Chapter Twenty-Four
Two
“What if it’s Mr. Pederson?” Gemma whispers, eyeing the papers he gave to the two of us when we came into class this morning. “He seems weirdly fixated on us as a pair.”
I glance at our professor and frown. He’s just some old dude who loves historical restoration, not a stalker.
“I think you’re reaching,” I mutter back, nudging her under the table with my foot. “You’re paranoid.”
She shoots me an irritated look, but it’s the truth. Last night, after a loud dinner with her family, she told me all about how she thought the police chief was her stalker. I think, at this point, anyone could be the stalker according to Gemma.
Worrying about everyone without definitive proof is pointless.
Mr. Pederson continues his lecture. Rather than take notes—since I know my girlfriend will anyway—I focus on the man himself. I’ve been to his house before with my parents. Nothing stood out to me as creepy. He’s wearing a fedora, bowtie, and suspenders, for fuck’s sake.
Definitely not him.
I tear my gaze from Mr. Pederson to look down at the form he pretty much threatened me to fill out. I’d remembered seeing something about it in my school email recently but didn’t bother filling out the interest form for the cultural heritage workshop. Now, as it would seem, Mr. Pederson is forcing us both to fill it out.
“My two best students.”
He’d said those exact words earlier when he thrust the papers at me. Okay, so maybe she has a point about him being weirdly obsessed with us as a pair, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy. He knows how much I enjoy all this historical preservation stuff and must sense Gemma’s growing interest as well.
The workshop is coming up in a few weeks. Students were welcomed to apply, but there will only be a handful selected for the intimate event. Aimed for students showing a keen interest in the subject matter, the workshop is a collaborative event with local preservation societies. Mr. Pederson thinks it’ll be a great way for me to get connected with the community and would look great on my résumé. Plus, there’ll be dinner and I do love to eat. It sounds right up my alley and if Gemma gets to go too, it’s a win-win.
Gemma must eventually give up worrying about Mr. Pederson because she studiously takes our notes. When class is over, I grab the form she’s completed plus mine before turning them back in to Mr. Pederson.
“Good work, Sheridan,” he says with a toothy grin. “I know your dads will be thrilled if you’re accepted to attend.”
I give him a nod and stride out of the classroom. Gemma hurries behind me, clasping her hand around mine as soon as we’re alone. We barely make it halfway down the hallway before Dax nearly runs us over.
“I found a place,” Dax exclaims, showing me his phone. “It’s in a seedy part of town, but it could be ours for really cheap.”
“What is it?” Gemma asks, peeking at the phone with me. “You’re moving out? Why?”
“It’s time,” I explain with a sigh, absently searching my jacket pocket with my free hand for one of my butterscotch candies. “I haven’t told my dads yet, though.”
Gemma looks at the property and shakes her head. “That’s in the old biker hangout. Gross. Don’t get that place. Who knows what kind of bodily fluids are on every surface there.”
How she knows where an old biker gang hangs out is beyond me. But after a quick glance through the pictures, I agree that it’s not someplace I want to live.
“Keep looking,” I tell Dax, handing him his phone back. I unwrap my candy and pop it in my mouth. “We’ll find someplace better.”
Dax deflates. “Mom’s driving me insane, though. I’m half tempted to move into your closet, Two. Can I? Please?”
“And everyone says I’m the dramatic one?” I scoff. “It’ll come at the right time, man.”
He grunts in agreement and then heads off for his next class. I walk Gemma out of the building toward our cars that are parked side by side. As we approach hers, something yellow flutters in the wind. Gemma stops several feet from her car. I let go of her hand, striding over to it.
At least I know it’s not Mr. Pederson. He was in class when we arrived and was still there when we left. I pluck the note from the wiper blade and read it.
I always have my eyes on you, pretty girl. Always. Remember that. Think before you act. Be a good girl for me.
What the fuck?
When I whirl around, Gemma is on the phone, shivering despite wearing her stylish leather jacket.
“Come on,” I growl. “We’re going to see the campus police.”
She nods as she hurries to catch up with me. From the bits of conversation I overhear, she’s on the phone with her dad. As much as this weekend sucked when our secrets were revealed, I’m thankful to be having others help with this stalker shit.
“Dad’s on his way,” Gemma says as she pockets her phone. “He’s calling the dean, too. They’re all going to meet us at the campus police office.” She takes the letter from me and quickly reads it. “This guy needs to get a life.”
I sling an arm over her shoulders and pull her into my side as we walk. This stalker guy is slick—too slick. It makes me nervous as fuck for her.
Soon, we’re entering the campus police office and reporting our findings. The older gentleman with a thick gray mustache jovially flirts with Gemma as he fills out a report, totally not reading the room.
She’s scared, dude.
Leave her the fuck alone.
Carl Vaughn.
The hairs on my arms stand on end. What if this leering old man is the creep who’s been terrorizing her?
Damn, I’m getting as paranoid as she is.
Not long after, Nathan and the dean come striding in together, nearly matching in navy three-piece suits. Nathan’s tie is a paler blue, whereas the dean’s is red. Both men wear stern expressions.
“Miss Park,” the PMU head dean, Dr. Skeller, greets. “Your dad’s filled me in on what’s going on. Are you okay?”
Gemma glances over at Carl and barely suppresses a shudder. The small shiver can be seen if you’re really watching. Apparently, both me and her dad are because Nathan pulls her to his chest.
Gemma clings to him, letting him hug her tight. I want to do the same.
“I’m fine,” she finally manages to answer. “I’m just tired of this.”
“Mr. Vaughn,” Dr. Skeller instructs in a firm tone, “please check any security footage we may have on the parking lot mentioned in her report. If there’s anything unusual, report back. We’re going to catch this guy. If he’s doing this to Miss Park, he could be doing it to other students.”
Carl, no longer eyeballing my girlfriend’s tits, nods emphatically. “I’m on it, sir.”
“I didn’t think about this happening to other students,” Gemma says with a grimace.
“We’re going to get him,” Nathan assures her. “I promise.”
I hope it’s one promise he can deliver on.
Rather than our usual office visit, I’m meeting Tate at Park’s Peak, a trendy coffee shop in town with a magnificent view of the mountain. The report with the campus police plus the subsequent talk after with Nathan and Dr. Skeller had me missing my appointment time completely. Luckily, Tate was understanding and wants to meet up now that my classes are done for the day.
I pull into a spot next to his Jeep and climb out. He’s inside, sitting by the window, and waves. When I make my way inside, I’m happy to see he’s ordered for us. In my empty spot, a coffee and a pastry await me.
“Hey, man,” I say as I take my seat. “Thanks.”
Tate smiles and then sips his coffee, eyes boring into me. “Do you know how hard it is for me to keep it together right now?”
A snort rips out of me. “I can only imagine.”
“Seriously,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “What are the odds that Golden was my future sister-in-law?” His features tighten. “I do want you to understand that what we talk about remains confidential. I’d never betray that and speak to her about you.”
Even though I hoped that was the case, it relieves me hearing it from my new friend. Gemma knows my deep, dark secret—hell, she’s the deep, dark secret—but I still don’t like the idea of someone else telling her all there is to know about me.
“Yeah?”
Tate nods several times like a bobblehead sitting on the dash of a cruising car. “Absolutely. And now that we’ve cleared that up, can we please discuss everything?”
Everything.
For so long I’ve kept everything under lock and key. Now that it’s out in the wide open to virtually everyone—especially those closest to me—it doesn’t feel so nightmarish.
“Well, it all started when I was nine.” I glance around to make sure no kids are around. “I was on a hunt to prove to my best friend Dax that Santa was real.”
Tate smirks. “He totally is. I’ve seen him at the mall before.”
I chuckle and realize I’m not dreading this as much as I thought I would. It makes me wonder if I could tell the whole story to Dax next. He certainly could use an explanation for why I can be melancholic at times.
For the next hour, I unload all of my past and all of my present onto Tate. To his credit, he listens intently, doesn’t interrupt, and encourages me to keep going. Once I start talking, I can’t seem to stop. We end up going for another round of coffee and pastries just so the people won’t kick us out for staying so long.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Tate says when I finally finish. “How are you feeling now that your dads know?”
I ponder his question for a bit. “Relieved for sure. Maybe a little dumb.”
“Dumb?”
“For carrying this for so long. For not talking to my dads about it sooner.”
“That’s not being dumb, Two. You were scared. Understandably so.”
“But all of this could have been avoided if I’d spoken up.”
“Hindsight is 20/20. If we all knew better, we’d never have any regrets. We’re human, though, which means we fumble through life doing our best and slipping many times along the way.”
I study my friend for a long beat. “You have an uncanny way of making people feel normal even though they’re anything but.”
“Being ‘normal’ is abnormal if you ask me. No one is normal. We all have our quirks and hang-ups and past experiences to haunt us. I’m glad you feel comfortable confiding in me, though.”
My phone buzzes and it’s Dad checking in on me. I quickly reply back to let him know I’m still with Tate. He sends an excessive amount of heart eye emojis that make me shake my head.
“Someone should take the emojis off his phone. Is it possible?” I show him the message to prove that Dad overuses the emojis more than even Dax does. “Can your hacker lover do it for me?”
“My hacker lover can do anything.” Tate’s grin is wide and silly. “Give your dad a break. He clearly adores you.”
I let his words wash over my newly healing heart.
My dads do love me. So fucking much. In a way, I’m glad the deep, dark secret was revealed because it gave my parents the opportunity to state their case and profess how much they love their only son.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He and Pops do love me,” I say, returning his smile. “Damn, that’s a really good feeling.”