Both Jordan and Amber stare at him as if he suggested we spend an enjoyable evening at home, snapping heads off live chickens.
Laughing, I drape my arm around Amber’s shoulders and pull her close. “He’s kidding. Chase was the king of perfect attendance in high school. I wouldn’t be half-surprised if he still has his old crown.”
Chase smirks. “You’re just jealous.”
I snort. “You’re right. I am. You know damn well that crown should have been mine.”
Chase cracks up and I chuckle. Having a perfect attendance in school had never been a burning ambition of mine. It’s a miracle my old math teacher managed to convince me to show up and study, period. Missing school and getting laid were two of my greatest achievements—until I pulled my act together.
I grab a handful of microwave popcorn from the oversize bowl on Amber’s leg. Smoky is resting against the other one, between Amber and Jordan. Not the most exciting way to spend our last night of freedom before we start back at school, but I don’t care what we do, as long as I’m with Amber.
Still laughing, Chase turns the TV on and selects Superman. We’ve been watching it for forty-five minutes when Amber’s phone vibrates against the scratched, fake-wood coffee table. She picks it up and checks the display.
“It’s Emma.” She hands me the popcorn bowl and walks toward my bedroom. Smoky gives a disgruntled meow at being disturbed and jumps off the couch.
“Hey, what’s up?” Pause. “Why?” She listens for a moment. “Okay okay.” She returns to the couch and removes the phone from her ear. “Chase, change the channel to fifty-nine.” The twenty-four hour news channel.
“What’s going on?” Jordan asks.
Amber shrugs. “I have no idea. She said to watch the news.”
Chase flips channels.
“…For those who aren’t familiar with the news story, Amber Scott was the seventeen-year-old who was allegedly kidnapped by Paul Carson and held captive for eighteen days during the spring. According to Mr. Carson’s sister, Rosemary Carson, Amber was never kidnapped. Rosemary reported that she has handed over love letters to the police that were written by Amber to the accused. Miss Carson claims the teen seduced her emotionally unstable brother and convinced him to stop using his meds. The letters imply that the teen was into brutal sex, including beatings and manacles, and outlined in graphic detail what she wanted him to do to her. The police have confirmed that they have received them….”
What the fuck! The reporter continues talking, but I’m no longer listening.
Amber’s face has been stripped of color and she stares openmouthed at the TV. At some point during the report she dropped the phone. Emma’s higher-than-normal voice shrills from it. “Amber? Are you there?”
Amber doesn’t make a move for it. I can’t tell if she’s having a flashback or is in shock. Or maybe even both.
I grab the phone from the floor. “Emma, she’ll call you back.”
“Why would they say something like that?” Emma whispers, though I can’t tell if the words are for me or for herself.
I don’t have time to deal with Emma so I hang up. I have to figure out what the hell is going on. That’s more important than anything else.
I glance between Jordan and Chase. Both are looking at Amber, waiting for her to say something. Anything. Amber and Jordan have been friends for only four months, and most of that time Jordan didn’t know the truth about Amber. I know Amber better than any of them. None of what the reporter said is true. The woman doesn’t know Amber. If she did, she wouldn’t be reporting these lies. There’s no doubt Amber’s been violated. The scars, the nightmares, and every time we make love, there are the little things, which she probably doesn’t realize she does, that tell me she’s been abused. If the reporter knew Amber like I do, there would be no question that the psychopath’s sister is lying. They wouldn’t be reporting this crap on the news.
“You believe her.” Amber’s voice is empty. Destroyed.
Frowning, I whip around to face her. What the fuck? How can she believe that? She knows how much I get her and get what she’s been through.
She shifts away from me, the emptiness mirrored on her face. Her body shakes violently, like it did when we were at the youth center last semester and she had a flashback during a thunderstorm. She’s not even paying attention to Chase or Jordan. Her pain is directed at me.
“That’s not true,” I say.
Her phone vibrates in my hand. Thinking it’s Emma, I’m about to put it back on the table when I spot the name. Shit. I hand Amber the phone. “It’s your mom.”
She takes the phone from me, her hand trembling, then answers it. She stands and walks to my room. The door closes softly behind her. Her muffled voice reaches our ears, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.
I turn back to Chase and Jordan. “It’s a lie. There’s no way she’s capable of any of that.”
They both nod, looking as hollow as I feel.
Jordan buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I just sat here and didn’t say anything.” She directs her gaze at me. “I bet she thinks Chase and I don’t believe her either. Which is crazy. Of course we know none of what they’re saying about her is true.” The words steamroll out of her, unwilling to wait for her to take a breath.
“It’s me she’s angry at, Jordan. Not you.” And I have no idea how to fix this. I’m not good at this relationship stuff. Amber made it easier, but that was when she wasn’t pissed at me.
I stand. “I’ll talk to her.”
Jordan nudges Chase’s arm and unfolds her long body from the couch. “Chase and I are going to leave you guys for a while, okay?”
Chase flashes me a look that says it all: good luck. You’ll need it.
I’ll need a helluva lot more than luck to make things right, especially since I have no idea what I did to fuck things up. I nod and watch them leave. Even after the apartment door clicks shut, I stay rooted on the spot, unable to move, listening to the silence coming from my room.
Unsure what to say, other than I love her and know she’s not capable of what the woman claimed she did, I will my body to move and enter my room.
Amber’s lying on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes are closed, face damp. My heart squeezes into a tight ball until I can barely breathe.
I kneel on the floor and brush her hair out of her face. “The cops will prove those letters are fake. They’ll prove she’s lying.”
I expect Amber to yell at me, tell me I’m a shithead, and dump my sorry ass because she thinks I didn’t believe her when we first heard the report. Like Trent hadn’t believed her at first when she started receiving letters from the psychopath and he thought she was cheating on him.
But she doesn’t do any of those things. She opens her eyes, and my heart squeezes even tighter at the pain still in them. “I didn’t know he had a sister,” she says. “He never talked about his family.”
“Maybe she isn’t his sister. Maybe she’s someone looking for her fifteen minutes of fame. What did your mom say?”
Amber pushes herself up and sits on the edge of my bed. “She told me not to say anything to the media or to anyone else, and she’ll get back to me once she finds out what’s going on…Can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can.”
“Why were you in juvie?”
I flinch, even though I knew this question would eventually surface. “My mom and Frank never left me and Ryan any money for food, and they rarely bothered buying groceries for us. I was fifteen and an idiot and tried shoplifting DVDs to sell to kids at school. I got caught and the judge decided I needed to be taught a lesson even though I had no previous record.
“I was in juvie for a month. It was the best damn vacation I’ve ever had. I got fed three meals a day and the beatings I got there were nothing compared to what I was used to with Frank. And at least after that, my mom made sure we always had money for food. They didn’t want to risk social servic
es breathing down their necks.”
Amber’s gaze drops to her lap. “My mom told me you spent time in juvie, but she didn’t know why.” Her voice is quiet, filled with shame.
“I know.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide.
“I overhead you two talking.” I kiss her temple. “I also heard you tell her that whatever I did wrong was in the past. It wasn’t relevant to us.”
“I meant it. You had a rough childhood. No one should have to endure what you did, Marcus. Who you were back then isn’t the man you’ve become.” She reaches up and kisses me, her lips a soft caress against mine. “What are Jordan and Chase doing?”
“They left so we can talk.”
She kisses me again. “Maybe we should make the most of it while they’re gone.” Her fingers inch their way under my T-shirt and spread across my abs. My muscles contract and relax at her touch.
I study her, trying to gage her emotions, trying to read her thoughts. She’s using sex as a distraction. But what I don’t know is if I’ll be a dickhead if I have sex with her when she’s so broken, or if this is the best way to comfort her.
“I’m all for that,” I murmur back, hoping I’m not about to make a huge mistake. This feels like a test, and I’m not sure how to pass.
*
The warm, soft body under my arm jerks, jolting me awake. I open my eyes to find my room is still dark and Amber’s whimpering and moving restlessly on the bed.
I run my hand down her bare arm. “Amber, you’re having a nightmare.”
She mumbles something and her knee lashes out. She makes a direct hit. Against. My. Fucking. Package. A white light blinds me and I squeeze my eyes shut. Groaning, I fold in two at the same moment Amber starts screaming. Shit.
Somehow around the mind-numbing pain, I manage to pry my eyes open. I need to calm her down before she wakes up the whole goddamn building with her screams.
“Kitten, it’s okay. It’s just a nightmare.”
She continues tossing and turning in her sleep. I can’t believe she hasn’t woken herself up with the noise she’s making.
Pushing past the pain, I scoot closer to her and touch her arm again. She sits up abruptly, still screaming, arms flailing. The sheet drops away, revealing her breasts. For once, my dick isn’t interested.
I sit up, and while risking all kinds of injuries, gather her in my arms. Unlike before, she relaxes at my touch and her screams fade away, to be replaced by gentle sobbing.
Amber rests her head against my shoulder as Chase bursts into the room. At the sight of a half-naked Amber, he spins around, mumbling, “Sorry.”
I pull the sheet up to cover her breasts. “You can turn around. She’s covered.”
Chase turns back to us, face redder than I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t embarrass easily and it’s not like he’s never seen a naked woman before. Pride rushes through me at his reaction. He knows Amber’s mine. He respects both that and her.
“You guys okay?” he asks. “I heard you groaning and her screaming, and neither of you sounded like you were having good time.”
“She had a nightmare,” I tell him. Chase knows she suffers from them. She’s woken up before, screaming, but never this bad. At least not while she’s been with me.
Amber lifts her head from my shoulder. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she whispers, voice hoarse.
Chase steps up to the bed and smiles. “Scooch over,” he tells her. She does and he sits next to her. “You gonna be all right?” He’s not just referring to what happened. He’s referring to the fake love letters and everything else she’s dealing with, no thanks to the psychopath.
It’s something we’re all wondering. Me. Her mom and grandmother. Emma. Jordan. None of us want to see her destroyed because of what the sick fuck did to her. She’s so strong, but even steel has its limits.
She nods. “I think so.”
Chase looks at me. I give a small nod. I have to be okay, for Amber.
“I want you to know Jordan and I didn’t doubt for a second that you’ve been set up. We should have said something sooner but we were in shock.” He looks at me. “We all were.”
“I know,” Amber whispers.
Satisfied we’re okay, at least for now, Chase leaves and shuts the door.
“That’s not true what you told him.” My words are quiet, not because I want to avoid Chase hearing me. But because I’m afraid what I’m about to say is true. “You doubted me. I thought you understood me, understood me better than anyone. But when it came down to it, you didn’t have enough faith in me to accept that I would know the difference between the truth and the lie.”
She covers my hand with hers. The warmth of her skin eases its way in, like it always does whenever she touches me. And the warmth melts away some of the fear that leaked in since the news report. Her hand then moves to my face. I lean into her palm, absorbing more of her warmth, her love.
“I’m sorry, Marcus. I was scared. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. You’re right. I understand you…like you understand me. You’ve seen the scars. You know the truth. I never doubted that.”
I kiss the palm of her hand and we lie back down, her head on my chest.
I blanket her in my arms and stroke her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about the news report?”
“Not really.”
“You sure? You might feel better.”
“I’m sure. Talking isn’t going to fix this. Only the cops can do that.” But the way she says it makes me wonder if she trusts that they will—or if she’s already given up hope.
Chapter Ten
Amber
Jordan and I hurry to our first class, taking care not to slip on the icy sidewalks. The freezing wind nips my cheeks and nose, and burrows through my jeans.
“When did you get back to the dorm last night?” I ask.
“‘Round eleven.”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. Mom called me around eight-thirty. Jordan and Chase left the apartment around then and didn’t return. Or at least they didn’t return while I was awake. “Where did you guys go?”
“The pub near their place.”
I flash Jordan a teasing smile. “And what did you guys talk about?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing like that. We’re just friends.”
“You sure about that? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”
Her grin widens. “Okay, close friends. And you’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” I say even though I know what she’s talking about. Because she’s about to do the same. She does it every time I bring up her and Chase’s friendship.
“Redirecting.”
I laugh. Jordan has that effect on people. “You’re definitely going to be a psychologist.” I loop my arm with hers as I scan the area, keeping an eye open for anything suspicious. The side effect of being a victim of stalking.
A gust of wind sends our hair flying forward and into our faces. My straight dark-blond hair and her black curls. I brush a strand behind my ear in time to see a guy from my math class last term watching me from the intersecting paths ahead of us. He’s with a group of guys and elbows one of them in the ribs. Once he has his friend’s attention, he nods toward me as he says something. Like a single unit, the entire group turns and their gazes run appreciatively over my body. I might be wearing a winter coat, but it feels as though they can see past my layers, stripping me naked.
“So things are okay with you and Marcus?” Jordan asks. She either doesn’t notice the guys or can’t be bothered to give them a second thought.
“He knows I didn’t write the letters.” And in a few hours, everyone else will know.
“But are things okay between you two?” Her expression turns serious. And like with those guys we passed, it’s as if she can see through my layers. But unlike with those jerks, she’s delving deeper, to the most vulnerable part.
“Seriously, we’re fine.” All I have to do is survive the trial and ever
ything will be okay.
Jordan goes off to her class and I enter the room for Community Psychology. Emma’s already here, seated in the second row. I tried calling her this morning, but ended up with her voice mail. I sit next to her. Emma doesn’t look at me, her attention focused on the empty page in front of her.
“Hey,” I say. She startles. “Is something wrong?”
She turns, her expression a mix of emotions, none I can get a firm grasp on beyond exhaustion. Her normally bright blue eyes are dull above dark half circles. “Why are the reporters accusing you of writing those letters?” she asks quietly.
“I didn’t write them. I loved Trent. You know that.” I fight to keep my voice low and even, none too thrilled at the prospect of providing a free source of entertainment for everyone in the room.
If I thought Emma looked startled before, that’s nothing compared to now. She opens her mouth to say something.
“Okay, class,” a tall woman says, wearing black pants and a cream-colored sweater. “Let’s get started. I’m handing out the class outline.” She passes a stack of papers to the person at the end of our row and moves to the row behind us. The girl takes a handout and gives the pile to the guy next to her. “As you’ll see, there will be two midterms, a term paper, and an oral presentation…”
She continues talking, but I don’t hear what she’s saying. All I hear in my head over and over and over again are the words oral presentation. I remove a handout and pass the rest to the person next to me. We spend the remainder of the class listening to the professor talk about her expectations and what the course will cover. Once it’s over, we pack up to leave.
Emma hasn’t rushed off, and even though I’m meeting up with Marcus to study in the library, I hold back to talk to her.
“I swear, Emma, those letters are fake. You have to know how much I loved Trent.” At the thought of losing my best friend over this lie, my insides start to crumple. I sniff. “I need you,” I whisper.
Let Me Know Page 8
