parked a few doors down from Eva’s building, I dial my father. The phone rings twice before he picks up.
“Cole, thank you for calling me back. I only waited twenty-four hours this time.” His voice is smooth and cool. The voice he uses at work with his colleagues and with me when I irritate him, which is quite often.
Groaning, I hold the phone a bit away from my ear, bracing for the familiar reprimand. “You’re welcome. What can I do for you, Dad?”
“Your mom is getting all excited about the break. I want to make sure you’ll make an appearance,” he says, his voice tinged with expectation and caution. I picture him in his study, the dim light casting shadows over his furrowed brow. Like I would ever do anything to hurt the woman I adore.
“I’ll be there,” I reply, my gaze fixed on the building across the street. The real reason for my visit isn’t Dad or even Mom. It’s her. I know she will go see her dad, and I’ll be there too.
“Oh… good.” He probably expected a fight like the one we had last year. My first year has been chaotic; I know that. I realize now that it was my way of grieving my relationship with Eva without admitting it to anyone, especially myself. I have hurt my mother more than I care to admit, albeit accidentally, but she never deserved that.
“Hey, while I have you on the phone, I was wondering what you know about the Sinclairs,” I ask, trying to sound casual. My fingers drum against the steering wheel, betraying my eagerness.
A heavy sigh comes through the phone. “What did you do now? Should I brace myself for another scandal? How much money will it cost me this time?”
I wince, feeling the familiar sting of his assumptions. “It’s not about a scandal. I told you, Dad, the baby wasn’t mine. You saw the test results yourself. Don’t be like that.”
“We did all the checks on Mark Sinclair. You know we’ll never let anyone in Crescent Academy without a background check worthy of the CIA. He’s a clean and decent man. Why are you wondering about him now?”
“What about his daughter? She disappeared for a year.”
“Why are you interested in his daughter?”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens. “What’s the harm in knowing more about her?”
There’s a pause, long enough for me to watch a couple stroll by, laughing in their own blissful world. “Cole”—his tone grows stern—“stay away from Evangeline Sinclair. I mean it.”
Sneering at the warning, the question slips out. “Why? She’s not good enough for the Westbrooks?”
“On the contrary,” he replies, and I can almost hear the shake of his head. “I think she might be too good for you.”
His words hit home, echoing a truth that’s hard to deny. Eva is different, special in a way that’s hard to pin down.
“Just like Mom is too good for you.”
“Yes, exactly like that,” he replies, and I’m surprised that he agrees so easily. “But the main difference is that I make her world a better place; you most likely won’t.”
That stings, particularly as doubts begin to surface. Her breakdown in the rage room rattled me far more than I’m ready to admit, and getting drunk didn’t help ease the guilt.
Thoughts turn to my mother, the quirky, extraordinary woman my father adores, whose presence fills our home with a unique warmth. I had wanted Eva to meet her, to share a piece of my world that I hold dear. My mother would have loved her, I’m sure of it. I can still picture it, my mother being the maternal figure that she lacks and Eva being the daughter my mother always craved. It will happen; it has to.
“Cole?” The warning in my father’s voice is clear.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Stay away,” I reply absentmindedly while keeping my eyes on her building. “I’ll talk to you later, Dad.”
“Call your mother!” he adds before I hang up.
The thing is, my girl has always been a model of rationality and cool, and that version I saw in the rage room broke my heart far more than anything. She’s not a drama queen, and I understand now what I refused to hear that night in her room. It’s about far more than just the stupid, cruel prank I pulled on prom night. It has to be. She isn’t weak. I need to know what she thinks I did. Getting closer to her is the only way to find out, and she’s not at all receptive.
The memory of prom night haunts me now. She had the brightest smile when she exited the car, and when I saw it fade after my cruel words, I regretted it almost immediately. My pride was wounded; she had refused to help me cheat and spilled my secret. I wanted revenge, or so I thought.
Twenty minutes into the ball, with Jenny hanging off my arm, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I should have at least talked to Eva, let her explain. So I walked out, only to find she wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t. What did I expect? That she would hang around waiting for me? So I played my part as Cole Westbrook for the rest of the night, but my mind was elsewhere.
Instead of joining the after-party, I drove to her house, my heart a jumble of hope and anxiety. The house stood dark and empty, which was weird, since Coach rarely left his house in the evenings. I waited for hours, each minute stretching out endlessly, but she never showed. Coach was nowhere to be found either. And that was it; I’d never seen her again.
An overwhelming sense of loss overtook me then. It was more than just confusion; it was a deep, gnawing pain, a kind of despair I hadn’t anticipated.
It was as if this one misguided act was enough to erase all the good we had. Every moment, every laugh, every kiss—it felt like they were being pulled away from me, leaving behind a void that I couldn’t comprehend. I felt abandoned, irrationally so, as if her disappearing was a deliberate act to tell me I wasn’t worth an explanation, not even worth a chance to make things right between us.
Looking at the photo on my phone—the math test from the box, evidence of her cheating for me. I refocus as Eva exits her building. My plan is petty but necessary. Her car won’t start; I’ve seen to that, but I need her to need me. She’s not ready to talk like an adult.
And you are? The voice in my head taunts me. You’re too intense every time you see her, too brutish.
I know I am, but it’s like I lose control when she’s around, like I’m more animal than man, and all I want is her by my side. It’s not a side of me I particularly like, but I can’t control it with her. The more she fights me when I try to be civilized, the more I slip, resorting to conniving methods, at least for the time being.
She gets in, and I smile as I see her mutter under her breath. I don’t know what Shane messed up in her car, but it seems to be doing the trick.
She rests her forehead against the steering wheel, and I almost feel bad… almost. We would not be here if she’d been willing to listen.
She gets out of her car and looks at her watch with apparent desperation.
“Okay, she’s ready for me,” I say out loud as I reach for the handle. I freeze as a vintage black car drives into the parking lot, and I see the look of both relief and joy on her face.
The fuck… I open the door as the Mustang stops beside her, and I’m about to cross the street to remind whoever is bringing that look to her face that she’s already spoken for when a giant of a man steps out of the car.
“Fuck me…” I mutter as I take in a James Dean on steroids dressed in ripped jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket.
I’m not a small man by any criteria, but this one… fuck me! He must be at least six-six with muscles that… I have to admit I’m no match for him, and a fight will obviously end with my death.
A guttural growl slips out as she jumps in his arms. Something inside of me snaps, and it’s so painful I find myself rubbing my chest.
He puts her back on the ground and cradles her cheek, towering over her. She rests her tiny hand on top of his, and I pray to whoever is willing to listen that he won’t kiss her because if he does, I’ll go to war, and if I die at her feet, well, so be it.
But he doesn’t, and she points at her car. He asks her something, and she pops open the hood. Of course he would know how to fix the car.
I scowl as I see his full face now; he’s older… too old for her. He’s probably thirty. What is a thirty-year-old doing with a nineteen-year-old girl? My scowl deepens… Predator.
The irony is not lost on me as I snap a photo of him to get more info on the pest.
He shakes his head and closes the hood, and I grin. Ah, you’re not that good now, are you?
He gestures to her to get in his car, and she does.
Retreating to mine, I watch them drive away. Frustration and something akin to jealousy gnaw at me. Starting the engine, I follow at a distance, comforted by the knowledge that the tracking app I installed on her phone will keep her within reach—the best five grand I have ever spent. I’d set a trap: an email sent from a university account offering VIP concert tickets. Once she clicked the link, I was in. It was a questionable move, but my desperation to understand, to untangle the web between us, left me with little choice.
Eva Sinclair, you might be too good for me, but I can’t let you go. Not yet. Not until I find out the truth.
Following them to Titan, a garage on the south side, causes me to deviate from my plan of taking her to my garage, which is under my control. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I watch from a distance, a mix of irritation and curiosity brewing inside me.
The stranger, with his light-brown hair and striking blue eyes, is the kind of guy that makes me uneasy. He’s got this effortless charm about him, the kind that draws people in. And Eva, with her laughter that could light up the darkest room, always did have a type. It’s irritating to admit, even to myself, but she’s drawn to guys like him.
Watching them exit the garage, their brief hug stirs a pang of jealousy, especially seeing her lean into him. She then heads off toward the bus stop, leaving him to return to his car.
As she disappears toward the bus stop, a plan forms in my mind. I need to know more about this guy, this unexpected variable in my already complicated equation with Eva. I start my car, the engine’s low hum a steady backdrop to my racing thoughts. I follow his car at a safe distance, my eyes never leaving the rear lights.
He drives to a bar that looks like it’s seen better years, its exterior rough and uninviting.
After waiting a few minutes, I step out of my car, my footsteps slow and measured. Peering through the window of his car, I find nothing but an unsettling neatness.
“Can I help you with something, boy?” His voice is unexpectedly close, rough with a hint of amusement.
Straightening up, my stare fixes on him. He towers over me, his posture relaxed yet imposing. I stand my ground, unwilling to show any weakness.
“Just admiring your car,” I say, forcing a nonchalant tone. “Thinking of buying it, actually.”
He chuckles, a sound that grates on my nerves. “Is that why you’ve been tailing me?”
I rest my hand on the roof. “I love it. Are you selling?”
He gives me a half smile that’s more mocking than anything else. “Is that why you’ve been following me since Hoover Street? For my car?”
Maintaining a smooth expression is challenging; the surprise at being discovered is not easy to mask. I thought I’d been so stealthy, and yet…
“Yes, I want to buy it.”
“Is that right?”
I nod.
He lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head. “It’s not for sale, but if you’re looking for vintage cars, go to Wills after Junction 16. He’s the best.”
“Wills, okay. And who should I say referred me?” Give me your name, asshole.
His smile widens, as if he can see right through my plan, and it unnerves me even more. It’s a cat-and-mouse game, and I’m not used to being the mouse.
“No referral needed.”
“But—”
As he walks away, he calls over his shoulder, “Sometimes it’s best to just let go, don’t you think? Knowing when to give up is sometimes the smartest thing to do.”
Standing there, watching him disappear back into the bar, frustration and curiosity swirls inside me. Who is he? And how does he fit into her world? My mind races with questions, but one thing is clear—I need to keep an eye on Eva. I slide back into my car, the leather seat cool against my skin. As I watch his black car from my spot, everything becomes clear. I know what I have to do next.
