Chapter 67 #2
The woman nodded, jotted something down, and her sharp-tongued colleague was still looking at me as if I’d become his new prime suspect just minutes ago.
“Do you have anyone who can corroborate that?” he pressed, and I wanted to give the rehearsed answer as calmly as possible, but he wouldn’t let me. “Anyone other than Professor Rydell?”
The woman looked up, now eyeing me curiously.
Shit.
“His daughter. Lara Rydell.”
I bit my tongue, trying not to purse my lips or even take another sip of my coffee.
This was so wrong.
With a knot of regret in my already churning stomach, the woman led me outside, where I expected to find Lara and Davian. Instead, I nearly froze when I saw my father waiting at the door.
Instead of glaring at me hostilely, his gaze was blank, scrutinizing.
What was he doing here?
It felt as though he were penetrating me with his sharp-edged eyes, cutting through to the truth I’d managed to hide so well until now. As if no matter how violently I scrubbed the blood from my nails, he’d still see it…
“Professor Richter?”
My father nodded calmly at the policewoman.
He was next.
I forced myself to look away, continued down the hallway, even as I heard the door slide shut.
Shit.
I’d dragged Lara into this. That hadn’t been part of the plan. But what if they didn’t question her?
I had to find her. Now, with the lead investigators occupied, even though the campus was literally swarming with FBI agents and cops.
A warm hand slipped around mine, and I whipped my head around, recognizing Davian by his gentle touch before I even caught sight of him, and let him pull me into the side hallway.
It Was an Accident
Atli ?rvarsson
Before I even had a chance to say anything, he pulled me into an embrace, holding me close yet gently.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he whispered softly into my hair, and I let the warmth of his touch wash over my back, letting my skin beg for him to slide his hands under my sweater, to hold me the way he had on Saturday, when he’d swayed me back and forth as if we weren’t a ticking time bomb.
I wanted to melt into him, wanted to dissolve into his touch, wanted to forget. Just forget…
“They think it was you,” I said instead. “Why do they think that?” I stopped fighting the tears, just let them come until I was quietly sobbing. “Why don’t they think it was Joseph… Why…”
“Hey.”
Davian pulled me closer, stroked my back, and allowed me to bury my head in his matte dark blue vest.
“Quill.”
He ran his fingers through my hair, and I pulled away from him, looked up at him, but couldn’t hold back the sob, so he pressed me against his shoulder again.
“Come here. Please. Let it all out.”
That was all it took, and I began to cry harder, clawing at his vest, trying to stifle my voice – with my mouth pressed against the matte cornflower-blue fabric – without holding back.
The tightness in my chest grew worse and worse until I couldn’t take it anymore and looked up at him again.
“I could go in there and just tell them everything.”
The despair in his eyes pushed me to new depths.
What was stopping me from just kissing him? Right here, right now? To drown all our worries in our overwhelmingly beautiful coexistence?
Being his would close these fresh scars. Somehow…
“Quill”
He cupped my face in both hands, just as he had on Saturday night, but this time I felt him even more intensely; felt the warmth of his rough fingers, smelled his pleasant masculine scent, the gentle hint of his perfume, and welcomed the electric tingles he left on my skin.
“I know that would be the right decision.” He shook his head cautiously.
“But I know these people.” He swallowed, his jaw clenching against his cheeks, which, along with that look and his words, intensified my despair.
“I know how this case will be handled in court. I’ve seen many cases like this.
No one will stand up to Arnold.” The knot in my stomach was back.
And it was tightening. Relentlessly. “That man has the upper hand.”
“That’s not fair,” I whimpered, feeling two new hot tears roll down my cheeks. “That’s not fair. That’s not…”
“Hey.” The inner ends of his eyebrows lifted slightly as he pulled me toward him. “Shhh.”
Once again, I found myself resting against his shoulder, nestling against it.
“I know. God, Quill. I’m so sorry.” I felt him press a kiss into my hair, pull me closer, and hold on to me as if he needed me just as much as I needed him. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”
New tears won the battle and streamed from my eyes, reminding me of the situation I’d gotten us into.
“I didn’t want to…,” I whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t want any of this.”
“I know. Please, Quill… please calm down.”
I cried for a few more minutes and he held me, letting himself sink against the wall behind him while his chest rose and fell heavily, kissing my hair again and again, and I wished I could stay in that embrace forever.
But I couldn’t.
A door opened at the end of the hallway, and I immediately pulled away from Davian.
He looked at me searchingly, listening just as intently as I was, before pushing me around the next corner.
“Go to the bathroom, see if cold water helps. Then go to your next class.”
The next lecture would have been with Troy…
“And when you get home, let it all out, okay?”
Home. How was I supposed to tell him that the only home I’d ever have would be his arms?
I didn’t say a word, just nodded, obeyed, and turned around, feeling his gaze on my back until I turned the next corner.
Four hours later, I was hanging over the toilet next to a whimpering Streusel, who, lying on the floor, looked up at me while I was throwing up.
This town was full of murderers. And I was one of them.
Your tears are precious.
Ink I long to catch in my inkwell.
But I know I would never dare
to waste even a single drop on my paper.
– Leaking Batteries Diary