Matters of the Hart (The Hart Series Book 3)

by M. E. Carter

  Harold, my new counselor, warned me that I might end up having feelings for her—it’s not unusual to mistake feelings of protection for love. But he’s wrong about this. Sure, whenever I think about how she was assaulted it throws me into a rage. But I don’t think about it that way anymore. Or at least not as often as I did.

  Now I find myself only thinking about her. About how much I enjoy our daily texts and hanging out in the quad drinking coffee or at Buck’s watching football. How she makes me laugh when she gets pissed when I pull ahead of her in fantasy football. How I’m looking forward to tailgating with her and learning how to cook brisket in the back of a truck.

  I like being with her. She’s everything I ever wanted in a girl. She’s smart. She’s beautiful. She loves football. She’s interested in me, not my family, which is a big plus when you have a celebrity parent.

  Plus, she’s strong in her mindset and low drama in her emotions. She’s literally the perfect woman.

  But she’s also still struggling. I know I didn’t know her before the attack, but from the way she talks, I don’t think she’s ever been as insecure as she is now. She works hard at pushing through things that make her uncomfortable; I can see it in her eyes. She’s determined to stop hiding behind the sweatpants and that damn bulky hoodie.

  Which is why I’m surprised to see her in jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt, not the hoodie, as I fling the door to my dorm open when she arrives to study.

  Gaping, I look her up and down before my eyes finally land on the scowl on her face.

  “If you say one word about what I’m wearing, I will go back to my place and put the bulky clothes on again, got it?”

  Trying not to smile at her feisty little threat, I close my mouth, nod once, and gesture for her to follow me. As she passes by, I can’t help but notice how her clothes cling to her body. She’s thin, but not skinny, with curves in all the right places. I tilt my head and bite my bottom lip when I see the way her jeans hug her ass. It’s literally the first time I’ve seen the shape of it. I like it. She’s got a bit of junk in her trunk.

  The dude who sits at the sign-in desk, Mike or Mark or whatever the hell his name is, snickers, and I know I’ve been caught checking her out. I wink at him, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu about this scene, but dismissing it quickly.

  “Second floor. Down the first hall,” I direct as we walk to the stairwell. She glances over her shoulder, making sure I’m following right behind her, which I am, and I have the fleeting thought that I’d be willing to follow her almost anywhere.

  It only takes a few seconds to get to my room and head inside.

  “Nice place,” she says as she puts her backpack on the floor and peruses the room. It’s nothing fancy. Standard stuff—two desks, two small dressers, two twin beds that partially fold away to give us extra walking room when we’re not sleeping.

  And a fifty-inch TV hanging on the wall, courtesy of my roommate who refused to live here without access to Netflix. It’s not like we watch it very much. But in hindsight, I’m glad he thought of it. Suddenly, I have visions of Annika snuggling in close to me while watching scary movies on my bed. Maybe Germaine was onto something.

  “It’s really”—she looks for the right word—“clean.”

  She seems almost apologetic for assuming it would be a dump. If it was just me, it might be. “My roommate is a clean freak.”

  “I can tell.” She runs her finger from one side of the dresser to the next. “There’s not even any dust.”

  I gesture to the door. “There won’t be any on the top of the doorjamb, either. I’m not exaggerating that he has an entire bucket of supplies under his desk.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nod. “He even mops once a week.”

  She plops herself on my bed. I like that she’s comfortable enough to do that. “Man, I wish I had a roommate like that. I can’t even get Lauren to pick up her dirty clothes half the time. I don’t know how her workout clothes aren’t moldy from leaving them wadded up on the floor, all sweaty.” She sticks her tongue out in disgust.

  “Well”—I clap my hands together—“as much as I enjoy hearing all about Lauren’s gross laundry habits”—she giggles which makes me feel about ten feet tall; I love that sound—“we both have studying to do. You wanna take my bed or my desk?”

  She twists her lips as she weighs her options, looking around the room. Gently bouncing up and down a couple times, she makes up her mind. “I’m comfortable right here. Can you pass me my backpack?”

  We shoot the shit a little more as we get situated in our respective locations and tuck into our studies. Without having any overlapping classes, it’s not like we can help each other. But between practices and work, which I finally went back to last week after requesting some extra time off, and her heavy load of science classes, it became obvious that I needed to get a little creative when it comes to spending time with her. Even sitting silently while we focus on our individual studies is better than not seeing her at all.

  No, I haven’t made a move on her yet. I’m waiting until I know she’s ready for that. Until I know she likes me as more than a friend and won’t get freaked out. I’m almost positive she has feelings for me, I just hope they aren’t exaggerated because of how I helped her. That would suck; my feelings for her have nothing to do with that night. Nothing at all.

  I drum my pencil on my desk to the beat of my homework music in the background, trying to focus on genetics, but my brain doesn’t want to wrap around the minute details that go along with cell division. Like she can feel my frustration from across the room, Annika tosses a wadded-up piece of paper at me.

  Startled and not quite sure what’s being thrown at me, I bat it away long after it’s already landed on my desk then turn to see what she’s doing.

  “Having a hard time over there, Hart?” She grins mischievously at me while pulling a stack of mail out of her backpack and sorting through it.

  I groan. “How am I supposed to go to med school if I don’t give a shit about mitosis versus meiosis and all the other bullshit that goes along with it?”

  She furrows her brow and answers playfully. “Um, med school has more than blood and guts to it.”

  “I hope. I know I need to learn this stuff as the foundation to everything else, but jeez, man. This is not high on my excitement list.”

  She drops most of the mail on her lap, ripping open a thick envelope. “I bet you like anatomy and physiology better. All the bones and muscles and ligaments. It’s awesome. But whatever you do, don’t take it with Henderson. He totally gets off on making people cry in class.”

  “For real?”

  She nods as she opens the packet of paper in front of her. “Yep. I watched some guy weep for almost forty-five minutes after Henderson ripped him a new one in front of everyone for answering a question wrong.”

  “Isn’t that an upper-level class? How did you take it your freshman year?”

  “I’m smart,” she says with a shrug.

  I snicker. “And modest too.”

  When she doesn’t answer, I look at her closer. “Annika?” She still doesn’t answer, her eyes glued to the papers in front of her, mouth gaping open. “Annika, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t… Holy shit. How could they…?”

  She’s not making any sense, but I know instinctively that something is very wrong. Jumping off my chair, I practically launch myself onto the bed, terrified of what she’s looking at. She looks up at me, eyes huge, face devoid of any color.

  “They’re making me pay for it, Jaxon. I didn’t do anything, and they’re making me pay for it.”

  Snatching the papers out of her hand, I quickly read them over. It’s a bill from the hospital for six thousand dollars for services rendered.

  We knew it would come eventually, but holding it in my hands brings everything back again. And if that isn’t jarring enough, right there on the front page is an itemized list. In big bold letters it says Sexual Assau
lt Kit – $1200.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe, not believing what I’m seeing. How can they make the victim of a violent crime pay for her own evidence? She had GHB in her system. She was found behind a dumpster. She’s the victim.

  Seeing red, I crumple the paper in my fist and bang my hand on my forehead, trying to get the images of that night out of my mind again. Annika, half naked and unconscious lying in a puddle of who knows what in a back alley. The alarmed look on the guy’s face when he realized he’d been caught. Hearing her groan and making the choice to save her life and let him go.

  I let him go.

  Realizing she is probably having similar thoughts, I try desperately to control my breathing, so I don’t scare her. She was doing so well. I don’t want to see her go back to hiding behind her sweats.

  We were both doing so well.

  Hearing her soft cries, I snap out of my red-haze fog to see tears streaming down her face. She looks shell-shocked and bewildered, and all I want to do is make it better for her. Taking her face in my hands, I speak gently, trying to calm her down. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. We’ll take care of this, okay? You don’t have to worry about it. Let me take care of it.”

  She looks vulnerable and timid. It kills me to see her like this. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met. The look on her face as she looks into my eyes crushes me. Her words crush me.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? Was I dressed too slutty? Should I have not been drinking? I didn’t push him away, Jaxon. I never said no. It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

  “No, baby, no,” I say a little stronger, trying to get through to her, but not sure how. “Don’t even think that. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I was there, baby. You didn’t say yes, okay? You never said yes. You didn’t deserve it, and you don’t deserve”—I throw the bill on the floor, wishing I could burn it on the spot—“you don’t deserve that either. You know that, right?”

  She squeezes her eyes tight, trying hard to believe me, but she’s completely rocked to her core. We both are. It feels like a punch to the gut, which makes me pissed off to think about what it feels like to her.

  I can feel her pulling away from me, caving in on herself emotionally. I’ve never seen her like this, and it scares the shit out of me. So I do the only thing I can think of to make her more comfortable; I cross the room to my dresser, pull out the biggest sweatshirt I own and help her put it on over her clothes. Then I lie down on the bed, pulling her as tight to me as I can to protect her. Her silent cries seem to last for hours until she finally falls asleep, exhausted from emotion.

  I hold her all night long, even when she thrashes around, having nightmares again for the first time in several weeks.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Annika

  That night in Jaxon’s dorm was brutal. When I saw the hospital bill, the detailed hospital bill, in the envelope, I felt victimized all over again. I knew there would be charges from the doctor and the medication they gave me. But the rape kit?

  All I could think about was that I was paying for people to take pictures of me. Private pictures of the private areas of my naked body. Pictures I didn’t even want. They are billing me for my own humiliation and degradation. It pissed me off, but that anger took a back seat to how small I felt. All I wanted to do was hide. I couldn’t get far enough inside myself to get away from it. I felt exposed, even sitting in Jaxon’s room, only the two of us. I just knew, knew, that everyone else in that building, everyone on campus, had seen those pictures.

  Obviously, I wasn’t thinking rationally, but when you are feeling that kind of vulnerability, it doesn’t matter. When Jaxon pulled his giant hoodie over my head and let me hide inside of it, I could finally let the sadness come out. Besides that first day when I came home from the hospital, I had never cried over my attack. It was cathartic to let go, to get it out. It felt like a weight had lifted off me somehow. That’s not to say I wasn’t embarrassed by my display. I’m not normally that emotional. I like staying on an even keel. Then I woke up the next morning after a terrible night’s sleep, hoping Jaxon didn’t think I was too much trouble to bother with anymore. That thought terrified me more than anything.

  Somehow in all of this, I fell for him. In head-over-heels-let-me-have-your-babies love with him. I would never tell him how I feel. At least not now. There’s still too much shit in my brain to make me a good girlfriend. But I’m hopeful that someday I’ll heal more. Until then, I’ll accept the comfort of his friendship. Because if he turned me away now, I’m not sure how I’d react. He’s too much of the rock in my life right now.

  I’m sure that’s not exactly the makings of a healthy relationship, but it’s working, so I don’t care.

  In the meantime, I continue to keep my head down, force myself into jeans each day, and plow my way through the fear. Jaxon’s words from long ago have become my mantra.

  Be angry. Stay angry for as long as you need, until you feel like you’ve pushed through the hard parts. Let your anger fuel you to be the best you can be.

  So I do. I channel my anger into proving my emotions wrong. Into proving everyone wrong who would ever look at me with pity if they knew what I had gone through. And I function to the best of my ability giving fear and humiliation the figurative middle finger while I do it.

  It’s working for the most part. There’s only one hurdle I still can’t seem to get over—going out with Lauren. The idea of being at a club or party with only her at my back is debilitating. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is I can’t go into public with her at all. Not even to dinner or the movies. I don’t know if it’s because she was there that night and didn’t help me, which is ridiculous because there was no way she could have known what was happening.

  My new therapist, Necia, says it boils down to basic association, and it should fade over time. Lauren was there that night. She’s the one who pushed and pushed me to go that night. Her critical eye and opinions are why I wore that stupid dress that I’m glad I’ll never see again. Association. All of it comes back to Lauren and that night.

  Necia also warned that since Jaxon rescued me, I associate him with safety. I stared blankly with a look on my face that said “duh” when she told me that.

  Still, as I sit on my bed staring out the window instead of at the textbook on my lap, I know I have to say something to Lauren. Blowing her off isn’t working; the excuses are running out, and she’s getting irritated. A showdown is coming, and I have to decide how much to tell her. I’m out of excuses and with tonight being Halloween, she is going to put on more pressure than usual, I know it.

  My phone beeps with a text, giving me a breather from my wayward thoughts.

  Jaxon: Bill is paid. If you get anything else from them, throw it away. Don’t even open it.

  My eyes widen in surprise at Jaxon’s words.

  Me: What do you mean the bill is paid?

  Jaxon: Just what the word paid means. They have the money so don’t give them any more.

  Me: What?? Jaxon, you don’t have that kind of money!

  Jaxon: No, but my dad has a foundation that does. And one of the umbrellas of it is solely to help people pay extravagant medical bills. He put in a call yesterday to the treasurer, and they had an emergency vote by email. Decision was unanimous. Your bill has been paid, and you never have to think about it again.

  Tears well up in my eyes as I run my fingers over the screen of my phone. I can’t believe after all these weeks, he’s still taking care of me. I’m not his problem. This isn’t his issue. And yet, he doesn’t ever hesitate to try and make things better.

  After taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves, I respond.

  Me: Thank you. I don’t think you know what that means to me. I don’t think you know what you mean to me.

  His response is almost instantaneous.

  Jaxon: I’d do anything for you, Annika.

  Trying not to swoon, I hold my phone to my chest and close my e
yes tight, enjoying the feeling his words bring. Someday, I’ll tell him how in love I am with him. Someday.

  Before I can respond, another text comes through.

  Jaxon: What are you doing tonight?

  Me: Studying. Midterms are coming up. I want to get a jump on that. You?

  Jaxon: Germaine is dragging my ass to a Halloween party at the Kappa Phi house.

  Me: That sounds… Fun?

  Jaxon: No, it doesn’t. But I’ve put it off too long. I need to spend some “quality time” with my boys. That’s his excuse, anyway.

  Me: Don’t you spend quality time with him every day at practice?

  Jaxon: That’s exactly what I said! Apparently, practice doesn’t count as bonding time. Wanna go with us? We can make fun of all the slutty costumes together.

  Me: Lol. And interrupt your male bonding? Hell no.

  Jaxon: It was worth a shot. Gotta run before he steals my phone and doesn’t give it back. Call me if you need anything, got it?

  Me: *cue military salute* Yes, sir.

  Jaxon: Smart ass. I’ll call you later.

  I click my phone off just as the door opens and Lauren comes sauntering in, the clack of her too-high heels practically ticking off the seconds before the inevitable conversation.

  Spinning in a circle, she shows off her slutty wizard outfit.

  “I’m not sure that’s what JK Rowlings had in mind when she wrote Hermione’s character,” I quip.

  She glares at me, hands on her hips. “Hermione grew up eventually. I’m sure she pulled out her short robe whenever they went clubbing.”

  “Hogwarts was out in the middle of nowhere. There weren’t any clubs around.”

  She rolls her eyes and fluffs her hair in the mirror, making sure her wizard hat is staying put. “Then use your imagination. There’s only a few ways I can think of to stay entertained when you’re away at boarding school. Especially when your boyfriend is right down the hall.” She winks at me, and her expression changes and her shoulders drop when she finally seems to notice I’m not dressed for a party. “Annika, we have to leave in like ten minutes if we’re going to get there before the booze is watered down. Get a move on, girl.”