When he finally eats up the distance between us, coming to me like a predator about to devour its prey, I give him my body. Arching my head back, I let him take the most vulnerable part of me, waiting for the kill, crying for him to hurt me, but when I feel his fingers on my skin, it’s not pain that follows but pleasure.
And it’s all wrong. His touch is sweet and beautiful, and I fight against him, eager for the revenge-driven Cullen I know. As he looks down at me, tears pour from his eyes, and I instantly snap myself out of the dream.
My eyes fly open. Panic clutches my chest in a vice grip making it hard to breathe.
Something is buzzing against my nightstand, but my mind takes so long to wake up, that I ignore it until it stops. Sunlight shines through the curtained windows, clouding in the room in a warm haze.
I just keep replaying the dream in my head over and over until my phone starts buzzing again. Grabbing it off the table, I notice there are notifications covering the screen. Texts and missed calls, mostly from Thomas. Could he have found out about the attack already? I know someone from the campus should be contacting me today to talk about it, but I’m not quite ready to start all of that. First, I need coffee.
Before I open the messages, I climb out of bed and head straight for the coffee maker, firing up a cup with a couple buttons. The machine growls to life as the aroma of espresso fills the kitchen.
It’s not until I have the mug to my lips that I finally open the messages. There are four from Thomas, and it’s not what I expect.
Thomas: Have you seen the news?
Thomas: Everly, answer your phone!
Thomas: I really don’t want to tell you this over text.
Thomas: Ayers is out of prison.
I stare at the last one for so long, I nearly drop my mug. My heartbeat thuds in my ears. But I don’t look away from the message, just trying to make sense of it.
Questions swirl around in my head, erratic and disconnected. How did he get out of prison so soon? It’s been eight years…he was sentenced to thirty. That’s impossible. Does Cullen know? Why is Thomas so panicked? Am I in danger?
My phone screen pops up with Thomas’s picture and begins buzzing, jolting me from my deep thoughts. Quickly, I hit the green button and hold the phone up to my ear.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I say immediately because I know he’s worried and I feel a tinge of guilt for making him worry.
“Sweet Jesus, Ev. Answer your phone next time. You scared the shit out of me!”
“Why are you so freaked out?”
“Why? Maybe because the very powerful criminal you put in prison eight years ago is a free man now, and you just so happen to have his son in your class.”
I wince. If only Thomas knew the extent of it. He’s a lot more than my student and I see him a lot more than in class.
“I’m fine, Thomas. How the fuck did he get out so early?” I ask.
“He was pardoned. Some political bullshit for sure. People are rioting.”
Rioting? The journalist in me is desperate for a story. I could be at those riots now. I should have already known all of this, and it hurts that he knows more before me.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, stop it, Everly.”
“Are you there? At the riots?” I ask.
“You don’t need to be anywhere near here,” he replies. “You need to be somewhere safe. Where are you anyway?”
“I’m at home,” I reply.
“Alone?”
“You’re overreacting, Thomas! I’m fine.”
When I glance up, my gaze lands on one of Cullen’s sweatshirts he left here. Seeing it immediately reminds me I need to tell him. Unless he already knows. God, he won’t take this well.
Fuck, I have to tell him.
“Keep me updated, Thomas. I want to know everything.”
“You better stay out of this, Everly West. Do you hear me? Lay low. I’ll come over tonight so you’re not alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” I answer quickly, and he pauses on the other line.
“Oh, okay then. I’ll want to know more about that later obviously. Just don’t ignore me again or I swear I’ll hunt you down myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
When I hang up with Thomas, I call Cullen, but it rings six times before going to voicemail, which I don’t bother leaving. He wouldn’t listen to it anyway, and it’s not quite how I want to tell him. Where is he?
It’s Saturday morning. Suddenly, I remember he has a game today. It’s on the Florence campus.
Running to my room, I throw on some clothes and bolt for the door, leaving my half-drunk coffee on the counter.
I have no idea how he’s going to take this news. I know he hates his father, so I don’t know if he’ll see this as an opportunity to tell him how he really feels about him or if he’ll be as livid as I feel that the man is not doing the time he really should be doing.
When I get to campus, the game is almost over. Running to the stands, I spot Cullen instantly. He is being chased down the pitch, sprinting as the crowd goes wild. Running up the stands to watch from the metal gate separating the players from the crowd, I keep my eyes glued on him.
I see the pass coming before the player even throws the ball. These guys take some serious hits, and with the way that defense player is coming for him, I can’t look away.
When Cullen catches the ball, he manages to side step the defensive player and dashes toward the end of the field. Before he gets there, a second player comes in and completely knocks him hard to the ground. The crowd lets out a collective groan, and then it’s deafening silence.
My mouth hangs open, my hands clenched around the bar, watching as he twists and writhes on the ground. Waiting patiently for him to get up and give the signal that he’s okay, the crowd waits.
He doesn’t look too badly hurt, no twisted limbs or anything, and he is awake and moving, so that’s a good sign. Still, I stare at him, wishing I could go to him, kiss his face, tie up his fingers with mine. Instead, I stare on until the medic comes over and assesses the damage. After a few moments, he helps him up and everyone cheers.
Cullen’s eyes find me immediately. He freezes for a split second. The look he’s giving me is full of intensity, and I finally let out the breath I was holding. I feel the eyes of a few people around me, probably noticing that the new star Freshman keeps glancing at me.
When his game ends, he spends some time with the players and greets a few of the fans before making his way toward me. I need to get him alone before I say anything. He gives me a curious glance again as he gets closer.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, not quite rude, but not quite welcoming either.
“I have news.”
He freezes. “What?”
Just then I notice Coach Prescott looking our way, and I glare at him for a moment. Cullen notices me looking and a fire blazes behind his eyes.
“Cullen, let’s go,” I snap, grabbing his attention. I don’t need him starting shit with his coach right now. Out of everything this week, that’s the last freaking thing I need. “Come over so we can talk, please.”
He listens, and we walk together toward the car.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he mutters.
“Let’s just get home.”