Saturday #2
I keep my head down, grab some pancakes, and follow my girls to the checkout.
We find seats. I try to scarf down my food as fast as I can without looking like a complete lunatic.
But the sooner I’m out of here, the better.
I make it about halfway through my stack before their trays smack down.
I hold my fork in a death grip and slide my knife so hard it screeches across the plate.
Don’t look up.
Don’t look up.
Don’t look up.
I look up.
How could I not? It’s as if my eyes have a mind of their own. My gaze extends over the edge of my plate, across the table, up the mound of eggs stacked three inches high, until I see that chin dimple and my heart thuds so painfully in my chest my brain finally gets the message.
STOP.
But I still can’t. I shift higher, over those slightly pouted lips that have touched every inch of my body, up that strong nose, and right into the green eyes staring at me with such intensity my chest contracts, searching for the breath it can no longer find.
“Hi, Clara.”
I swallow, lick my lips, pretend the sound of that deep timbre isn’t rushing through me like a river, reawakening parts of me I thought were dead. “Nox.”
Why the hell did I leave an open seat across from me? I thought sitting between Nova and Willa was the smart play, that way he wouldn’t be close enough to touch, but this is so much worse. His face is the only thing I see. He’s everything, everywhere. I can’t escape that probing look in his eyes.
Chill the fuck out.
Be cool.
I take a deep breath and plaster a wide smile on my lips. “How have you been?”
He tilts his head to the side and arches a knowing brow. The hint of a taunt curves his disapproving lips, as if to say, Really? We’re doing this?
Damn straight, we’re doing this.
I hold my fake smile, ignoring the way it makes my cheeks ache. “Good?”
“Yeah.” A dark huff escapes his lips. “Good.”
“Good,” I say cheerfully.
There. Done.
I drop my gaze to my pancakes. We spoke.
We said hello. We got the worst part out of the way.
I stuff a huge bite in my mouth so I don’t have to speak, looking everywhere but the painfully attractive swimmer still keeping one hundred percent of his formidable focus on me.
Our friends stare between us for a beat.
I wait for one of them to come to my rescue and fill the silence, but Nox gets there first.
“Are you back?” he asks, a rough edge to his voice. Logically, I know it’s fear or pain or guilt or any number of acceptable emotions, but I can’t help the way it strikes—sharp with accusation. Because I left. I ran. Again.
My eyes snap to his. “Are you?”
The bitterness in my voice lashes out like a whip. Nox flinches. Under the table, he closes the distance between us, stretching his foot across the divide where no one else will see—a plea, an invitation.
I screech my chair back. “I have to go.”
“Clara.”
He lunges for me, but I’ve already got my tray in hand. I’m already standing, already making excuses. “I didn’t notice the time. I told Professor Carson I’d swing by the lab to say hi.”
“Do you want company?” Willa asks, her gaze soft, her tone so full of sympathy it’s clear that everyone at this table sees right through me.
“No, no,” I stutter as I back away. “I’m fine.”
“You’ll be at the face-off, though, right?” Nova asks hopefully, giving me a chance to save face.
“Of course.” I smile tightly and offer them all a quick, reassuring gaze, careful to slide my eyes right past his. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you there!”
Before anyone can say anything else, I turn my back and dump my trash in the bin, then force my feet to slow so I’m not literally running away…
just figuratively. As soon as I’m out of sight, I collapse against the side of the building and let the hyperventilation take me.
The world slips out of focus as my lungs ache, unable to find air.
I’m lightheaded, woozy. I arch my head back and lift my face to the sky, trying to open myself up.
One blink, and all I see are his eyes.
All I hear is his voice.
All I feel is the nudge of that sneaker against my toe and the avalanche of unanswered questions barreling behind it.
Six years of therapy wrap around me like a life preserver, keeping me afloat. My mind works on instinct, fighting through the panic.
Five things I see.
Blue sky. Pointy trees. A white cloud. Airplane exhaust. Gray stones.
Four things I feel.
The rough wall at my back. The sweat between my palms. The warm sun on my cheeks. The cool breeze against my neck.
Three things I hear.
Creaking branches. Distant conversation. My own ragged breathing.
Two things I smell.
Pine and toasted, buttery goodness.
One thing I taste.
The sugary syrup still clinging to my tongue.
I let my head drop back and take a few moments to simply breathe.
Then I push off the wall and do what I always do—keep going.
Down the walkway, up the hill, and across the quad, until a familiar building slips into view.
Professor Carson is exactly where she told me she’d be when I emailed her last week and mentioned I might be coming—sitting behind her desk with her graying brown hair pulled back in a tight bun and her glasses resting on the edge of her nose.
She stares so intently at her screen I have to knock twice before she notices me in the doorway.
But when she finally does, it’s with a warm, welcoming grin.
“Clara! Come in, come in.”
“Hi, Professor Carson.” I smile back and take the seat opposite her, resisting the urge to pick at the crackling leather seat I’ve already done my fair share in ruining.
“Matilda, please.” She absently waves her hand before removing her reading glasses to take me in fully. With a deep, almost envious breath, she asks, “So, how was it?”
I tell her everything, about my lab, about the research.
I let science be my solace, the way it so often has been.
I lose myself in the data and the hypotheses as we toss the implications back and forth, volleying them like tennis balls in an endless rally, until she inadvertently spikes one over the net.
“Where are you headed next?”
The question I’ve been asking for over a year.
The one I still can’t answer.
“Oh, shoot!” I blurt, catching a glimpse of her clock. “It’s already noon. I’m supposed to be at the fields.”
So off I go, running again.
Willow House has already completed the first two activities by the time I get there, panting and out of breath. Relief brightens Nova’s face when she sees me. Willa pulls me into the team huddle with a grin. It’s a replay of Freshman Face-Off. All the same games—but only one that matters.
Dodgeball.
The boys are a shoe-in. The three of them alone could take on our entire class, not to mention the slew of other athletes on their team.
And even though I try my best to sabotage our efforts—earning a knowing stink eye from Nova—it’s no use.
Our house has an overwhelming majority of guys, most of them strong, all of them strangely motivated.
We’re the top two houses by a mile.
When the dodgeball whistle blows, I stand like a statue in the middle of the action, practically daring somebody to take me out.
Hit me, I pray. Please just freaking end this.
No one does.
In fact, Nova, Willa, and I are left suspiciously alone. I couldn’t even dive into a ball if I wanted to. Nox’s eyes burn my skin the entire time. Dread pools deep in my gut—but not surprise. On some level, I always knew where this was going.
Logan crosses his arms and grins at the three of us on the other side of the line, the last three women standing. “Well, well, well. History repeats itself.”
“I can’t believe you guys are still so bitter we won,” Nova taunts right back with a goading laugh. “You really had to orchestrate a rematch?”
“Maybe we just wanted everyone to see what would happen when you can’t flash us to win the game.”
Hands on her hips, she arches her brow at him. “I can’t?”
“I’ve already seen them, baby.” He winks.
“Aww, Logey-boo.” Nova pouts her lips with a soft tsk, then juts her thumb toward the row of eager men crowding the sidelines. A wicked grin takes over. “They haven’t.”
Before she even gets her shirt to her ribs, he’s vaulted across the line to throw her over his shoulder.
“Ref!” Nova shrieks, fighting laughter as he carries her away. “Ref!”
A whistle blows. “You’re both out!”
I turn to Willa in desperation, but she and Grant seem to be having a silent conversation without me. I’m pretty sure it consists of two words. Yeah, no. They both launch half-hearted attacks, catch their respective balls, and immediately get called out.
I glare at her as she marches past me off the field. Traitor!!
She mouths, Sorry, with a wince.
“Guess it’s just you and me.”
Nox’s voice hits me like a blast of cold air on a scorching summer night—shocking, painful, almost sinful as it puckers my skin, sinking down into the deepest parts of me. I turn my head, finally meeting his gaze. “Guess so.”
“I don’t lose,” he reminds me, continuing to mirror our conversation from all those years ago. But when I look down at his hands, they’re empty.
This time, I’m the one holding the ball.
My eyes lift back to his. “You did once before.”
“I’m not talking about the game.”
His parting words rush over me. I can’t lose you.
Suddenly, I’m furious. Even though I’ve no right to be, I am. It floods my veins like fire, bringing a bite to my voice. “Neither am I.”
Before he has time to say another word, I strike.
He could catch it, but he doesn’t. The ball hits his chest and falls to the ground.
Nox keeps his eyes on me the entire time, victory burning deep within them even as the whistle blows, as my house rushes the field, as I’m hoisted up in their cheering arms.
Because he got exactly what he wanted.