Chapter 21

Sebastian had been at Hainamor for six years, and he’d run the annual writing marathon for the last four. November was National Novel Writing Month, and the yearly push to write as many words as possible drove aspiring writers to begin—and sometimes finish—books they’d only dreamed of writing before. To Sebastian, the beauty of NaNoWriMo, as it was called, was that it provided an opportunity to take something abstract like a concept or character in one’s mind and make it concrete. The act of putting words to paper, and thus escaping one’s own reality, was a welcome distraction during what was always the most difficult month of the year for him.

Before the added stress of fighting for the award had been thrown into the mix, he’d vowed to himself that this was the year he’d finish the novel he somehow couldn’t find it in his soul to complete. Over the past year or so, he’d written some chapters here and there, but nothing seemed to stick. When he’d originally come up with its premise and the main character, Sebastian thought that the novel would provide the catharsis that he desperately needed—like an internal coping mechanism that would allow him to move forward without necessarily moving on.

But now, as he faced the idea of writing for hours on end a book that meant more to him than any other, he grew increasingly anxious. He didn’t want to fuck it up. He couldn’t fuck it up. But he knew the only thing worse than fucking it up would be not writing it at all. It was the struggle between both potential failures that sometimes caused him to hover on the edge of a panic attack. Lean too far one way and he’d fall into such a dark hole, he would barely be able to see well enough to climb out. He knew that from experience. And though he wasn’t surprised that the idea of failing at the only thing he had left had him practically hyperventilating, it didn’t stop him from thinking about how different everything had been before.

Before. The word held infinite meanings, and it was a struggle not to focus on them. Before the worst day of his life. Before he lost vital pieces of himself. Before the world around him felt like a bottomless ocean. Because no matter how deep he sank, he always seemed to go farther down, and all that surrounded him was a cold darkness that made it impossible to breathe. And what was worse was that he wasn’t sure if he was drowning because he couldn’t swim or because he didn’t want to.

It was one of the reasons finishing his novel was so important to him: he needed to prove to himself that he could still do it, that some parts of him hadn’t changed when the rest of his life had. And even more important, this book was unlike any he’d written previously. The need to do it justice made it both challenging and therapeutic. He hoped, anyway.

Thankfully, he’d arrived at the library, because the thought of being in his truck any longer caused a tightening in his chest that was nearly suffocating. And though there were definitely times he would have welcomed the feeling, because there was no denying he deserved it, now was not one of those times. The sea he found himself in wasn’t calm right now. It was chaotic and unforgiving, and he desperately needed air. So as soon as he cut the engine, he thrust his door open and practically jumped out. The sharp sting of the frigid air—which according to his car was just under 20 degrees—hit his lungs with a force that should’ve bothered him more than it did. He leaned against the side of his truck, his chest heaving with each shuddering breath.

“You okay?”

Sebastian jerked his head up at the sound of Naomi’s voice. She looked to be heading toward the library, a few bags in her hands, and she adjusted them between her fingers as she waited for him to respond.

“Yeah. Fine.” He avoided making eye contact with her and instead kicked at some pebbles on the pavement.

“Why aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“Because I’m a big boy, and I can do whatever I damn well please,” he said before reminding himself that taking his mood out on her never made him feel any better. Taking a deep breath, he told himself that there were worse things than having someone who worried about him being cold. Not that he wanted such a person, but there were worse things. “I was warm.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He reached into the backseat to grab his laptop bag and coat.

“Okay,” she said with a nod.

They walked toward the library at a similar pace, but neither spoke again until they got to the entrance. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“It’s a library and I’m an English professor. It shouldn’t seem that strange. Now can we go in?” she asked, looking at Sebastian’s hand on the door handle. “Humans get cold in below freezing temperatures.”

He pulled open the door so she could enter. “It’s a Saturday. NaNoWriMo’s happening here. So unless you’re planning to write fifty thousand words about the color of roses and violets, I do find it a bit odd that you’re here, yes.”

“Well, I am working on some edits for my poetry collection, so I may write a little at some point, but I mainly came here to provide moral support. And food,” she added, lifting her arm up slightly to gesture to the bags. “I figured you couldn’t be counted on to provide these people with any sort of sustenance.”

“Some of my students are helping organize the event. I gave them some money yesterday to grab something for everyone,” he said, nodding toward a table where two dozen doughnuts sat.

“How much did you give them? Twelve dollars? Some of these kids stay for fifteen hours or more. They can’t survive on one doughnut, Sebastian.”

“It’s not my responsibility to feed everyone for the whole day,” he called to her as she headed toward the table, presumably to put out whatever gourmet organic vegan gluten-free shit she’d brought. “And by the way, I find it somewhat convenient that you picked this year to show up with a full buffet. I’ve been here every year for the past four, and this is the first time you’ve ever thought to ‘help out,’ ” he said, using air quotes to emphasize the fact that he thought her intentions weren’t as selfless as she claimed them to be.

“Kind of like your presence at the activity fair?”

“I’m the advisor for that club.”

“A club that you started to impress the committee.”

While impressing the committee was, in fact, an added benefit, he’d begun the club at a student’s request, and they’d already set up the critique partners and had another group meeting. But for some reason he actually preferred to keep that to himself. “Maybe. But you’re just here to bring snacks.” When she took out some sort of vegetable tray, hummus, and some other dips that appeared way too healthy to possibly taste any good, he couldn’t help but smirk. “If you can even call them that. At least I bought something with sugar and carbs. This,” he said, lifting a bag of chips that, according to the label, were made from only chickpeas and seeds, “is…well, I’m not sure what this is, but it’s definitely not something college kids are going to eat.”

“They will if they’re hungry. And it’ll keep them full longer and have a more positive effect on their brains than giving them a bunch of junk food.”

“I wasn’t aware that your doctor title came from a medical degree.”

“Stop bothering me and put the rest of this stuff out.”

“You’re bossy for someone who isn’t even in supposed to be here.”

“The signs and emails said it’s open to anyone,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Now I need to go get a few other things from my car. I couldn’t carry all of it in one trip.”

Sebastian was just about to tell her that her reply didn’t negate her bossiness, but he didn’t even get the chance to speak before he heard Colvin. “I’ll get it, Dr. Price.”

Naomi looked shocked that the kid had offered, but Sebastian had no idea why, especially after he had just told her he was certain Colvin had a thing for her. “Uh, thanks, Colvin. That’s nice of you to offer, but I can manage.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

I bet you don’t, Sebastian thought.

“I’m sure.” Naomi smiled at the pest, but it looked forced, which made Sebastian’s entire soul smile. Because seriously, fuck this kid and his stalker tendencies. He would be nothing but trouble for Naomi.

Colvin shrugged like he hadn’t a care in the world, but it came off more like the gesture of a sulking teenager. “Well, if you need anything else, just let me know.”

Sebastian smirked. “We’ll be sure to do that.”

Colvin’s eyes shot to his, and Sebastian felt a thrill of victory at the strained look around the kid’s eyes and the thin set to his lips. He looked like a guy who wanted to tell Sebastian to fuck off, but self-preservation prevented the words from leaving Colvin’s mouth. Instead, he nodded once and walked away.

Naomi cast a quick glance over at Sebastian. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what? That I’ll try to make sure the police have a good picture of you for your milk carton?”

A laugh that Naomi clearly tried to rein in snorted out of her.

Sebastian grimaced. “Maybe you should just let him hear you laugh. I’m sure that will curb his attraction.”

Shaking her head, Naomi gave a quick look around. Sebastian did the same, and saw students milling about, setting themselves up to write. No one seemed to be paying them a damn bit of attention, which was good, because Sebastian startled like a high-strung chihuahua when Naomi leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Absently, Sebastian ran his fingers over where her lips had been, but when he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hand quickly. “What the hell was that for?” His voice did not sound hoarse.

“Thank you for looking out for me, Sebastian. Granted, it’s in your own warped, sadistic way. But still, thank you.”

Sebastian wanted to tell her that he was doing nothing of the kind. It was merely common courtesy to not let her get caught up in some sordid tryst with Colvin the Creeper. He’d do it for anyone. It didn’t mean he cared about her. It didn’t mean anything. And to prove it, he’d lock her in Colvin’s basement himself.

But he didn’t say any of those things because they died on his tongue as the lie they were. He did care about Naomi—in his warped, sadistic way, as she’d said—and while he often wished he didn’t for a whole variety of reasons he’d never speak of, denying the truth seemed to be an insult to them both. So instead, he softly said, “You’re welcome,” and basked in the warmth of the smile she shined on him before she walked away and headed outside.

Belatedly, Sebastian thought to offer to help her, but she was already gone and his body seemed momentarily rooted to the spot. Naomi Price had kissed him for a second time. And even though his mind told him he hoped it never happened again, a different voice—one that he hadn’t heard in seven years—said he wished it would.