It’s hard to pedal when the rain seems to hold a grudge against me. My new sandals are soaked and slippery beneath my feet. Rainwater is dripping into my eyes, blurring my vision. My jeans and cream blouse cling to my skin, wet and heavy on my body. I love rain, and if I weren’t so exhausted after working the whole Saturday at the bookstore, I would have slowed down to enjoy the sleek look it gives the shop windows and other smooth surfaces. I would have welcomed the tap dance of raindrops on my shoulders and head as I bike through town. But not today.

Fortunately, I don’t have to worry about dinner. I already shared a large plate of baked salmon and potatoes with a colleague at the Deepwater Grill a few blocks from the bookstore.

As soon as I get home, I’ll jump into a hot shower and then climb into bed to read Judson’s two-day-old letter before drifting off to sleep. A rainwater river runs down my spine, bringing on a shiver. I pedal faster, blinking water out of my eyes. The thought of wrapping myself in Judson’s words fills me with a warmth that radiates from within.

Since my previous visit to him, and feeling awkward at our departure, he wrote me twice; he apologized for being a jerk at times before going on to ask how I’m dealing with my mother’s departure from my life. The fact that he cares about what’s going on in my life blinds me from the other worries and doubts I have concerning him. He ends each letter now with an “I love you.” After some hesitation, I’ve started to do the same. My emotions for him refuse to be silenced. Not thinking about him is an impossible daily task, while thinking about him is both intoxicating and excruciating. We might never have a future together.

I sigh as I slow down in front of Dunkin Hall. I hop off the bike and stumble, head ducked, through the glossy metal gates, my bike at my side. The raindrops have softened to a drizzle, but the sky is still a blanket of dark clouds. As soon as my bike is safely parked in the bike shed, the sky opens up again and rain gushes out. As I hurry down the path to the staircase leading to my dorm room, a classic black umbrella appears above my head. The person holding it, smelling of soap and aftershave, puts an arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer until we are both covered by the umbrella.

“Milton? What are you doing out in the rain?” For a second, I consider moving away, out of his reach, but that would be throwing his kindness back into his face.

“I saw you on your bike earlier and decided to come and help. You must be nuts riding it in this weather.”

“That’s nice of you. Thanks.” I blink the remaining water from my eyes. “But you know I’ve pretty much arrived at my destination, right?”

I no longer feel uncomfortable around Milton. Lately he has been behaving himself, the perfect gentleman. It could be an act, but I prefer this Milton to the in-your-face one. He accepted my offer of friendship, but followed it up by saying he’ll be waiting in case I change my mind. I didn’t tell him that he’ll have a lot of waiting to do.

“True, but you are completely soaked. We wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”

“I don’t catch colds easily. But it’s still kind of you. Thanks.” When we reach the stairs to my dorm, I step away from him and back into the rain. It was a small gesture, but it did warm my heart.

“Sure. No problem.” He shifts from one foot to the other, as though waiting for me to say something else. When I don’t, he nods. “See you around?”

“Yeah.” I give him a small wave and climb up the steps. Seconds later, I step out of the elevator and walk down the corridor, dripping water onto the floor.

I enter the room to find Chelsea standing by her bed, arms folded, cheeks tinted with color.

“Hi. What’s up?” I drop my bag and sweep my wet hair from my face. “Did something happen with Neil?”

“Neil and I are fine for a change.” She gestures at my wet clothes. “Get changed. We need to talk.”

“What about?” I don’t wait for an answer as I head to the bathroom. Five minutes later, my body is warm inside my soft bathrobe and the towel around my head. I sit on the couch and gaze at Chelsea. “So, what’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong.” She hands me a cup of mint tea, then goes to her bed and removes something from under the pillow—a stack of letters tied with a white ribbon. She tosses them next to me on the couch. “That there is the problem.” She folds her arms again and glares at me. “What were you thinking?”

A sudden chill hits my core, and I know the color has drained from my face because my cheeks are suddenly icy. My first internal reaction is dread, but it’s soon swallowed by anger. “You went through my things?”

“You’ve been so busy lately. I wanted to help you with cleaning up. I thought I’d wash your sheets for you, and that’s when I found those—under the mattress. At first I thought they were Jennifer’s letters.” She places a finger on her lips. “I wondered why you would still have them. Then I opened one.”

Instead of responding, I clench my jaw. I’m simmering with anger that prevents me from speaking. It’s not really Chelsea I’m furious with. I’m angrier at myself for being careless, allowing myself to get caught. I’d kept the letters under my mattress to make it easier for me to reach them at night.

As Chelsea reprimands me like a mother talking to a child, some of my anger melts to tears.

“He’s saying he loves you? That’s a shocker. How long has this been going on? What were you thinking, contacting him in the first place?” She sinks onto the couch and puts her hands between her knees. “You do know you’re playing a dangerous game, right? And he’s so much older.”

“Age doesn’t matter to me.” I blink away tears. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Chelsea.” I fold my arms across my chest. “It’s my business.”

“That’s too bad. I can’t just sweep this under the rug now, can I? What kind of friend would I be if I let you walk into the arms of a murderer without saying anything?”

I gather up the letters and hold them so tight, blood seeps from my knuckles. “It started a while ago. I like him.”

“You know how dangerous he is. You know he could be in prison for many years. What will you do then? Wait for him to get out?” She pauses. “I mean, what kind of relationship do you think you can have with a murderer?”

“Everyone thinks he’s guilty. What if he’s innocent? What if he really didn’t kill Oliver Banes?”

“Oh my God!” Chelsea slaps her forehead. “Is that what he told you, that he’s innocent? Of course he did.”

I don’t say anything. I suddenly feel stupid.

“The guy killed someone. He could hurt you.” She yanks her hair from its ponytail and her shiny curls tumble to her shoulders. She tosses the hair scrunchie onto the bed. “Ivy, you can’t believe a word he says. You have to cut things off with him right away.” She lowers her voice. “You didn’t—did you? Please tell me you didn’t visit him.”

“I didn’t.” The lie comes easily. No use in complicating the situation more than necessary.

“Why didn’t you say anything… to me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to react the way you’re reacting right now. I haven’t told anyone. Please keep it to yourself.”

“I will if you promise to stop contacting him.” Chelsea stands up and goes to her bed. She picks up a photography magazine and pretends to start reading it. But her anger still vibrates in the air.

I rub my eyes and stare at her. I’m mad that she went through my things, but ultimately I know she cares. And that means a lot. She’s the closest thing I have to family right now.

I stand and approach her bed. When I sit on the edge and take her hand, she drops the magazine. “Look, I’m sorry for not telling you, okay? I just… I didn’t want to be judged.”

“I wish you’d told me. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but you’ve become one of my closest friends. I thought you felt the same about me.”

“I do. But this is something I wanted to keep to myself for a while longer, to see where it leads.”

“You wanted to wait to see if he would be found innocent?”

I don’t respond.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ivy, but as your friend, I have to be honest with you. From what I hear, the chances of him being released are pretty much nil.” Her fingers tighten around my hand. “You’re flirting with danger. You have to get out before you’re in too deep.”

I’m already in too deep. I love him.

I nod, giving her a sad smile. Then I squeeze her hand and get to my feet. I pick up the magazine and hand it back to her. “Thanks for the tea. I’m going to shower.”