings. The sound cuts straight through my swirling thoughts, and I jolt slightly before reaching for it on instinct.
My heart lifts when I see his name, a smile already pulling at my lips.
“Hi,” I answer, trying and failing to keep the excitement out of my voice.
There’s a pause. “Hey, kitten”
His voice is lower, rougher, like he just woke up or hasn’t spoken in a while. It settles something inside me instantly.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I shift onto my side, tucking the phone closer to my ear. “I just got back from class,” I say, unable to stop the small smile still lingering on my lips. “What about you?”
“Nothing.” Typical.
I huff softly. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he replies.
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see it. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a faint hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re still on the phone.”
I grin, biting down on my lower lip as I settle deeper into my pillow. “Maybe I like impossible.”
“That right?”
“Maybe,” I tease softly.
But then something shifts inside me. A thought. A question I’ve been holding back.
“What are you going to do now?” I ask, my voice quieter, more careful. “I mean…with everything. Are you going back to the shop? Working on cars again?”
The change is immediate. His voice when he answers is flatter. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not true,” I say gently. “You’ve always known what you wanted to do.”
“Things change.” The words are clipped now. Closed off.
My chest tightens. “Lachlan—”
“I said I don’t know,” he cuts in, sharper.
I sit up slowly, my grip tightening slightly around the phone. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”
“Because I don’t want to,” he replies bluntly. The bluntness stings.
Frustration flares up instantly, pushing past the hurt. “You don’t want to, or you don’t trust me enough to?”
He pauses. Then exhales quietly. “That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?” I press, my voice rising. “You told me what you thought about in prison. You told me that, and I know what it cost you.” I press the heel of my hand against my eye. “So don’t tell me you can’t talk to me. You can. You just won’t talk about anything that hasn’t already happened.”
Silence.
“You’ll give me every single thing that’s over,” I say. “You won’t give me one minute of what’s coming.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It feels like it,” I snap. Then, softer but no less firm. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle. You don’t get to take care of me and then not let me do the same for you.”
Silence stretches between us again. I’m expectant. Maybe I’ve finally reached him.
“I’ve got to go,” he says.
The line goes dead. I stare at my phone for a second, my chest tight, frustration and hurt tangling together in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
“Fine,” I mutter, tossing the phone onto the bed beside me.
***
By the time I get to my next class, I’m still angry. It’s quiet but deep, simmering beneath everything like it’s waiting for the right moment to surface again.
I try to focus on the lecture, on the professor’s voice, on the notes I’m supposed to be taking.
We’re three weeks into products liability, and the professor is building toward something about manufacturers and knowledge.
Normally, I’d be the one with my hand up, but my pen barely moves across the page.
All I hear is him. I don’t want to talk about it.
I start tapping my fingers as I stare at my notebook, the words blurring together. It’s not fair. He lets me in when it suits him, when it’s about me, my day or my life. The moment it turns toward him, to anything deeper, anything that actually matters, he shuts down.
And I’m left standing outside again.
The class ends before I realize it has. Chairs scrape against the floor as students start packing up, still lost in my thoughts.
“Tatum.”
I look up. It’s Daniel.
He’s a few feet away, smiling easily. He’s in a couple of my classes this semester. Always friendly in that effortless way that makes it easy to talk to.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a small smile as I sling my bag over my shoulder.
“You looked like you were about to fight your notebook,” he jokes, nodding toward my things. “Rough day?”
I huff a quiet laugh before I can help it. “Something like that.”
He falls into step beside me as we walk out of the classroom. “You okay?” he asks.
I hesitate. Then shrug. “Yeah. Just…stuff.”
He nods. “Well, if you ever need a distraction,” he says lightly. “I make a pretty great one.”
I chuckle and roll my eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We step out into the hallway, the noise of other students filling the space around us. Conversations overlapping, footsteps echoing.
I don’t notice him at first. Not until something in my body reacts before my head turns.
And there he is. Lachlan.
He’s standing at the far end of the hallway, leaning against the wall like he’s been there long enough to see all of it.
And for half a second—less than that—his face is open. Something in it I’ve only seen once, in the dark, with his back against my dorm room wall.
Then his eyes move past me to Daniel.
And it’s gone.
His jaw tightens. That’s all the warning I get. Because the next thing I know, he’s moving. Fast, in long strides. My pulse spikes, heat rushing through me as he closes the distance in seconds. His presence is overwhelming as he stops right in front of me.
“Tatum.” My name comes out low, and his eyes travel down my body and back up like he has all afternoon.
“What are you doing here?” My voice catches, softer than I intended. My traitorous body is already reacting to the proximity, to the way he’s looking at me.
His gaze flicks to Daniel again, brief but sharp. Then back to me. “Who’s this?” he asks roughly.
He shifts, barely half a step, and somehow it puts his shoulder between Daniel and me entirely.
Something akin to excitement and worry flips through my stomach. “This is Daniel,” I say, glancing between them. “He’s in my class.”
Daniel straightens slightly, clearly registering the shift, his easy demeanor tightening just a bit. “Hey,” he says, offering a hand.
Lachlan doesn’t take it. Doesn’t even look at it. His focus stays on me. Completely.
“Walk with me,” he says. It isn’t a request. My whole body answers before I’ve decided anything, heat sliding low and immediate.
“Lachlan…”
“Now.”
That’s all it takes. I glance back at Daniel briefly, offering an apologetic look. “I’ll see you later,” I say quickly.
Lachlan’s hand closes around my arm. He pulls me down the hallway before I can say anything else. My heart is racing now, heat building under my skin as I try to keep up with his pace.
He doesn’t stop until we reach an empty classroom. He pushes the door open. Pulls me inside. And shuts it behind us.
The click echoes. I turn toward him, my breath uneven, my chest rising and falling faster than it should.
“What was that?” I ask, my voice shaky under the frustration trying to push through.
His eyes lock onto mine. Dark. Intense. “Who was he?”
I blink. “I just told you. He’s in my class.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I snap, irritation flaring now. “We were just talking.”
His gaze sharpens, turning possessive. “Didn’t look like nothing.”
My breath catches. Because I hear it. The jealousy. Clear as day. And it does something to me it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t want to squeeze my thighs together and relieve the ache between them. But I do. And that only makes me angrier.
“We were talking,” I repeat, lifting my chin, refusing to let him pull me into whatever this is without pushing back. “That’s what people do, Lachlan. They talk.”
“Do they?”
“You hung up on me.”
That lands. I watch it land.
“I know,” he says.
“You don’t get to do that and then show up at my school and—”
“I know.”
“Then say something.” My voice cracks on it. “Say anything that isn’t I don’t want to talk about it.”
He looks at me for a long moment. Long enough that I think, actually think, he’s going to.
And then he doesn’t.
His gaze darkens. He steps closer until my back hits the wall, and we’re a breath apart.
“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. You’re mine, kitten,” he declares.
Then his mouth is on mine, and it’s a claim, not a kiss.
I return it with the same fervor. Everything I’ve been carrying since the phone call—the frustration, the confusion, the hurt—tangles up with something else entirely. Potent need. His hand comes up to grip my jaw, tilting my face where he wants it.
“You drive me insane,” he mutters against my lips, his voice rough, edged with a possessiveness that sends a shiver down my spine.
My breath stutters, my fingers tightening against him as I try to steady myself, but it’s useless. His hand slides from my jaw to my waist, gripping tightly, anchoring me to him as he deepens the kiss.
You’re mine.
Instead of pushing it away, I lean into it. The wall is cold against my back, but he's scorching everywhere he touches, and I can't get enough.
“Mine,” he growls against my lips, his hand sliding down to grip my thigh, lifting it to wrap around his hip. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, the words slipping out before I can stop them. But it's true. I've been his since that first night, maybe even before.
He groans, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Again.”
“I’m yours, Lachlan.” I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. “Only yours.”