“WHAT DO YOU mean it’s too late to drop the class?” I fisted my hips and narrowed my eyes at the balding man behind the registrar’s counter of Columbia University.
He dropped the mouse and folded his hands. “I’m sorry, but we’re already a week into the semester. All of the classes you need are either full or are offered at a conflicting time. And if you drop this class, you’ll lose your full-time status.”
I can’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard to get my grades where they needed to be last semester.
Softening my stance, I picked at the slip of paper in front of him. “You sure you can’t squeeze in one more tiny little person?” I squished my fingers together for effect.
A sorry expression washed over his face. “I’m sorry, miss. I wish I could, but there’s nothing I can do.”
I swiped the paper from the counter, stuffing it into my bag. “Fine.”
I can’t see him. I just can’t!
I bit at the skin surrounding my nail as I made the short walk to the English department. Blake and I had made sure to take the class together when we’d registered for the spring semester. Now, as I sat with the weight of that decision on my shoulders, I regretted not keeping my personal life separate from my academic career.
If I dropped the class, I’d be flushing everything I’d worked for down the drain. I was supposed to be on the fast track to a successful career. I couldn’t jeopardize that. Now more than ever, I needed to solidify my independence and learn to stand on my own two feet. The way my brain had been since the incident—I wouldn’t say the other word—it was going to be the biggest struggle of my life to focus and retain information, but I had to make it happen.
I checked my watch. I was five minutes late.
Perfect.
I curled my hand on the door handle and tugged, the loose hairs around my face moving to the side from the blow of air. The professor regarded me, and I nodded in acknowledgment before averting my gaze to the floor and slipping into the first seat in the first row, careful not to peek at the VIP section in the back.
Tingles prickled the raised hairs lining the back of my neck, and I knew he was in the room. My body always knew when he was around. Feeling as though my discomfort was visible, I rubbed at the traitorous skin, willing it to relax.
Flipping my notebook open, I put my pen cap between my teeth and tugged, exposing the tip. I scrawled down as much as I could as quickly as possible, hoping my hand would make up for my brain’s lack of retention. I did this the entire class and as the hour closed in and the class was about to end, I was physically and mentally exhausted.
But then my body reacted.
Anxiety raced up my spine as my skin pebbled. My fingers circled around the college-ruled pages, my head itching to turn around and steal a glance behind me. It took all my strength not to.
He’s close.
A clump of paper folded in quarters dropped on my desk just as a familiar scent floated past me on a breeze. His scent. A mix of soap and musk and something else entirely unique to him. Closing my eyes, I sucked it in and allowed it to simmer into my pores. I’d missed that smell and the warm tingle it always spread throughout my veins.
I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. I kept my chin tucked low to hide the pool that had gathered in my lower lids. My nostrils burned, my senses on high alert.
The professor dismissed class, but I didn’t dare move for fear my weak and tingling limbs wouldn’t carry me. I slid a shaky hand to the paper and curled my fist around it. I picked at the edges, unsure I wanted to see what was inside. Then I peeled it open, knowing I could never deny myself of even that small piece of him. At the sight of his neatly scrawled, familiar penmanship, my heart skipped a beat and prickles raged across my scalp, remembering all of the sweet words and notes he had written me in the past. But this one hit me much harder.
One word. So meaningful it punched me in the gut.
Unicorn.
Fucking unicorn. It was the best and worst thing he could have written. His words all those months ago came barreling back, shooting to my brain in a head rush.
“A unicorn is a fabled creature, a myth. They’re impossible to catch. When I was younger, I thought if I looked hard enough that one day I’d find one. I guess I was right. I finally found my unicorn. That’s probably why I feel like I always need to keep my hands on you. I feel like one day I’ll turn around and you’ll be gone.”
Another promise I’d broken.
This guy would always be the death and the life of me.
My heart smacked against my chest cavity. I wasn’t ready to face him. I looked toward the door, wiping my hand along my nose. Bunches of people rushed back and forth, but no Blake. I pushed my books into my bag and opened the front zipper, to tuck away Blake’s note so it wouldn’t get ruined. It might be the last I ever heard from him.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I exited the room. Though every sense I had ached to find Blake and be close to him, I knew it was best that I didn’t. It was a battle of wills.
I pulled the edges of my wool coat together, bearing down against the cold as I stepped into the cool air. New York in January could be brutal. Tucking my head low to block the wind, I moved at a swift pace down the steps. My skin buzzed as the hairs stood at attention, but it felt different. It didn’t feel like a chill from the cold. It felt like . . .
“Angel.” His crisp voice cut through the nip in the air, stopping me in my tracks.
Though my legs ceased movement, I didn’t look up. I couldn’t meet those blue-diamond eyes. Hurt and shame barreled into me, slamming into my chest, into my heart. Showing me with its quickened state, it was still capable of pumping. Letting me feel each erratic pass of blood through it. Each beat pummeling me further.
Silence ballooned like a cloud, but I felt his approach. It felt like my skin was lifting from my bones, aching to draw him underneath. Lips slightly parted to calm my ragged breaths, I tucked my jaw into my collarbone and waited for the blow. For the feel of him this close, his voice, his . . .
“Angel?”
The familiarity of that sound was directly behind me that time, laced with heartbreak, drenched in uncertainty. If I rocked back on my heels, I knew I’d fall into his arms. God, just one rock was all it would take to feel his comfort, and I swore my heels swayed on their own accord.
But I couldn’t answer.
I was so ashamed knowing someone else had touched me after I’d told him I was his. Guilt that I hadn’t been strong enough to stop Damon—strong enough to be the woman Blake needed—raced rampantly through my veins. I hadn’t been strong enough to open my mouth and say what was happening to me. Not just for me. But . . . for him. I wasn’t strong enough for him.
He didn’t even know why I had pushed him away. Why I had cut him off. I’d just dismissed his feelings as though they didn’t matter. His love. That had probably hurt him most.
“Angel.” And there was that crack in his voice I couldn’t bear to hear.
Blake’s chest brushed against my back, and his hands enveloped my shoulders, sending a wave of heat through my chilled body, despite my thick coat. The connection between us could never be lost. It was like a living, breathing entity, fueled when we were together. The feeling of it was so overwhelming that it swallowed me whole and made me lightheaded. Made it impossible to withstand him, and for his sake, I had to. I wouldn’t drag him back into my nightmare, couldn’t jeopardize his well-being anymore. I knew I needed to get out of here, or I’d give in. God, all I wanted to do was give in and let him hold me. I’d missed those hands, his warmth and his support. His voice and—my body caved further—those eyes.
I couldn’t turn around and face those eyes.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered before pulling away from him and taking off as quickly as I could. I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and bore down, the balls of my feet digging into the pavement. My hair whipped me in the face as my head swung left, then right, looking for an escape. I knew he was right behind me, felt the pull on my back, but I kept on.
I continued into the subway, hearing the screeching train approach. I hung onto the railing, taking the stairs two at a time, just as the train puffed to a stop in front of me. Scooting into the car, I went to the door opposite me and slammed my heaving back against it as Blake emerged at the bottom of the same steps I’d just run down. The sight of him for the first time in weeks sent the heart that was already racing in my chest, pumping in overdrive. I’d forgotten how beautiful he was, though he now wore a heavy patch of facial hair and eyes that almost seemed as though they had died and were merely used for seeing. They used to be so full of life. I once thought they could tell a whole story themselves.
He looked around before spotting me and making his way to the door.
Please close. Please close. Please close.
My knees knocked front and back as my nails dug into the flesh of my palm. In a short jog, he hurried toward me, his focus caging me to the very wall I was bound to. Right before the last stride that would have put him inside the same subway car as me, the glass and metal plates of the door closed with a familiar chime in front of him, placing a barrier between us.
He looked to the right, to the conductor. “Hey!” He pounded his fist on the Plexiglas.
The doors remained closed, and he looked back to me, hurt and angst bleeding through his eyes, begging me to come to him. He smacked his open palm against the glass, and his lips parted. Focusing on my eyes, he mouthed the three unmistakable words before the train hissed, whisking me away.
My head dropped forward, my hair creating a veiled shield as the speckled pattern of the floor bled into a kaleidoscope of tears.
“I love you, too.”