I barely slept, tossing, and turning until the early hours while replaying my newly returned memories on repeat. I must’ve grabbed my cell phone at least half a dozen times throughout the night, my finger hovering over Dad, ready to dial, but the ungodly time stopped me from sending the call.
Now, it doesn’t.
It’s eight o’clock.
I’m showered, pampered, my scars moisturized and concealed, my clothes pressed. I’m ready for breakfast, the fresh scratches marking my neck hidden under a silk scarf. I found not one, but five in my suitcase. I’m unnaturally pleased at Dad’s foresight that I’d want to hide the scabs I’ve torn off.
It doesn’t cover everything, but a dab of concealer leaves the marks barely visible.
Inhaling a deep breath, I make the call.
“Morning, sunshine,” Dad chirps, full of smiles. I imagine his face softening, lips curling, and the almost permanent parallel lines down his forehead ironing themselves out. “How are you doing? How was the party last night?”
“It was fine. Not entirely my scene,” I admit, as I nervously twist and pull a loose thread of my thin, knitted jumper. “I’m getting my memories back, Dad.” My voice betrays how relieved I am that Dr. Phillips was right and this neutral environment is working. “Not all of them, but I remembered something last night… it just doesn’t make sense.”
“We shouldn’t talk about this over the phone.”
“But… why? I don’t understand.”
A loaded silence settles between us. I glance at the screen to make sure he’s still there.
He takes a while to respond, like he’s weighing every possible reply before settling on one. “You know how easy it is to tap a phone, sunshine.”
My eyes narrow as I glare at the opposite wall. Dad’s always been paranoid about privacy. “I know, but why does it matter if someone overhears? And why would anyone want to tap my phone? It’s new, Dad. You bought it last week.”
He grinds his teeth so hard it comes through the speaker. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter if anyone hears. I’m tired, I guess, a little more than usual.” He audibly swallows something—probably a sip of black coffee. “Go on, tell me what you remember.”
The memory returns, a short, looped clip inside my head. It’s hard to tell if Dad knows about whatever’s been happening between Alex and me, but as they work together, I don’t think opening with I remember Alex choking me is the way to go, so I edit the sentence.
“I remember Alex. Well, in a way. I don’t know who he is exactly, but I saw him twice last night. Who is he?”
Dad sighs deeply. It’s just a sigh, but I know what it means: he won’t tell me shit. “Dr. Phillips thinks it’s best I don’t say too much. You need to get those memories back in your own time. We can’t risk overwhelming you.”
“I’m not asking for a detailed rendition of the last two years, Dad. I only want to know who Alex is.”
“Hailey—”
“Just tell me he’s okay. I think he’s important to me. I was trying to stop him doing something dangerous.”
I’m rambling. Faster and faster. I fire words at him, hoping he’ll tell me something just to get me off his back.
“He works with you, doesn’t he?”
“Hailey—”
“He said he’d lose the case. Are we… Alex and I… are we together? Dating?”
“Dating?” he scoffs incredulously.
“I think we’re dating, Dad. Or were, I’m not sure. Is he worried—”
“Hailey, stop!” he snaps, all softness gone from his tone. “You’re getting worked up. I can hear your voice breaking. You’re not ready for this, it’s too soon.”
I close my eyes briefly, fighting to keep my frustrated tears at bay. “Dad, please. Give me something… one thing, okay? I promise. Just one question.”
He takes another long pause. “Fine. One answer but only if I’m sure it won’t trigger you.”
I chew my bottom lip wondering which of my hundred questions I should ask. Which is Dad most likely to answer?
Who is Alex?
Is he okay?
What case was he working?
Who is that woman he called special?
Does he miss me?
I dissect every question until last night’s panic from remembering Alex’s hands on my neck comes back, and a brand-new question barges to the front of the line.
I swallow hard, wiping my clammy palm on the bedspread. “Does he know where I am?”
“I suppose I can tell you that much. No, he doesn’t know where you are. Other than me, only Dr. Phillips does.” He pauses, probably expecting me to fire off a barrage of supporting questions, but I’m so taken aback by the relief filling my veins I can’t find words. “Maybe it’d be a good idea to start a diary? Dr. Phillips mentioned that writing things down might help you.”
“A diary…” I echo, latching onto the idea. “That’s great,” I admit, rushing across the room to rummage through my things.
I could write down the memories and hypothesize the possible answers to my questions. I could note what triggered the memory, what I felt… maybe it’d help me decipher what happened and why Dad’s lying about the accident.
He never lies, but I caught him red handed.
“Dad…” I pause halfway across the room. “I wasn’t driving that night, was I?”
“What?” he snaps, the word shaky as he feigns surprise. “Why—”
“Please don’t lie. You promised you’d never lie. My bruising isn’t from a driver-side seatbelt… I was the passenger.”
Dad exhales a shaky breath that makes my stomach drop.
“Was Alex behind the wheel?” I press. “Is he okay?”
“Hailey… I know you have a million questions, but I can’t answer them. You need to trust me.”
“How?! How am I supposed to trust you when you lied?”
“I shouldn’t have, sunshine. I’m sorry but you have to understand that I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me from what, Dad?! What the hell is—?”
A loud bang on his side of the line tells me he slammed his fist against the counter. He rarely loses his temper, so it silences me in a flash.
“I’m sorry I can’t explain,” he seethes, barely holding off from yelling. “It’s for your own good, Hailey. Focus on getting better while I deal with things here, okay?” There’s a finality laced with frustration and desperation in those words. “Now…” He clears his throat, marshaling his emotions. “Tell me about college. Have you made friends?”
I blink at the wall. My mind’s whirring, racing through possibilities. With no memories, there’s little I can decipher, but I can tell from Dad’s emotional reaction… something is wrong.
Either that, or Dad’s going through PTSD.
First, he lost his wife, now he’s almost lost his daughter. Given his line of work, the gore he witnesses daily, the men he puts behind bars, I wouldn’t blame him if the pressure finally started to bend him.
“Hailey,” Dad urges quietly. “Leave the worrying to me. You’re safe. Take your time to heal, okay?”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Okay.” I empty my lungs, waving the white flag for now. “I made a few friends. Everyone’s nice,” I mumble what he wants to hear.
Considering I was a misfit throughout high school, and he always said I should put myself out there, this should make him happy, but he doesn’t comment.
Either he’s done with this conversation and can’t get me off the phone fast enough, or sometime over the last two years I stopped being such a loner.
I drop to my knees, tipping my suitcases upside down, searching for a journal. I’ve only unpacked half my things thus far, not that keen on making myself at home here. The other half of my belongings is—or rather was—in my luggage.
Now it’s in a heap on the floor.
“I’m okay, Dad. Don’t worry.”
“How about boys?” He aims for a casual tone but fails. “Anyone interesting?”
Nash immediately springs to mind, though I have a feeling Dad’s just fishing to decide whether he needs to run more in-depth checks on anybody, rather than actually believing I might be dating so soon after my arrival.
Knowing Dad, he investigated every student and professor at Lakeside before sending me here.
And since I am here… it means I’m safe.
Even with the foreboding persona that is Nash.
His penetrating, dark gaze flashes on the back of my eyelids. His commanding aura, the way he looks, smells, and how my heart skipped a beat when he pulled me into his strong arms…
He’s definitely interesting.
A little scary, too. Maybe more than a little.
Eighteen-year-old Hailey would’ve told Dad everything, but this girl doesn’t feel like sharing while he’s refusing to help me get my memories back.
“Not at the moment.” I sink back onto the bed. “I’ll let you know if that changes anytime soon.”
“Good, good… and remember to tell me if anything feels off, okay? If something or someone seems out of the ordinary.”
He’s said that every time we’ve spoken since I arrived. Even if I hadn’t discovered I wasn’t driving the car, his constant questions about suspicious things would’ve made me wonder what the hell he’s hiding.
“I will,” I promise, Nash’s image looming larger in my thoughts. “I should head down for breakfast. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, sunshine. Take care.”
◆◆◆
Over breakfast I ask every person I’m on a first-name basis with if they have a notebook I could use or a car to take me to town.
You’d think obtaining a blank notebook wouldn’t be such a problem in a college, but it is. No one writes on paper these days. Everyone has a laptop and most students don’t carry a pen. I shouldn’t be this enraged given that I don’t own a pen either.
“I bet the dean or the professors could get you a notebook but they’re not here until Monday,” Chloe says, her voice rough after she convinced last night’s DJ to start a karaoke and screamed her vocal cords off singing “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC. “Other than the security and kitchen staff, no one’s on site at weekends.”
I poke the salad on my plate before tossing the fork aside, my appetite lost altogether.
Great. Looks like I can’t leave this place even if I find someone with a car. The dean said we need a permission slip… I can’t get one if no one’s around.
“Why don’t you type it out on your laptop?” Rachel suggests, pulling my tray closer to pick out the pomegranate seeds. “Does it have to be paper?”
I kept a diary in middle school and loved doodling in the margins and using different colors to highlight important thoughts. While I could do it on a laptop, I’d rather flick through real pages. Laptops aren’t as reliable. Batteries die, systems crash, viruses erase your hard drive.
“I’d rather write by hand if I can,” I admit.
“What are we talking about?” Jensen slides into a seat opposite mine, his eyes bloodshot from last night’s beers, skin waxy.
“Hey, you got a car, don’t you?” Chloe blabs before I can kick her in the shin.
I don’t want to owe Jensen any favors. As harmless as he seems, the fine hairs on the back of my neck raise whenever he’s too close… and not in the exciting way they do when Nash is nearby.
“I do, why?” Jensen snatches a banana off his tray, peeling the skin with shaking hands.
“Hailey needs a ride. You got time to take her?”
I know she thinks she’s helping, but I’m not nearly desperate enough to lock myself in a car with Jensen.
“Don’t worry about it,” I mutter.
Too late. He’s already smiling from ear to ear.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He casts a long look around, leaning across the table as if to place his clammy palm over mine.
Before his fingers brush my skin, his smile slips and he jerks back, dropping the half-peeled banana.
“Actually, I can’t…” His chair scrapes the floor as he jumps to his feet, squirming in place. “Sorry, swee—Hailey. I can’t take you. I forgot I have a thing and I’m late. I’ll see you later.”
He scutters away, leaving me with two wrinkles between my brows. Chloe doesn’t look any less confused.
“That was weird,” she breathes.
“You’ve known the guy for ten years and you only now realize he’s weird?” Amari pipes in. “I could smell it on him the day he arrived.”
“You knew each other before Lakeside?” I question, peering over my shoulder.
I can’t see anything behind me that could have startled him while Chloe explains she and Jensen attended the same private schools for years.
Liquid heat pools in my belly and my heart skips a beat when I spot Nash by the coffee machine. His back is to me so I shamelessly scrutinize his every move as he pokes the buttons, shoving a paper cup under the nozzle.
“What are you staring at?” Chloe nudges my shoulder.
I spin around. “Just wondering who else might have a car and a free afternoon,” I lie, disgusted that I’m daydreaming about a guy who may or may not have threatened me last night.
Looks like I’m into broody, rude bad boys these days…
Great.
I change the topic and spend the next fifteen minutes listening to all the fun things people do around here during the weekend, my foot nervously bouncing against the floor.
“I’ll catch you guys later,” I say the minute they start discussing their evening plans.
Dropping my half-eaten breakfast in the trash, I fill up my takeout coffee cup to the brim and head out, waving bye to my new friends.
Would it be super weird if I sat in the parking lot, asking everyone who leaves if they’ll take me with them?
Probably…
Besides, I doubt anyone would agree to lock me in the trunk until we pass the gate.
Lost in my absurd thoughts, I don’t spot the tall, dark figure leaning against the building. Not until I hear the jingle of keys. My head whips to the side where Nash stands, absorbing the space around him like a black hole. Everything else fades into the background while he pins me down with a pointed stare.
His face is always so stoic and impassive, only occasionally breaking into an arrogant smirk.
“You ready to go?” he asks, nothing warm about his tone, or his eyes as they slowly rake over me, starting at the crown of my head and traveling all the way south. My skin heats on cue.
He does this every time we meet, like he enjoys making me squirm.
“Go?” I cuckoo. “Go where?”
“Town. I heard you asking Jensen for a ride.”
“Chloe did,” I correct. “I didn’t realize you had a car here…” Otherwise I would’ve asked him.
Who are you kidding?
Exactly. Who am I kidding? I’m too scared to ask him for a favor.
I roll my eyes at the last thought. He’s not that scary…
Nash inhales a sharp breath, taking a threatening step forward and proving me wrong.
“Why did you do that?” he grits out, his warm breath tickling my forehead.
“What?”
His jaw works in tight circles, annoyance exuding from him in waves. “You rolled your eyes.”
“I had a silly thought—”
“Don’t do that again.”
“Why?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, letting his dark eyes trail down my frame. “Just don’t. You want that ride or not?”
I’m honestly not so sure it’s smart getting in a car with him. “Why would you take me with you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I bite my lip, weighing my options.
I can’t figure him out. He looked ready to hurt me on Wednesday. He toned it down last night and today there’s almost no trace of anger as he waits until I make my mind up.
“I don’t bite,” he adds, straightening his back, ready to walk off—a clear signal that I’m running out of time. He makes me feel like a rabbit in a trap when he’s this close. Small, helpless and insanely thrilled.
“Are you sure? I bet you have rabies.”
The smirk curling his lips resembles an actual smile.
“Let me rephrase. I don’t bite unless you want me to.” He motions through the trees toward the parking lot. “I won’t ask again, Hailey.” And with that he starts walking, keys jiggling in his hand.
He carries himself with a confidence few could muster. King of the world but not an aristocratic way. No, Nash walks, talks, looks, and smells like danger. Like the king of the underworld. Devil on a throne of thorns. Every step is threatening, every look piercing. An aura of importance drones around him, making me question my own sanity because, as menacing as he is, he’s irresistible.
“Will you take me to a stationery store?” I call out, losing the battle with common sense. “I need a notebook.”
“I’m aware.”
Is that yes, I’ll take you, or…
I stomp my foot. He doesn’t make conversation easy.
“Okay, fine. Wait!”
To my surprise, he stops. I expected him to keep walking, but he glances over his shoulder and only starts moving again when I catch up. He doesn’t speak as we navigate the path; the loaded silence gets me all kinds of restless.
“So… what car do you drive?” I ask, aiming for small talk.
“Why? Are there any cars you won’t sit your pretty ass in?”
There’s that word again: pretty.
It’s nothing. He doesn’t mean it and I’m a complete fool for blushing: an even bigger fool for the gleeful thoughts swirling in my head.
He called my ass pretty!
Pathetic.
“When have you been admiring my ass?”
“Any chance I get,” he retorts, not an ounce of shame about the admission. “Does that…” He points at a fully restored old muscle car, “…meet your expectations?
“Powerful and big. Exactly what I thought it would be.”
I round the hood to take the passenger seat, but before I touch the handle, Nash is there, opening the door for me. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a man with manners.
“Overcompensating much?” I muse.
He cocks an eyebrow, holding the hint of a smile as he silently urges me to continue.
“I’ve seen your teenie weenie, remember?”
“Sounds like you need another peek, pretty girl. Not all men who have big cars are compensating.” He leans in so close his lips almost brush my ear, his warm, minty breath sending shivers down my spine. “It’s sad that’s what you’re used to. Must’ve been disappointing.” Straightening back, he gestures to the seat.
He shuts the door as soon as I’m inside, giving me a few precious seconds to cool off while he heads for the driver’s seat. I need to cool off because those few loaded words are enough to ignite a fever in my blood.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he orders, turning the key.
The engine roars to life. Literally roars, the noise almost deafening before the idle speed drops.
“Shit.” I grab his wrist as he takes the gearshift, my nerve endings tingling at the feel of his warm skin. “I don’t have a permission slip. I need to ride in the trunk.”
“A permission slip?”
My eyebrows draw together. “Yes. We need one whenever we want to leave the grounds. You don’t have one either?”
“That’s bullshit, Hailey. I’ve been in and out all week. No one’s checking permission slips.”
“But… it’s in the rules.”
Nash outstretches his arm over my seat, turning around while he reverses out of the parking space. “What rules?”
“Did you not get the Rules of Conduct handbook from the dean?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “All I got was a map and my class schedule.”
“Oh…” My eyes narrow, the dean’s words bouncing in my head. Why would she tell me we’re not allowed to leave if—“Maybe it’s only me who needs permission,” I mutter more to myself than Nash, inwardly cursing my father’s lies.
Healing in a neutral environment my ass.
“And why would that be?”
My heart thumps faster as I stare out the window, all the reasons why flashing through my head. “Good question.”
