Carter
Chapter ten
Iwas supposed to be listening.
Something about depreciation schedules and asset valuation floated down from the front of the lecture hall, the professor’s voice steady and precise in the way that usually anchored me. Numbers followed rules. People broke them.
I sat two rows from the back, pen moving on autopilot, writing words that looked right without actually meaning anything. My notes were neat. My mind wasn’t.
Because all I could see when I closed my eyes was the blurry doorway of the bowling alley from two nights ago.
It had been my dad’s idea. We’d been at the Valerio garage, the air thick with the scent of rubber and the frantic energy of pre-season prep.
When the clock hit six, Dad had clapped Marco on the shoulder, announcing that no one should spend the evening of his birthday looking at a suspension assembly.
The rest of the crew had cheered, the decision made before the tools were even wiped down.
“You coming, kid?” Marco had asked Dominic, his voice hopeful in that way that always made me wince.
Dominic hadn't said no. He hadn't said anything at all, just watched us pack up with that same unreadable stare he always used.
I’d spent the night trying to forget the look on his face. I’d just finished my turn, the crash of the pins still ringing in my ears as I sat down to check the score screen. I was mid-laugh, reaching for my soda, when I looked toward the glass double doors leading out to the parking lot.
I swore I saw him standing there.
He wasn’t inside. He was just outside the reach of the fluorescent humming lights, hands in his pockets, his silhouette a dark, sharp cut against the night. He looked like he was watching a different planet.
I froze, my hand hovering over the table, waiting for him to pull the door open. To be the person who didn’t just drift the edges of things.
And then I’d blinked.
And Dominic was gone.
No figure in the pane. No warning, either. Just the empty, flat stretch of the parking lot where he’d been a second ago. I stared at the spot until my eyes burned, wondering if I’d imagined it—because apparently that was easier than admitting he could just disappear.
It was a hallucination. It had to be. Because why would he drive all the way there just to stand in the dark?
It was just residual adrenaline. It had to be.
“Miss Hayes.”
My head snapped up. A few people turned in their seats. Pens paused. The room sharpened uncomfortably into focus.
“Yes?” I said, too fast.
Professor Adler adjusted his glasses, looking at me over the rims in a way that suggested disappointment had been penciled into his schedule for the day. He was the type who believed participation was a character test.
“Would you care to explain how declining balance depreciation affects long-term asset reporting?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
My pulse kicked, hard and stupid. I glanced down at my notes, at the tidy lines that suddenly meant nothing, at numbers that refused to assemble themselves into language.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Could you repeat the question?”
A soft snicker floated down from a row above me. I didn’t have to look to know it was Sienna.
The professor’s mouth thinned, but he repeated himself, slower this time, like he was talking to someone who had wandered into the wrong room.
I answered anyway. Or tried to. It was technically correct.
Barely. The kind of answer that proved I’d studied but not that I was present.
The kind you gave when your mind was still standing in a doorway somewhere else, waiting on a boy who’d already proven he wasn’t built to stay.
The professor nodded once. Tight. Unimpressed. “Thank you, Miss Hayes. Let’s move on.”
The class ended a few minutes later. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. As I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder, the thought returned unbidden and unwelcome.
Maybe I hadn't imagined him at the bowling alley. And maybe the reason it wouldn’t leave me alone was because, for just a second, I’d actually wanted him to pull that door open.
Which felt like a massive betrayal of my better judgment.
I filed out with the rest of the class, letting the current carry me into the afternoon air. Sunlight spilled across the steps, too bright and too normal for how scrambled my head still felt. I paused at the top step, scanning the quad.
Near the edge of the walkway, Dominic stood talking to a woman I didn’t recognize.
For a split second, I waited for the trick. My mind was a master at lying to me in familiar ways, filling the spaces he’d left behind the other night. I blinked once, expecting the air to shimmer and settle into an empty nothing. Then again.
The shape didn’t dissolve.
I told myself not to stare. I failed immediately.
The woman was older, sharp and professional in a way that suggested she had a corner office and very little patience. Dominic listened to her with his hands loose in his pockets, his expression calm—not closed or defensive, just... present.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't the brittle, performative thing he used on me. It was easy. He said something I couldn't hear, and she laughed before nodding and stepping away.
Dominic turned. Right toward me.
I stayed put, waiting for the illusion to kick in and wipe him away again. It didn’t. Instead, he fell into step beside me like we’d done this a thousand times.
“Rough class?” he asked.
I cut a look toward him, my shoulder barely brushing his. “Is this you actually pretending to be human? It’s a bit jarring.”
He glanced down at me, a genuine spark of amusement in his eyes. “The season starts in two weeks, Shortcut. Even I can’t be a dick twenty-four-seven.”
I waited for the twist. The sarcasm. The inevitable reminder that he was a Valerio, and he’d assume I was lucky to be in his orbit. It didn't come.
"I'm aware," I said, my voice dry. "My dad has the countdown taped to our fridge. I'm more curious about the loitering."
Dominic didn't explain himself. Instead, he just looked at me—a slow, sideways tilt of his head. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile but something far more annoying. He didn't say a word, just turned his attention back to the path ahead.
We walked in silence, students weaving past us like we were just another normal couple on campus. It was a bizarre, intrusive thought. He didn't belong here among the coffee breath and the stress of midterms.
The silence stretched long enough to become a choice. He was still there, matching my stride as if he had nowhere better to be, his closeness prickling at my skin. I needed to know I wasn't losing my mind.
“So,” I said, slowing my pace to force him to look at me. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here? On a campus you don’t attend? On a random weekday? Like this is a thing people do?”
He considered that for a beat too long, his gaze drifting over the buildings. “I like the scenery.”
“The scenery,” I repeated, a dry, skeptical noise escaping my throat. “Right. And I suppose you liked the scenery of the parking lot outside the bowling alley the other night, too? Since you spent so much time idling there instead of actually coming inside.”
Dominic’s stride faltered—just a fraction of a second, but enough that I felt the shift in the air between us. He didn't look away from the path ahead, but the smug curve of his mouth flattened into a hard, thin line.
For the first time, the silence felt less like a choice and more like he was recalculating.
I watched the side of his face, waiting.
That one flicker of hesitation was all the confirmation I needed.
I wasn't losing my mind; I hadn't just imagined the dark silhouette of him or the way the headlights had cut through the rain. He had been there. He’d driven all that way, stood outside of a crumbling bowling alley, and then... nothing. He’d just left.
The why of it was a warped piece of a puzzle that didn't fit the person standing next to me now.
“What’s your major?” he asked. It was a blatant misdirect, his voice a shade lower than before.
I didn't give it to him. I stopped walking entirely, forcing him to turn back. “Don’t do that. Don’t ignore the fact that you were lurking in the dark like a cliché and now you're acting like you’re just here for the architecture.”
He turned fully now, his expression unreadable as he let the distance between us hang. “Fine. If you want the truth, give me something first. What are you studying?”
I held his stare, weighing whether the information was worth the trade. “Finance,” I said eventually, my voice clipped. “Accounting.”
He went quiet. Not the distant quiet from before, but an evaluating one, like he was running the data through a simulator.
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. I know how to balance a ledger.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said, his voice dropping into that low, observant tone. “It fits. Safe choice. Structured. Predictable.”
“You make it sound like I’m boring.”
“I didn't say boring,” he countered, his mouth curving faintly. “I said safe. You like knowing where the walls are. You like knowing exactly how much things cost before you pay for them.”
“You don’t know anything about why I chose it,” I snapped, my pace quickening. “And you’re still dodging. Was sitting in the dark outside a bowling alley part of your structure? Because from where I was, it looked like you were struggling with the concept of an entrance.”
Dominic didn't flinch. He just gave a small, effortless shrug. “I told you. I like admiring the scenery. It was a very... industrial-chic parking lot. Very avant-garde.”
The sheer ridiculousness of him trying to sell a parking lot as 'avant-garde' caught me in the throat. A dry, startled laugh escaped me before I could choke it back. I shook my head, looking at the pavement. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told,” he murmured, and for a second, the edge between us softened.