Chapter 24

Becka

I woke up early the next morning, and I was sure I was up before Ethan, since the sun had just risen. Still, I grabbed my purse and phone and, as quietly as I could, I sneaked past his room and down the hall. I didn’t hear any noise from his room and was grateful that I was able to slip out.

Though a night of sleep had helped my mood, I was still highly pissed. I felt like I had a good plan moving forward, though: I was going to go back to school and focus on my dissertation. Though I was technically still Oliver’s assistant, while he was underground, I was as well. I had no intentions of showing up anywhere near Neurotova until I heard from him. I reasoned that if he wasn’t going to tell me where he was, then he could very well live without an assistant until he was willing to do so.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed an apple; I was starving. Then, I walked into the entryway. I had gotten all the way to the front door and had one hand in my purse when I realized: I had my keys, but I had no car. Lisa had dropped me off the night before. Shit.

Well, I knew I’d walk to town before I’d go knock on Ethan’s door and ask him for a ride. But, I also knew that Oliver had a driver, and he had several cars at his disposal in his private garage. His garage, of course, would be coded with some security password. No matter, I would figure it out.

I walked out to the front lawn and began to explore around me. I went to the back and tried the garage; of course, it was locked. I looked for a motorcycle (not that I knew how to ride one), a scooter, hell, even a riding lawnmower. Nothing.

I walked back toward the front of the house and sat on the stoop for a minute, trying to collect my thoughts. I could text Lisa to come and get me. Or, I could go wake Ethan. Neither of those possibilities seemed like real answers, for the same reason: both involved having a conversation with Ethan before I was ready to do so.

I sighed, not knowing what to do. My eyes wandered across the driveway and, as they came across Ethan’s car, I nearly slapped myself in the forehead. Of course; I could take Ethan’s car. He wouldn’t mind, right?

I snickered at my cleverness. I walked to the driver’s side and peered through the tinted glass. I didn’t see any keys, which wasn’t a huge surprise. I walked back in the front door and tiptoed through the foyer into the kitchen. Jackpot! There, on the counter, was a set of keys. They had to be Ethan’s. I grabbed them, and quietly went back out of the house. I half expected Ethan to come jumping out at me, but luck was on my side and he didn’t.

I found the right key immediately, thank goodness for those huge, gaudy fobs every car touted these days, and, in three minutes, I was on my way down the driveway in Ethan’s Alfa Romeo. I looked back when I reached the end of the driveway and grinned; Ethan had awakened at the sound of his engine revving, and he stood in the doorway in his boxers shouting at me.

I waved in the rearview mirror, knowing I was already too far for him to see me. It felt good; it felt like at least a minor victory. My phone began to light up immediately with calls and texts from Ethan; I shut my phone off and hid it under the seat.

My plan was to drive straight to school. I hadn’t showered or even changed clothes from the day before, but my desire to feel something normal, something like home, was overwhelming. I wanted to see Dr. Evans, to sit in her office and have a conversation like I was just a plain old ordinary student once again.

That plan changed the moment I drove onto campus. I had never been more clandestine in my life; there was no way a grad student like myself could possibly afford the car I was driving, not to mention my lack of showering had left my hair looking like, well like less than its usual sheen. I put on my sunglasses and drove through the campus, my stomach sinking as I did.

The media was everywhere, swarming not just the food science building, but the student center and every other building on campus. A helicopter sounded overhead, and I had to stop several times for photographers who were running across the street, peering into my car as if they were expecting me to be Oliver or Ethan, or… me.

There was no way I could get to Dr. Evans with these crowds, and I realized for the first time that my life as I’d known it before, before Ethan and Oliver, was largely over. The college was suffering for the actions of Ethan, and my involvement with him and with Oliver hadn’t helped. I felt nauseous, and I knew a panic attack was close at hand. I pulled over, locked all my doors, and I took out my phone.

I hadn’t listened to my messages for more than a day, since I’d checked when I was with Lisa. I still didn’t have any messages from Oliver, and I had plenty from Ethan about the theft of his car, but I also had a number of messages from Dr. Evans, wondering where I was, wondering if I was okay, asking me to contact her, giving me her personal number, telling me to stay away from the campus if I could, that everything was a nightmare.

I watched the carnage, the media frenzy, knowing I had partially caused it. I drove through, faster than I should have for someone not wanting attention, and I drove toward my apartment. I didn’t have any idea if Lisa was home or not; all I knew was, I needed a safe place to be.

I drove home quickly, not bothering to stop anywhere along the way, though I was dying for a coffee. I knew I had coffee at home, and I reminded myself that I could live without it, though I also felt quite strongly that, at minimum, I deserved a cup of damn coffee for everything I’d been through in the last twenty-four hours. I pulled up into the parking lot of my complex, sped into the building, and sighed with relief as the elevator doors closed.

When they opened on my floor, I used my key to open my door, but, to my surprise, my door was open.

“Lisa?” I called as I pushed the door open.

“Not Lisa,” Oliver said. He stood in my living room.

“What the fuck?!” I asked, incredulous, a little scared, and, okay, a little excited as well. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

He walked to me and embraced me. “Becka, I’m so sorry about all of this. I’m just so sorry.”

I pulled away, the flash of anger I was feeling mirroring that which I’d felt for Ethan the night before.

“Don’t apologize and try to hug me like everything is just okay. What the hell are you doing here, where the hell have you been, and what the hell is going on?” My voice rose with each question, and Oliver held out his hands to quiet me down.

“Okay, I know you’re mad. You have every right to be mad, I agree with you. Please, let’s get you some coffee, I know you’re dying for some, and I’ll tell you everything.”

I glared at him, then, a sense of relief washed over me suddenly, an emotion I hadn’t expected, and I threw my arms around him. I felt tears poking at my eyes, but I refused to let them out.

“I thought something bad had happened to you,” I said. “I thought Ethan…”

“You thought Ethan hurt me?” He held me close, and the warmth of his body seemed to find all of the cold spaces in mine and soothe them. “Honey, Ethan is a calculating asshole, but he’s not a murderer. He would never hurt me.”

He pulled away and looked into my eyes. His concern was evident, and I made sure to let him see the full scale of how hurt I was, not just by Ethan, but by him not communicating anything to me.

“You didn’t call or text. I didn’t hear anything from you. And then I got to your house and Ethan was there, and there was blood all over the floor, and what was I supposed to think?” My voice came out of me in a tumble and I realized how grateful I was that he was alive… and that it meant Ethan had been telling the truth.

If he was telling the truth about Oliver’s wellbeing, then maybe he was telling the truth about other things as well. Maybe I wasn’t such a huge misjudger of character after all.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I never meant for any of this to happen, not like this. And you were never supposed to get involved to the level that you have been.”

“My career is all but ruined,” I said. “My dissertation… I mean, my advisor is barely speaking to me, my college is crawling with the press, and I’m being accused of things I can’t even explain because I don’t know what they are! I mean, what the fuck!” I threw up my hands in exasperation, a gesture I felt was becoming second nature to me.

“Becka, honey, let me explain…”