Chapter Eight
I sat at the breakfast bar in our apartment with a forgotten glass of orange juice in my hand. I’d been in a daze since last night, unable to process Mack’s version of my reality. None of it seemed possible, not on any practical level, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. What else could explain what was happening to me—to James?
“Are you going to drink that or stare at it?” Gracie asked with a limp smile as she sat next to me with a cup of coffee.
“Sorry. I’m a little out of it.”
Gracie toyed with the handle on her mug. “That’s understandable. What did Mack say after I left?”
I’d spoken with Gracie less than a day ago, but so much had happened since then it felt like it’d been ages. I thought back over my conversation with Mack and realized there wasn’t a lot I could tell her.
Stalling, I stood and poured my juice into the sink. “The man he took into custody isn’t talking, so he didn’t have anything new to tell me. I think he just wanted to check in on me.” Not wanting to lie to her any more than I had to, I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “I’m going to class.”
She glanced at the clock. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“I’ve got some studying I need to catch up on beforehand.”
She bit her thumbnail, a nervous habit she had when trying to find the most agreeable way to approach something sensitive. “You know I’ve always been able to tell when you’re hiding things from me, right?”
I smiled to put her off. “Yes, we both know you are my own personal lie detector.”
When she spoke, there was hurt in her voice. “You’re hiding something now. There’s more to what happened Saturday night than you’re letting on, and I’m worried.”
My smile faded, and I fell silent for several moments. “You’re right.” Her eyes lifted and hope sparked to life. “There is more, but I’m not ready to talk about it. I need time.”
As my words sank in, her wide eyes drooped. “You’ve never shut me out. Not when Robert Dunham dumped you senior year, not when you had a crush on your cognitive psych professor last semester—not even when your mom died. But ever since you met James, it’s like we don’t even know each other.”
I dropped my head and stared at my boots, stung by Gracie’s words. “I’m not shutting you out. Or at least, not for the reasons you think I am.” I looked up at Gracie and shrugged. “It’s just that I can’t explain to you what’s going on. Not right now.”
Gracie sagged against the door. “Are you in some kind of trouble with him? You can tell me.”
I stepped back and shook my head. “Please. If I can ask one thing of you, it’s to stop thinking the worst of him. None of this was his fault.”
“From where I’m standing, I can’t see it any other way. You changed when you met him.”
“What if the changes have nothing to do with him?” I asked. “What if it’s me? Have you thought about that?” She didn’t speak, and I grabbed the door handle, ready to leave.
“He was in jail for assault, Abby.” Her voice was soft and matter of fact. “Did you know? Has he told you?”
My hand dropped, and I watched the door swing closed. “What’re you talking about?” I asked as I turned to face her.
“Xander bailed him out over the summer. Told me he beat his father unconscious. He said that if he hadn’t been there, it would’ve been worse. A lot worse. James could’ve killed him.”
My thoughts flashed to Saturday night, and James’s bloody fists came into sharp focus. I’d seen what he was capable of, but it wasn’t without reason. James had been protecting me. “If that’s true, there has to be an explanation. He wouldn’t do something like that without being provoked.”
“So, there’s an excuse for beating your father nearly to death? Are you listening to yourself? He’s twenty-two years old. He could’ve walked away. He could have done a hundred other things that didn’t involve putting the man in the hospital.”
“Maybe. But you don’t know him, not like I do. The James I know wouldn’t hurt someone without a reason. And he’d never hurt me. Never.”
Gracie’s lips pinched. “Then maybe it’s you I don’t know.”
“You have to trust me. James…you’re right, he has changed me. But not in the way you think,” I said, taking a step toward her as my heart wrenched in my chest, all but daring me to tell her the whole truth. “From the moment we met, there was something there. Something deep. Something that spoke to me outside of words. I can’t explain it, but you have to trust that I wouldn’t get involved with him if he wasn’t a good person.”
“A month ago, I would’ve agreed with you. But now? I can’t say the same.” She crossed her arms and sat into her hip.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“For your sake, I hope so, because I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse.”
“You won’t. You’ll just have to trust me for now.”
I could tell she didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue, and when I pulled the door open again, she let me walk through it without a word.
The art history classroom was dark and empty when I arrived, but that didn’t stop me from finding my seat and settling down. Pulling out my notes, I tried to review, but despite my efforts, I couldn’t focus. My mind was spiraling, unable to grasp one worry before another surfaced. I’d learned too much too soon, and I couldn’t process it. Everything Mack had explained, my father’s involvement, my conversation with Gracie, James’s arrest—how was I supposed to handle this and balance my classes?
The lights flicked on, and my gaze darted to the front of the room where James stood with his hand on the switch.
“There you are,” he said as he made his way toward my seat. “You haven’t answered your phone. Where’ve you been?” he asked as he took the seat next to mine. “After what happened Saturday night…” James ran a hand through his black hair before placing it over mine. “I’ve been out of my mind.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “That wasn’t my intention. Things have been—”
The noise in the hall grew, and the desks around us filled as students made their way inside. James waited patiently, but when I finally gained the courage to speak, Professor Stalt took his place at the podium.
“We’ll talk after class,” James said, letting go of my hand.
The next hour crawled by while we watched a slideshow on Italian art during the reign of the Medici family in Florence. I took detailed notes, but I was preoccupied and unable to focus. When the lights flipped on at the end of class, there was a collective groan, though mine had less to do with the bright light than my own angst over facing James.
Would he be angry if I asked him about his father? Should I tell him Mack warned me to stay away from him? What about everything I’d learned about Roselli?
By the time I stood, my stomach was so tied up in knots I wanted to vomit.
“Walk with me,” James said, and I followed him outside. The sky had turned a magnificent blue, and the air had warmed enough to be pleasant. “I know you have another class, but can you tell me what’s wrong before you have to go?”
I kicked an acorn across the pebbled walkway. “With everything that’s wrong, it’d be easier to tell you what was right.”
“Okay,” he said. “How about you start with the most recent thing. Why weren’t you answering your phone this morning?”
I sighed. “Gracie. She and I aren’t seeing eye to eye, and she’s concerned.” I slowed my walk to a stop and waited until James faced me. “About us.”
He was in the middle of a deep breath when his chest hitched and his eyes narrowed. “Why would she be concerned about us?”
I shrugged. “Xander told her some things about you.” I didn’t finish, letting him fill in the blanks.
He rubbed at the back of his neck. “So, that’s why you wouldn’t answer my calls.” His features hardened.
“Not entirely. I’ve been given a lot to think about. Mack, my father…” I clamped my mouth shut, knowing I was dancing around what I really wanted to ask. “Were you arrested for assault?”
He dropped his hands to his hips and gazed at the fountain bubbling to my left. “Is that what all this is about? Something your roommate heard from Xander?”
“Were you?”
He closed his mouth, and after a long pause, nodded his head.
I don’t know why I was shocked. Gracie didn’t gossip lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His dark eyes were flat and emotionless. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Not relevant? You beat your dad unconscious.”
A heartless laugh burst from his lips. “So that’s it? You hear a couple of rumors and condemn me without talking to me first?” He turned his back on me but didn’t walk away.
“Is what she said true?” I asked in a soft voice.
“It must be if Gracie told you.”
“Just answer me,” I said, moving to stand in front of him.
“Yes,” he admitted in a rush of a breath, his eyes hard as coal. “I hit him. I hit him over and over and over again.” We stared at each other, hearts beating louder than words. “He destroyed my family, and he took something—someone—that can’t be replaced.”
He was angry, his body hard and unyielding. Around us, people laughed as they made their way around campus, unaware of the standoff taking place between us. My gaze dropped to his chest. He reached out, and I flinched before his hands traveled up my arms and settled at the tops of my shoulders. His thumbs grazed my neck, and I stood still, unsure if I should pull away or lean into his embrace.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
To my right, another familiar voice called my name. “Abby?” Mack said cautiously.
James bent to better look me in the eyes, ignoring Mack’s approach. “You know me,” he said.
“Let her go, James,” Mack said as he pushed him back. James shrugged Mack’s hand away, but didn’t acknowledge him beyond that.
“What’re you doing here, Mack?” I asked, somewhat confused as to why he was on campus.
“Gracie came by this morning asking questions. We need to talk.” He glanced at James’s hand resting at my neck.
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, my chest collapsed and my vision clouded. The drift came hard and fast, whisking me away to another time and place.
“Who are you?” I faced the stranger sitting on my sofa. He removed his hat and balanced it on his knee, then he pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit the end. I wanted to protest, but something about his demeanor told me I shouldn’t.
“The question isn’t who I am but rather who, my dear girl, are you?”
A fat shiver ran up my spine. His voice was one I’d never forget. It was burned inside my thoughts like every other memory from that night. The end of his cigar flared red with his long inhale. Blowing a thick cloud of grey smoke, he clamped his cigar between his teeth and smiled.
“How did you get inside my house?”
He smiled again. The sagging skin under his eyes puffed out, making him look momentarily younger. “Your neighbor, a Ms. Hamilton, I believe.” He held up a small silver key. The one I’d given her for emergencies.
“Please, tell me you didn’t hurt her.”
He actually laughed. “Hurt her? No, no, no. Why on earth would I do that? She believed me just fine when I told her I was visiting from out of town and misplaced my key.” He pocketed the little key and tapped his breast pocket. “She simply let me borrow the one you gave her.”
I glanced back at the door and gauged my chances for escape.
“There’s nowhere to go, love, and I’ve been looking for you too long to say good-bye so soon.”
The man tapped a brown paper sack at his side, and the crinkle cut through the quiet of my living room.
“I have a gift for you.” He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Come, please, I want to watch you open it.”
Even without knowing what was in that bag, I knew how this night was going to end. A part of me was glad. Glad it was finally over. I was tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of lying about who I was. But most of all, I was tired of living in a world where James didn’t exist.
The man shook his hand, and the paper rattled like a summons. I urged my feet forward, and pulled the package free, but fear kept my hands from doing anything more.
“Go ahead, open it.” His smile was sincere, excited, and ominous.
Unrolling the edge, I imagined all kinds of horrible things inside. I swallowed, and my stomach tightened in preparation.
“Come on, now. I’m sure you can’t wait,” he urged.
I reached inside and pulled out a single shoe. It was black with a two-inch heel. Three rows of crystals would have crisscrossed the instep, but the button on the strap was missing and the crystals dangled from one side.
“Like Cinderella who lost her shoe, my dear girl. Don’t you see? I’m your Prince Charming.” He laughed, big and with bravado, and my heart sank. I’d lost this shoe the night James was murdered, and while I hadn’t looked at it in years, I knew its blood-soaked mate was hidden in the back of my wardrobe. I closed my eyes and relived those last moments—our rough embrace, our final, desperate kiss—before my life ended when James was murdered.
I flinched when the front door opened behind me. “Abigail, what’s burning? I can smell it from outside.”
Colin was home. The man in front of me didn’t seem bothered by his appearance. In fact, he seemed excited.
“Ah, look who’s finally joined us.” The man stood and straightened his tie, placed his hat on his head, and clamped his cigar between his teeth.
Colin stepped behind me, and his hand covered my shoulder, warm and tight, secure and protective.
“You need to leave,” I said while keeping my gaze leveled on the man in front of me. “This has nothing to do with you.” Colin’s hand tightened at my words, and the man in front of me barked a laugh. He pulled his cigar from his mouth and looked between Colin and me. Amusement glittered in his eyes.
“Please, tell me she knows.” He chuckled. “Colin, my old friend, introduce me to your lovely wife. After all, we have quite a memorable night in common.”
My heartbeat stuttered, and I denied his words with a shake of my head. Three years ago, Colin had rescued me from the alleyway long after the killer had left.
Unless.
Unless…
Colin had come back. I turned slowly to face the man who’d saved me that night, but I was unable to lift my gaze higher than his neck.
“Tell me it isn’t true,” I whispered, clutching the broken shoe at my chest. “Tell me you didn’t murder James.”
Colin’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and my hand covered my mouth, catching the sob from my broken heart.
I groaned, and my surroundings slowly came into focus. The campus was bustling with students, moving in and out of buildings, while we three stood like frozen statues. My nose began to run, and when I wiped it, I felt something wet and warm. Pulling my hand back, I saw bright red streaks staining my fingertips.
“You’re bleeding,” James said.
I dropped my bag on the ground next to me and pulled a travel pack of tissues from the front pocket.
“Don’t lean back, just hold your head steady so the blood can run forward,” James said as I pressed the tissue to my face.
“They’re getting worse,” Mack said in a flat voice, understanding where I’d been.
“What’s getting worse?” James asked.
“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s just a nosebleed.”
“No, it’s not. Nothing’s as simple as that when you’re drifting.” He pointed a finger at James. “I told you what would happen.” He dropped his hand, his eyes sad. “This will kill you if you’re not careful.”
My head jerked up, and anger radiated from James. “I think you need to leave. I’ll take care of her from here,” he said.
They stared at each other, neither blinking, for several strained seconds before Mack spoke. “You have no idea what you’re capable of doing to her.” His voice was low and deadly.
“Mack, leave it alone,” I said. “He doesn’t know about any of this.”
Mack kept his eyes trained on James. “Well, maybe he should. One of you needs to be smart, and if it’s not going to be you, then I hope to God it’s him.”
I dropped my hand from my face. “Enough, we’re leaving,” I told him, and James laced his fingers through mine.
“You’re making the wrong choice,” Mack said. He stood where I’d left him, not angry but defeated, and bubbles of anger, sorrow, desperation, and frustration bounced between us.
“You don’t know that.”
Mack sighed. “Unfortunately, I do.” With his shoulders slumped, Mack walked away.
James didn’t tell me where we were going, and I didn’t ask. I was thankful that after the day I’d had he suggested we get out of town. Relaxing against the seatback, I watched the city fall away. Pastures replaced mid-rise buildings, and wooden picket fences lined their borders. James twisted and turned on roads with no names, winding along a path familiar only to him.
When we pulled onto a bumpy dirt road, the truck slowed and splashed through puddles of muddy water. Tall pine trees soared on either side of us, and the underbrush was so thick I couldn’t tell what lay beyond. The road veered right and opened to reveal a small wooden home, twice as long as it was wide. It was situated in the exact middle of nowhere, a forgotten island, lonely and desolate.
“Where are we?” I asked after several seconds of silence.
“My grandmother’s house. She passed away several years ago. I inherited it when my mother died.” He stared at the house, his thoughts lost in a memory I couldn’t see. “I don’t know what to do with it now.”
James opened his door, and a blast of cool wind barreled through the cab of the truck. When he stepped out, I pushed mine open and followed him. He walked around the back of the house, where a few tires had tall grass growing through their centers and broken clay pots were scattered next to an untended woodpile.
James moved through a thick set of pines, their trunks spindly yet strong, and followed the memory of a footpath visible only to him. Under the canopy of trees, the air grew still, and apart from our steps, there wasn’t another sound. When we came across a gully, where thick roots broke through the sides and protruded like tentacles, James took my hand and helped me over the gap and on to the opposite bank.
For several minutes we walked like that—hand in hand, silent mouths and screaming thoughts—until the forest opened and revealed an oblong pond surrounded by sprawling oaks and grass that was long past dead. A flat rock, its edges softened by years of rain and weather, sat at the edge of the water. James took a seat on it and gestured to the spot next to him.
“Every summer for as long as I can remember, my mother brought me here. Her parents—my grandparents—were divorced. There were times I thought she preferred this place to her father’s. It was simpler. Less complicated.”
I stared at the grey water rippling with gentle waves as the cool wind skittered across the surface. James grabbed a rock and tossed it sideways. It skipped three times before it sank.
“It’s beautiful.” Even in the dead of winter, the oak trees were full and shaded the pond from the sun. I rubbed my hands together and tucked them into my jacket pockets. James frowned, and even though he was sitting next to me, he felt far away. “How long ago did your mother pass?”
James’s head dropped before turning toward me. “A year, almost exactly. The night we met, that was the one-year anniversary. Crazy, right?” He threw another rock into the pond. “That’s why I was there. I needed a drink, or maybe just to be somewhere loud enough that I wouldn’t think about it.”
I covered one of his scarred hands with mine, knowing what a persistent and sometimes angry companion loss could be. He flipped our palms together before slipping his fingers through mine and holding tight.
“How did she die?” I tilted my head in his direction while his teeth ran over his bottom lip several times.
“Fire,” he said.
I closed my eyes against the questions, assumptions, and emotions that single word ignited and pictured his rippled skin.
“Earlier, you asked me about my father,” he began. “But for you to understand what happened between us, you’d need to know about her death.”
My thoughts were piecing it together, and if I was anywhere near the truth, I didn’t want to know.
“It’s okay.” I swallowed and squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, I do. You need to know that I’m not who everyone thinks I am.” His gaze locked with mine. “What Gracie thinks I am.”
“I shouldn’t have listened to her.”
“Maybe not, but you should’ve heard it from me first. I know what people say about me. About the kind of monster they imagine I am.” His eyes turned sad. “Did you know I attended the University of Texas before transferring here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“I was there on an athletic scholarship. Baseball. A year ago, I was home from school for Christmas break. My mother and father were in the middle of another epic fight. They hardly paused to tell me hello.”
“Did they fight often?”
“All the time. I thought when I left for college that I’d miss them, and I did, but at the same time, I was so glad not to be a part of it anymore.”
“Did they fight about you?” I asked.
“I was just a small part of it. You see, my father was an alcoholic and compulsive gambler, and my mother was a Westerfield.” I shook my head, not understanding, and James clarified. “Her father—my grandfather—was Calvin Westerfield.”
The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it, not right away. When it dawned on me, I sat up a little straighter. “Calvin Westerfield? As in the C. Westerfield Science Building at school?”
James nodded. “The very one. He also happened to own one of the largest privately held oil companies in the United States.”
I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I knew oil and I knew Texas, and together I knew that meant money. Lots of money.
“My father had lost big the night I came home. That’s why they were fighting. He wanted more money, and she wouldn’t give it to him.” James took a breath and squinted his eyes. “When Xander called and asked if I wanted to go out for a drink, I left and didn’t come home until after midnight. When I pulled up, I could see flames through the upstairs windows. My dad stumbled out the front door coughing and fell down on the lawn. I asked him where my mom was, but he couldn’t tell me. He was too drunk.”
James grabbed another rock, but instead of throwing it into the pond, he rubbed it between his fingers. “I wasn’t thinking at that point, but I couldn’t leave—” His back hunched and jerked. “I couldn’t leave her in there to die. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stand. And it was hot—it was so hot in there. You have no idea.”
“James,” I said, urging him to stop, but he continued.
“I crawled, screaming her name. I don’t know when it happened or how, but the sleeves of my shirt caught fire. After that…I don’t know.” He paused and rolled his neck. “The next thing I knew I was in the back of an ambulance. My mother didn’t make it out. They found her body, or what was left of it, the next day.”
“I’m sorry, James.”
He nodded. “The investigator said the fire started in one of the back bedrooms because of a forgotten cigarette.”
“Your father?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“The worst part was that he didn’t even remember there was a fire. He woke up in the hospital with no idea how he got there. It was just another day with another hangover.”
He shifted his position on the rock, stretching his legs out in front of him. I didn’t think he was going to continue, so when his voice broke the silence, I shivered.
“My mother’s will, and my parent’s prenuptial agreement, were very specific. You see, the money was my mother’s. It was her inheritance—something she received before she even married my father. Upon her death, she left him a lump sum, and everything else he would’ve inherited—the cars, the house, valuables—all burned in that fire. A trust was already set aside for me, which I was to inherit when I was twenty-two. The rest of the money she donated to various charities.
“I moved in with Xander to recover. Eight months later, on my twenty-second birthday, my father showed up out of the blue. It was the first time he’d seen me since the fire, and all he could talk about was the money. He’d gambled his away in a matter of months, and needed a few thousand to get back on track. He didn’t mention my mother. He didn’t ask how I was doing.” James stopped talking and shrugged. “I lost it. I hit him, and when he didn’t fight back, I hit him again. I couldn’t stop. I was so angry. Xander pulled me off of him. I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there.”
“Is that when the police came?” I asked.
“Xander called the ambulance first and told them what happened. The cops showed up with the paramedics, and I was arrested for domestic assault. The rest is history.”
“Gracie told me Xander bailed you out.”
James shook his head. “He picked me up when I was released. The charges were dropped when my father refused to pursue them. I think he’s hoping I’ll reward his generosity with money. He’s wrong, of course. I’d rather rot in jail.”
I stared at his hand and the way he curled it unconsciously into a fist. “You could’ve died that night. In the fire.”
“I know,” he breathed, and we stared in silence at the pond. The water, like everything around us, stilled as he turned and focused his gaze on me. “But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the people I love.”
The air charged and heat burned my bones, and I knew that for me there was no turning back. With James was exactly where I was supposed to be.