by Mandy Harbin
"Come on. I'll explain on the way."
"Have fun, you two," Jewel said, singsong.
I rolled my eyes and left the dorm, not waiting for Killian. I'd told Jewel it wasn't a date, but that hadn't stopped her from implying it was every chance she'd gotten in the hours since she'd been back. I'd had to endure her innuendoes as she'd primped for the evening, donning a skirt that'd drive the most religious man to sin, or at the very least could make her a victim of the first ever slip-and-fall pregnancy. Walking around in stilettos near a bunch of drunken guys did not a safe-sex evening make. But watching her carelessly wiggle into scraps of clothing caused an unfamiliar reaction in me. Envy. I envied her. The way she bounced through life without worries. She'd never known true fear or heart-wrenching ache.
"I'm over here," Killian said and pointed in the opposite direction than I'd started to go once hitting the parking lot. I veered to the right and followed beside him. We split at the front of his truck and got in. The engine roared to life and he backed out without beginning his explanation. Excuses. Normally, I wouldn't care. I should've been happy when he hadn't shown up, but instead I was confused. Then hurt. Then seriously pissed.
The fact he hadn't moved his arm after putting it behind me, across the back of the seat to look through the rearview window, hadn't been lost on me. He wasn't touching me, so I let it go. I wanted answers, but I didn't know how to demand them without sounding as psychotic as I felt.
He lifted his hand and rubbed his head. "I meant my grandma's ashes. Grandpa has Alzheimer's. He knows she's gone, but when something triggers a memory—happy, sad, whatever—he hides her. Most of the time, he subtly gives away the stashing place, but tonight he just rambled on about some living angel. It took me an hour to find her." He laughed humorlessly. "The damn garden. He's never taken her outside before."
We were stopped at a light, but he didn't look at me. His left knee was bouncing and he white-knuckled the steering wheel. I didn't know this guy very well. Hell, I didn't know anybody very well besides my mom, but I believed him.
"Can I get your number? That way if something like that happens again at least I can text you or something. Let you know I'm gonna be late."
"You plan on giving me a ride to other school functions?" I raised an eyebrow at him. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Was this an angle men played?
He chuckled. "Chill out, woman. I'm not gonna sneak in dates with you. If I'd known you were rooming with Jewel, I could've called her to warn you I was running late. It's just common courtesy. Besides, we need to be able to reach each other to swap expertise on our classes." He glanced at me. "Oh, I'm free Tuesday afternoon, and if that day is good for you, I can make sure I'm not scheduled to work at the advertising agency. I'm not sure what your schedule is like, so if that doesn't work for you, then let me know when you're free and I'll get off work. I'll have to make arrangements for someone to be with my grandfather either way. The last couple of episodes have been too close together. I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to handle him by myself once I moved back home, but he's getting worse."
He was like a girl. Worse actually. I knew this because I'd seen babbling chicks on television and on movies who knew when to shut up. He lacked that ability. It was as if the cosmos were playing some cruel joke by gender-swapping our personalities. But the universe didn't have a sense of humor. I had firsthand knowledge of how vicious it could be.
We pulled into a parking spot in front of the student union, and I grappled with which part to address first. I hadn't agreed to any tutoring or studying sessions with him. Was I really willing to take this step? I also wondered why he had Jewel's number, but it was none of my business. Surely, she'd have said they'd dated while she chattered on all evening. Then again, he said he didn't date. God, now I was rambling. At least I'd kept it internal. Okay, Liv, you can do this.
"Let me see your phone." His brow furrowed, but he handed it over after unlocking the screen. I created a contact for me and sent a text to my phone so I'd have his number before handing it back. It wasn't really a yes to spending time with him, but it wasn't a no either. It was a step. One of many I needed to take. "There. Now we both have each other's number." He briefly looked at it like it might bite him before putting it back in his pocket. Not knowing what he was thinking—but realizing he could be totally lost on something unrelated—I jumped to the next topic he'd mentioned. Might as well go all in. "And Tuesday is fine. I don't have anything that afternoon." I opened the door and got out. I heard him open his door and turned to watch him after I walked by the hood of his truck.
"Good," he mumbled, looking away, his jaw clenching.
What had happened to him? Why was he acting all brooding now? Did he not want me to agree to Tuesdays? No, that didn't make any sense. The few times we'd been together he'd brought it up every time. Was touching his precious phone some major sin? Was that another man thing? Hell if I knew, but I'd go with that. "You didn't have to give it to me if you didn't want to," I snapped. Jeez, I suddenly felt so out of my element, not that I'd felt completely within it before.
He stiffened without saying anything. Well, screw him. He just gave me a ride here. We hadn't agreed to hang out with each other all night. I could go in and try this friend thing with a different classmate. It'd be my luck that this was typical behavior though. No wonder I never wanted to come out of my "shell" as my therapist had called it. I started to walk way.
He lunged for me, grabbing my arm. "Wait!"
I gasped and yanked it away from him. My instinct to run away was suddenly very strong. He'd touched me before but not that quickly. I sensed he wouldn't hurt me, but my instincts were totally screwed up. He was big. And a man. The desire to flee was nearly overpowering.
He paled. "Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He lifted his hands and took a couple of steps back. "I—I've never let a chick see my phone before." He almost blushed—almost—probably realizing how silly that confession sounded.
"I'm not a chick." Not like that anyway. I crossed my arms and glared at him, willing my heart to slow. He hadn't meant to startle me, but it wasn't the first time I'd freaked about something around a man. He couldn't help it he was born with a penis. No matter how threatened I might feel in a similar situation around those born to my sex, it would never pull the same reaction from me. Maybe one day I wouldn't be so jumpy around guys.
Maybe. But doubtful.
"By definition you are, but I know what you mean. I was being silly. Sorry. Friends?" He cheesed a goofy grin, waiting. If I'd blinked I would've missed his mood change. He was all over the map, fine one minute, practically growling the next, and then cheerful. It was hard to keep up.
I could stomp off, and he'd probably let me, but what good would that do? Maybe most men were just as nuts. If so, I might as well build a friendship with one who at least wanted to be my friend and nothing more. I could overlook his crazy tendencies if he'd overlook mine. Lord knew I wasn't completely sane.
"Friends." I nodded. I took a deep breath and started toward the hall. Killian walked beside me. The silence was comfortable, but it was always comfortable for me. He was fidgeting with his fingers though, so I figured he wasn't as at ease. Something he said earlier stuck with me, and I asked before thinking better of it. "You lived with your grandparents before moving into the dorms?" If he'd moved in with them to be closer to school, why had he moved on campus? That didn't make any sense.
"Yes."
Mr. Talkative didn't elaborate. I wondered if I should ask. Maybe it was a touchy subject for him, but getting to know someone was how one made friends. If he wasn't going to spill, then it was my job to pry. Wasn't it?
He opened the door to the hall, and loud music mixed with the vocal buzzing of the crowd killed any immediate desire to carry on a conversation. Massacred it.
I should've run before when I had the chance, and now I was frozen where I stood. What the hell was I doing here?
"It's okay," Killian said
and gently rubbed my back. I resisted the urge to reject his comfort, but just barely. He was the recipient of my only growing friendship, and I needed to become accustomed to social norms. People touched each other for comfort. I knew that. I just always tried to avoid it. Until now. No, right now, I needed to be sheltered, protected.
Screw that. I had no business being around a bunch of people I didn't know. What if someone tried to hurt me again? No one was safe to be around. Anybody could look innocent and then tear your world apart. I'd been a victim because I'd been stupid. And young. I was neither of those things anymore. I flinched, my body preparing to flee. I needed to get the hell out of Dodge! But there were too many people. Maybe I could just find someplace safe to hide until everybody left, then I'd be safe...
"Easy," a deep voice murmured as a hand squeezed my shoulder.
I gaped up at the person busting through my panicked haze. Right. Killian was here. He wouldn't hurt me, would he? His touch was gentle, as if he were reassuring me, erasing my doubts. No, for some reason I knew he wouldn't attack me. I didn't know him well, but deep down I knew that to be true. You were just questioning your instincts though, remember? God, I was a mess.
My head jerked in some semblance of a nod, I hoped, and he dropped his hand. I could do this. Be normal. At least for tonight. I took a fortifying breath. No, dammit. Starting tonight. This was why I was here. I would do this. My therapists would call this progress, be impressed with my ability to face my fears. But they'd only be partly right. I knew the real reason I was doing this and it was out of guilt for my sister. Whatever drove my motivation, the result would still be the same.
"Let's head to the bar. Get some drinks?" he asked, but he was watching me, waiting for me to show any signs of being ready to proceed. I wasn't ready, but I didn't have a choice. I needed to do this.
"Okay."
He turned, and I followed behind him since his body forged a path within the horde. He got a couple of pats on the back that I dodged with forced stealth. It was either that or risk getting slapped in the head on accident. When he stopped, I'd been following so closely that I almost barreled right into his back. Thankfully, I stopped in time to avoid that minor embarrassment. I didn't need any more of those tonight.
"This way," he said over his shoulder. I followed as he maneuvered his way to the side where the punch bowl was. He turned to face me. "I'm sure it's spiked, so if you don't want alcohol, don't get the red stuff." He reached for a canned soda, and I did the same. I wasn't opposed to drinking booze, but I had my reasons for usually avoiding it. I hadn't been of legal age very long, and the few times I'd indulged, I was worried I'd be called out on it. Just because someone turned twenty-one didn't mean the fear of getting caught with a beer would just go away. The initial instinct to hide guilt was too ingrained, and I tried to avoid things that drew attention. Then again, said guilt could've been the result of being raised in the Bible belt. The other reason was because I didn't like the smell of some kinds of liquor. Brought up bad memories of some events I tried best to forget.
Regardless of any past or present reasons I usually shied away from the stuff, there was no telling what, or how much, had been put in the punch. Frankly, I wasn't willing to drink something with a liquor-to-punch ratio that was more likely to put me in the hospital than garner a nice buzz.
Killian popped open his drink and guzzled some down. I opened mine and looked around cautiously as I sipped. I wasn't sure how to do this. Be sociable. I wondered if I should start the conversation, but what should I ask? I could mention how nice it was it hasn't stormed lately, but that was cheesy. I couldn't lead with something trivial—and transparent—as the weather. God, this was hard. It seemed as if I were the only one plagued with ineptness. Girls—women—were dressed up in heels and were shamelessly flirting with guys. Heck, some were downright throwing themselves at the opposite sex. Didn't these ho-bags have any self-respect?
"So tell me about your family, Liv."
My gaze cut to Killian's. "Really? I guess that's better than asking me about the weather," I muttered. Seemed I wasn't the only one grasping for conversation topics.
He chuckled. "I wouldn't say something that lame."
"How is talking about the weather lame when we're at a hurricane relief party?" Damn, why didn't I think about that during my mental struggle?
"You got me there." The mischief in his eyes was actually soothing, and I smiled. "Would it be lame to start off with food instead? You mentioned being allergic to peanuts. Do you have any other food quirks?"
Quirks? I wouldn't classify a life-threatening condition as a quirk. I started to tell him this. Seriously, I did. But instead I said, "Pineapples. I love them cooked. Always eat them on pizza, but I can't eat them raw."
"No raw pineapples. Got it."
"And always on pizza," I said with a raised eyebrow.
"That's not quirky. Lots of people like pineapple on their pizzas. I actually like anchovies. Nobody likes anchovies."
Gross! I think I sneered. When he chuckled, I was pretty sure I had.
"So, about your family?" he asked, shifting his stance. "You mentioned your sister passed."
There went my smile.
"Oh, hey, I didn't mean to bum you out. That's all I really know. Tell me something different." He stroked my arm briefly, then shoved his hands into his pockets.
How did I answer that? I didn't feel comfortable telling him my life story, but getting to know someone was part of building a friendship. I figured I could give him the condensed version. Very condensed.
"My childhood was great, um, well, normal, up until my sister was killed. My parents divorced. My dad moved to Dallas, and I moved with my mom to a little Arkansas town. Since then, I've had your basic, co-dependent, therapy-filled life. You?" I shrugged as if what I said was no big deal and took a drink to stall because I knew the facts I'd spewed were not light conversation. I needed to steel myself for his questions. Now he was going to ask how my sister had died, and I'd have to decide how much to tell him. Her death was on my hands. There was no way around that, no matter how much my mom or therapists had said otherwise. The reality of what happened would haunt me until my dying breath.
Maybe the spiked punch would've been a better choice after all.
"I think I can top that," Killian said, devoid of any emotion. "My parents died in a murder-suicide. My mom found out my dad was having an affair." He looked at me then, but his eyes were empty, as if he were back in the memory, living it. "I can still hear her screaming. 'You sick bastard. How could you do this? Over a piece of ass?' So many accusations thrown at him. Then I heard my father roar. Against my instinct to run and hide, I ran to where they were fighting. I watched him kill her, the gun not as loud as I'd have thought, but looking back, I was in shock.
"Then he left. I followed him, not sure what I was going to do. I moved on autopilot. I was normally fucking terrified of my dad, but I think I was going to kill him. He saved me from making that decision by doing it himself. At least that's what the authorities believed. His mistress could've offed him."
Wow. He really was just as damaged as me. He was still looking at me, but not seeing my face. "At least you're not the reason your mom's dead," I said without conscious effort.
He blinked. "Your sister," he said as realization flashed in his expression.
"I killed her." Why were we talking about this? And where was the air in the room? My lungs starved for it.
Frowning, he said, "There's more to it than that." It wasn't a question, but somehow he understood, just knew. Yeah, there was more to it, but it didn't matter. She was dead because of me.
"There you are!" I jumped at the feminine squeal coming from behind. I turned just as Jewel stepped up beside me, a welcome distraction. "Hey, Killian."
"Hey, Jewel. Great job on the party." Killian motioned around the room.
"I helped," another girl said, stepping between Jewel and Killian. She was wearing what appeared to be the st
andard event uniform of slutty shoes and revealing clothing.
"Oh, hi, Chelsea." Jewel turned to me. "This is Chelsea Channing. She's the member coordinator for the JPS—Junior Philanthropy Society. Chelsea, this is Liv Musgrave, my roommate."
Chelsea's gaze flashed to mine. "Hi." Then she inched closer to Killian and put her hand on his bicep. "Hello, Killian." Her throaty words made Killian arch his eyebrow and me want to roll my mascara-less eyes. I didn't have any personal experience with this kind of behavior, but I could spot a slut a mile away.
"Hi." He smiled at her, and she beamed up at him. He lifted his hand and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
I suddenly felt like a third wheel.
"Um, Chelsea, I think we should check on the raffle baskets before we start the auction." Jewel frowned at her, and my resolve toward Roommate Barbie lessened. She got points for seeming offended on my behalf. Even though I wasn't on a date with Killian, Chelsea didn't know that.
"Jewel, that's what we have newbies for. Let them do the grunt work. I want to mingle," Chelsea said without taking her gaze off Killian. He winked at her.
Well.
Jewel suddenly squeaked and whirled. Some dude was laughing behind her.
"Did you just grab my ass?" Only she didn't sound offended. Okay, Roommate Barbie just lost the points she'd earned. Giggling at an assault was an automatic deduction.
"That's his style. Groping without permission," Killian said as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at this guy.
Dude in question looked up, seemingly unaffected by Killian's sudden mood change. "Hi, Kill. They change your aggression meds after you attacked me?"
I stared wide-eyed at Killian. Was this the guy he threw a desk at in class? Or did he make a habit of attacking people who pissed him off? He looked down at me without emotion before giving the dude his undivided attention. "Fuck off, Gabe. I'm not going to let you bait me again."
