“Zakai!” I said, giving a small laugh as though he might be joking when his expression told a conflicting story.
Braxton made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Well in any case, you can’t stay here. It isn’t appropriate, and it’s not in Karys’s best interest. And my niece is my priority.”
“Understood,” Zakai said, beginning to turn.
“Wait!” I begged. “Please. There has to be a compromise here.”
“There is,” Braxton said. “I haven’t forbidden you to see him outside the house. He just may not visit here unsupervised, nor may he live here.”
“Forbidden me?” I said disbelievingly. “It’s not your job to forbid me to do anything. I’ll move out too. I’ll live on the streets with Zakai if I have to!”
“I will not let him drag you down with him,” Braxton grated.
“Karys,” Zakai warned, turning back toward me. “Your uncle’s right.” He came to me, putting his hands on the sides of my face and kissing me once on the forehead before turning and walking quickly toward the front door.
“Zakai, wait, no,” I said, following, the barest of affection he’d shown me making me feel desperate and bereft. I longed for so much more. I heard Braxton and Claire following too, but raced after him anyway, out the door, and down the stairs to the lobby. Before he got to the front door, he turned suddenly so that I almost bumped into him.
“Karys, go back inside.”
“No! I’m coming with you.”
“You most certainly are not,” Braxton insisted.
“Karys,” Claire said. “They’re both right. Come back inside. It’s getting late. Zakai can make his own decisions.”
“And here,” Braxton said, reaching in his pocket, and taking out his wallet. “I’ll pay for a hotel room for you for the night. You can try to get into a house more to your liking tomorrow.” He held out some cash to Zakai but Zakai didn’t take it and after a moment, Braxton stuck the money back in his wallet and returned it to his pocket.
“I won’t let you go into the night alone,” I said, gripping his arm. I remembered the night I’d been “sold” to Cody Rutland. I remembered Zakai’s unceasing yells, the way he’d suffered and been beaten for hours and hours on end. I remembered him rescuing me and pulling me into the desert, shielding my body with his. He’d been willing to die for me. He would never let me sleep on the street alone.
Zakai let out a quiet sigh. “All right, Karys. For you, I’ll go back to the house. I’ll sleep there tonight and see what can be done tomorrow about finding somewhere better.”
I let out a small hopeful gasp. “You will?”
“Yes, little star. I will.”
I nodded, relief like a cool drink of water flowing through my worry-drenched mind. “And you’ll be in class on Monday?”
“Okay. Yes.”
I blew out a slow breath. “Promise?”
He ran a thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear. “I promise.” He glanced behind me, his gaze fixed to the place I knew Claire stood. “Take care of her.”
“We will,” I heard Braxton say. “Take care of yourself. If you don’t, that’s on you. Don’t drag Karys down as well.”
Zakai’s gaze moved to Braxton and stayed trained on him for several beats before he looked at me once more, his eyes traveling over my features as though he was attempting to ingrain them in his mind. He walked backward for a few paces, his gaze still held to mine. I’d never seen that particular look on his face, and I didn’t know what it was. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
Another tear slipped down my cheek. I smelled Claire’s flowery perfume as she put her hands on my shoulders, leaning close. “Come inside, Karys.”
I swiped at my tears and then followed them both back upstairs where I went to my bedroom and climbed into bed. He’d promised he would see me in class on Monday. So why did I feel so panicked and unsettled? And why did I fear the look on his face I hadn’t known how to interpret was some form of goodbye?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My heart dropped as I took my seat near the front, glancing back every few minutes to see if he’d slunk in quietly through the door at the back and might be sitting in his usual assigned seat, watching me with those dark eyes and that brooding look he wore continuously these days. But I didn’t feel the weight of his gaze. I knew he wasn’t there even as I continued to hope.
Zakai didn’t show up at all that week, and though I went to the coffee shop where I’d found him before, there was no sign of him there. I had nowhere else to look and no one to call. I kept myself busy by attending the study sessions I was invited to, my mood buoyed by the group’s enthusiastic chatter and their kind inclusion. Several times I swore I felt his eyes on me from somewhere nearby, that familiar rush of warmth flooding my limbs and making my skin tingle. But when I looked around, he was nowhere to be seen and what I’d thought was the weight of his stare, melted into melancholy that seemed to come both from outside myself and from within. I’d thought us twin souls once and wondered if though I couldn’t see him, he was somewhere near and I was feeling his pain in addition to my own.
I dragged myself into class on Friday, giving a hopeless glance back at Zakai’s usual seat, empty as I’d suspected.
“Darn,” I heard from my left and looked over at the boy sitting next to me looking dejectedly down at the pencil in his hand, the point broken off on the paper in front of him. He gave me a crooked smile. “Do you by chance have another pencil?”
I bent, digging in the front pocket of my backpack and grabbing a pen. I handed it over to him. “I don’t use pencils,” I said.
He took it, turning it in his fingers. “Ah. Not afraid of commitment then?” he whispered, glancing at our professor who was turned toward the chalkboard. “Impressive.”
Despite the heaviness in my chest at Zakai’s week of no-show, and the growing chasm between us that I could not understand, I smiled. “I guess I’m not. You however,” I said, nodding to the broken pencil on the desk in front of him, “might question yourself too much.”
He looked down, chuckling at the empty metal band at the top of the pencil, the eraser having been used to the very nub. He winked at me, picking up the pen. “That ends today,” he said, grinning.
I smiled back and our eyes held for a beat before the professor turned around, beginning her lecture.
An hour later, I stood, gathering my things. “Thank you for this,” the boy next to me said, holding the pen toward me.
I waved it away. “Keep it as a symbol of the new more-confident you.”
He laughed. “All right then,” he said, slipping the pen into his backpack and holding out his hand. “Dawson Enders, by the way.”
I took his hand in mine. “Karys Grant.”
He smiled again and I took him in more fully. He was attractive with the same sandy-brown hair as Cody Rutland, but with eyes the color of the deep green leaves that swayed on the trees outside my new bedroom window. I’d seen him around the campus before, always flanked by pretty women. “Nice to meet you, Karys.”