Stranger Series Box Set

by Heather C. Myers

  "Jeez, way to make a girl feel better," she told him, a small, forced smile on her face.

  "It's the truth," he told her. "If you can handle what happened back there, you can handle the truth. What I'm trying to tell you is people are presented with two choices in their every day lives: doing what's easy and doing what's right. I don't have kids, but having examined thousands of them, my opinion is that a parent's job—equal to keeping their child safe—is teaching their child to do what's right above all else. Ninety percent of parents fail, and that's why we see so many children grow up and make the easy choice. You're different. You're part of the ten percent. And regardless of what happens between you and those girls and regardless of the poor decisions you made in the past, that's something to be proud of."

  The forced smile on Brielle's face turned genuine. Kessler was not the type of guy to mince words. He was the type of guy to remain silent instead of being positive. In fact, he wasn't affectionate whatsoever. He didn't like to touch people, and he certainly didn't like to speak about feelings. The fact that he made an exception for her comforted her like a snug pair of socks on a cold night.

  This was why she loved him. Even if he was a prick.

  "You're worried about your friends." It wasn't a question.

  Brielle figured she wasn't doing much to conceal her emotions. Either that, or he just knew her that well.

  "Don't worry about them," he told her as they continued walking to the tower. There were many lights cutting through the black night; a lot of students were still gone, and some probably will choose to leave if not tonight, then tomorrow.

  "They're my friends, Kessler," Brielle said, casting him a look that said this meant a lot to her even if he didn't agree with how she felt. "And I betrayed them. I knew where Jane was the whole time that she was gone. I knew Marvin was the one keeping Jane unconscious because that's what Michael wanted, so Professor Depogare couldn't do a sweep. I knew everything. And I kept it from everyone."

  "Wait, does Ethan know about what Marvin did?" Kessler asked, furrowing his brow. "I don't remember you mentioning that in your story."

  "I—" Jane blinked. "I don't know."

  "You should tell him. Tomorrow. When things die down." He paused, looking away before burning a hole through her soul with his searing blue eyes. He had stopped walking and Brielle followed suit. They were right in front of the tower's entrance. She felt a shiver slide down her back. Her bed sounded good right now. "This whole thing with your friends ... Don't let it get to you. Everyone has skeletons in their closets; it's not your fault your stepbrother is a piece of shit."

  "I really appreciate that, Kessler, really, I do," Brielle said. "But I made my choices. Now I have to live with them." Without warning, she popped on her tiptoes and gave Kessler a peck on the cheek. Her lips lingered a little too long on his sharp cheek before she returned to the flats of her feet. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  She turned to type in her key code. When the door popped open, she looked back at Kessler. Looking back, she couldn't explain why she did it. Maybe it was because she was tired of making choices based on obligation or because she was forced. Maybe it was because she wanted feel good and get rid of the guilt she currently felt, at least temporarily. Maybe it was because the consequences to this action was worth living with. Regardless, she stepped to him, threw her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him into a kiss. It was over too quickly and was not as passionate as she would have preferred, but it meant everything to her.

  When she stepped away again, she grinned from ear to ear. Brielle was not cold anymore, and she was certain that with everything that had happened today, she would sleep well tonight.

  Brielle woke to the sound of tapping on her window. Her entire body tensed, waiting for gunfire. Her breath tightened in her throat, and she had to clear it lest she choke. She pressed her lips together, afraid to make a sound. Her entire room was otherwise silent; her dorm mates were gone on holiday, not planning to return until yesterday. Of course, after what happened with Arbuckle, plans were changed and she was here while they were not. Under normal circumstances, Brielle actually preferred being alone. However, in moments such as these, she wished someone was there with her.

  The tapping stopped. She held her breath.

  Then—

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  They almost sounded like pebbles on her window. Like some romantic fantasy conjured up by fan fiction writers and Taylor Swift. Her heart jumped in her throat. Could it be …?

  Kessler? Being, dare she say, romantic?

  Immediately, Brielle banished the thought. There was no way Kessler could be romantic.

  Then again, she also knew that Kessler wasn’t known for love or for touching and definitely not for kissing. And, as far as her lips were concerned, Kessler had most definitely kissed her back.

  Maybe …

  She threw her legs over the side of her bed and stood. Her eyes peered out her window when three more tap-tap-tap tinkered on the glass. Her brown eyes looked through the darkness, waiting, hoping—

  She rolled her eyes when she saw who it was. Cillian. What was he doing here?

  Brielle snapped to the side, hoping he hadn’t seen her. Her thoughts were jumbled, tumbling over themselves like a herd of newborn puppies. He was still alive. But why was he here? It didn’t make sense for Michael to have released him after everything that had happened today.

  Unless …

  Unless Michael hadn’t released him. Unless Cillian had escaped.

  But why?

  Her thoughts warred. It should have been so easy to make the right decision. She should slip back in bed and pretend she never saw him. After everything she did for him, Brielle did not deserve more of the strife. She refused.

  It didn’t stop the guilt.

  Tears sprang into her eyes because she knew what she had to do.

  “I saw you,” Cillian called in a harsh whisper. “I know you know I’m here.”

  That did not make it easier.

  No, Brielle, a voice said. Enough of this. You can’t do this anymore. You need to be free of this, of him. You must stop this.

  She did not want to, however. She didn’t want to be the one to do it. She was tired. She wanted to go to bed.

  No one is going to come save you, Brie, the voice continued. You need to do it yourself. You can do this. Do it. Now!

  Brielle forced herself to step back into view of the window. She could see Cillian clear as day now, even through the darkness. His eyes were big and blue, his chestnut hair fell into his face charmingly, dashingly. Just the thought of it caused Brielle to roll her eyes. Cillian, charming and dashing. Talk about a lesson in opposition.

  She opened the window and popped her head out, speaking before he got the chance. “Go away, Cillian,” she told him. Her voice came out more firm than she believed it could. “You and me are through. I’m done.”

  Cillian’s eyes went wider than she thought possible, and his mouth dropped open. Brielle had to bite the inside of her bottom lip to keep from laughing at the sight of it. She had never seen him look so affronted; he was used to everyone doing everything for him. Now she saw him for what he really was: an asshole.

  “Goodbye, Cillian,” she called, wiggling her fingers in a wave. “I hope you get whatever it is you’re searching for. Don’t work too hard, though. That brow of yours doesn’t look fit for sweat.”

  “Wait, Brie, I—”

  But she shut the window on him. The feeling of elation—like breaking through to the surface of water so she could inhale sharply—freed her completely. When she slept that night, she slept wholly and fully.

  18

  Jane wanted to have sex with Daryl. Just thinking about it caused her face to burn with conflicting emotions—shame, embarrassment, and a little bit of desire—but she couldn’t help it. She was supposed to be sleeping; how could she sleep when the subject of her thoughts was adjacent to her, sleeping himself. He was a breath away; she could re
ach over and wrap her arm around him if she wanted to.

  And she wanted to. Badly.

  But something stopped her. She was afraid to touch him because if she touched him, it gave him easier access to her thoughts. While she knew Daryl would never betray her trust and read her mind without her permission, she still hesitated. On the off-chance that he caught a glimpse of what she was thinking …

  She couldn’t take that chance.

  She knew her feelings, her desires, weren’t wrong. She shouldn’t be embarrassed or ashamed that she felt that way. It was common to do that when one was attracted to someone. It was practically a requirement to be a boy—which was sexist and unfair to the male gender, but society thought it was okay for boys to constantly think about and act on sexual desires, while Jane was left to feel ashamed and embarrassed of those same feelings.

  She shook her head. Her inner monologues should not be arguing, it would give her a headache.

  Jane slid out of the bed and headed into the living room. There was a balcony attached to the room, and she slid the door open and stepped out in the cold. Daryl’s room faced the back of the academy, where forestry and wilderness dominated. Aqua students’ windows were on the east, west, and north directions; Daryl’s was on the south. As such, it was silent. She could even pretend they had the whole building to themselves.

  Which wasn’t true.

  Brielle was here somewhere.

  Jane frowned and clenched her teeth, forcing her thoughts somewhere else. She didn’t want to think about Brielle right now. It was too soon for her.

  The night was cold and bitter, and though she had slipped on Daryl’s robe over her borrowed pajamas—black pants that were much too big for her, and a plain white undershirt Daryl didn’t even fit into anymore—the cool night still pinched her bare skin and caused her thoughts, the important ones, anyway, to come to the forefront of her mind.

  Jane had applied for college around her birthday. A part of her hoped to get accepted into one just so she could get away from being a peculiar, however temporary that might be. It was a secret she had barely admitted to herself, let alone anyone else. But the truth of the matter was that she did not want to be on Catalina anymore. She wanted to be a young adult. She wanted to travel and to fall in love and to go to hockey games and dance on tables and not be a mental.

  She had the fall in love part down. She grinned.

  Although Jane knew she couldn’t deny the fact that she was a peculiar, perhaps she was so insistent on rebelling against it because of everything that had happened. She had lost seven days of her life. Seven days. And not because Michael wanted her or because she was being punished or anything that would cause her to be a significant part in this plan.

  No. She was stolen for Sophie. She was bait. She was kept in a tattered dress and unkempt hair with soiled bandages and—she refused to think about how she went to the bathroom. She did notice clean underwear …

  Brielle.

  Jane clenched her jaw again, but she couldn’t deny it. Brielle had taken care of her. She knew it.

  It didn’t matter. Brielle could have told someone where she was. She could have—

  What if it had been Grandpa? Or Daryl? What if you were in her exact situation? You know you would have done the same thing. Don’t deny it. You would do anything for them.

  “I would have found a way to do the right thing and get what I want,” she said, giving herself an assured nod.

  “Talking to yourself?” His crisp voice sliced through the air, and Jane’s skeleton nearly jumped out of her skin.

  Daryl chuckled, a rare smile decorating his tired face.

  Jane turned red and craned her neck so she could see him. He was still in his pajamas, fully exposed since she took his robe. He wore a plain white wife beater, revealing broad shoulders and big arms, and loose pants, blue in color. His hair was not gelled back, and fell into his face, masking his black eyes. There was a slight layer of stubble on the lower half of his face, and she realized he was in some amount of pain by her disappearance as well.

  “What’re you talking about?” he asked, quirking a brow.

  Jane shook her head. “This whole thing with Brielle,” she said. “I’m trying … I’m trying to understand her. I don’t want to hate her.”

  “What she did to you …” Daryl let his voice trail off and shook his head. “It ain’t right, Jane. You have every right to hate her if you want.”

  “I know,” she told him. “I know that. But what if our positions had been reversed, and Michael had you? Or my grandfather? I would do anything for you guys. Anything.”

  “Yeah, but that piece of shit—”

  “I know. Trust me, I know what he did.” Her face remained red, but this time it burned red with shame. “But that’s still her stepbrother. They still grew up together. To her, that’s one third of her family. I don’t know much about her, but I know her family isn’t big and isn’t that great. From what I hear, she’s closest to her stepdad. So maybe she did what she did more for him than Cillian.” She paused, taking a breath. “It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him or anything. Far from it. But I can understand it. Which means I can forgive her and get past this.”

  “But why?”

  “Daryl, there’s good in everyone,” she said. “Even Michael. Even Arbuckle. Hell, even Marvin. Does that mean they can be forgiven for their actions? Well, that depends. My grandfather always told me that forgiveness doesn’t mean someone isn’t an asshole anymore. It just means I don’t dwell on them being an asshole.”

  Daryl smirked. “I like that,” he murmured.

  She smiled. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” she told him, her voice an octave lower.

  He shrugged, looked up at the sky. “Nothin’ to worry about,” he told her. “I just reached for you and you were gone, so I got concerned. Imagine my surprise to find you out here.”

  “The cold helps me get clarity on certain things,” she told him. Like that fact that I want to have sex with you.

  “Mind if we go inside and get warm?” Daryl asked.

  “Daryl,” Jane said, after nodding in the affirmative. “I have a question for you. The dreams that you and I shared together, they were real for you, too, right? Like, you had the same dream I did at the same time, almost like an alternative reality?”

  Daryl slid the patio door shut and turned to give Jane a look. “I’m not as familiar with these dreams as you might assume,” he told her honestly. “Though I have been around for centuries, I’m still learning what it means to be a quis. There are powers quis have that I have not developed or learned just yet. These dreams that you and I have shared are new to me. However, to answer your questions, yes, they were a type of reality. There needs to be more research done in order to fully learn what that reality was, or if it was another way to communicate without detection.”

  Jane nodded once, twice.

  “Jane.” Daryl’s tone stopped her and her head snapped up. He placed his hand on her cheek and curled a strand of hair behind her ear with his free one. His eyes burned through her, and she realized, upon further study, his eyes were actually midnight blue. A black, blue color. “I would trade a thousand dreams for one moment in this reality with you.”

  Her throat went dry. How could it not when someone as stoic as Daryl said something as romantic as that?

  “I …” Why was her face still on fire? She hated how red she got, and how easy it was for her to turn red. “We did a lot of things in those dreams.”

  Daryl nodded once, but did not let go of her. “We did,” he agreed.

  “So, do you think,” Jane paused, unsure what to say. “Do you think it counts? What we did, I mean?”

  “If you dreamt about being in Hawaii but never visited, would it count as being in Hawaii?” Daryl asked.

  Jane shook her head.

  “My thoughts exactly,” he agreed. “What happened between us in our dreams happened. We cannot deny the actions aren’t true. But we do not ha
ve the same experience in this reality.”

  “What do we have?” Jane dared to ask. “In this reality?” She pressed her lips together, waiting for his response. She didn’t want to make a noise, release a breath, until he told her. Until they came up with some resolution they could both agree on.

  “I love you,” he told her.

  “And I love you,” she replied. “But I still have a semester left of school, and who knows what I’m going to do after I graduate. Plus, with all this: Michael, Arbuckle, the school closing, my parents’ divorce. Do you know how many Duck games I’ve missed? I just want—”

  Daryl silenced her with a long kiss. Jane stopped, mid-sentence, and allowed him to sweep her into distraction. It wasn’t long before her fingers were in his hair, and his hands were pressed flat on the small of her back. Before the kiss could turn passionate, Daryl broke it, giving them both a chance to take a breath.

  “You talk too much,” he told her, his voice raw. “You think too much.”

  Jane nodded. Unlike Daryl, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Not just yet.

  “Jane,” he said again. His grip on her tightened. “I have not been the type that likes to label something because I don’t like adhering to the expectations that come with that label. Being a boyfriend or a husband matters more to this society than it does to me. All you need to know, all that should matter, is that I am yours. In whatever way you want me, I am yours. I want to be your partner, your lover, your friend. I want to be your confident, your strength and your weakness. I’m not as experienced with love and with being with someone as you might expect, given my longevity. But I’m willing to dedicate myself to you and only you for as long as you’ll have me.”

  Jane started laughing. She couldn’t help it. He gave a curious look, but she shook her head.

  “You’re perfect,” she told him. “I want to be those things to you, too.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Boyfriend.”

  He raised a brow. “I’m not sure I like the term,” he told her. “It seems much too juvenile for me.”