Taking my keys out of the ignition, I open the door and prepare to get out. As I’m about to close the door, my phone gives a buzz, alerting me to the fact I almost left it behind in my haste to get this battle over with.
I can’t do that. If Maverick calls me, I want to be able to answer every single time. We may be separated, but I want him to know that I’m always there for him. Going from seeing each other every day to a few calls and some video chats will be tough. But we can do it. We’re both strong, determined, and he knows Mommy is doing this all for him.
Leaning in, I grab my phone, then shift away and lock my door. Slamming it, I look down at my phone and expect to see a text from my dad saying Maverick wants to speak to me again.
But it’s not. It’s an email.
from: Catherine Stanton <[email protected]>
to: Harloe Rose <[email protected]>
date: August 12, 2015, 1:36 PM
subject: Freshman Orientation <IMPORTANT>
Ms. Rose,
We are pleased you decided to join us for the 2015-2016 school year! We also would like to extend a welcoming hand and remind you that our door is always open should you need anything.
However, and we do know this comes with short notice, we do need to inform all freshmen how particularly important orientation is, so that you do not become lost, and inadvertently end up late for classes during the coming school year.
Also, orientation times have changed. Due to the budding growth this semester, we need to split orientation up into two groups. Group A and Group B. Business and ethics majors will be Group A, and creative majors will be Group B.
Your orientation time is as follows: August 12, 2015, 1:45 PM. Don’t be late!
Go Eagles!
Catherine Stanton
Financial Aid Manager
Email: [email protected]
Phone: 1-706-414-2465
I glance from the email to the Fitbit on my wrist, mouth falling in disbelief. “That’s only 5 minutes from now!” The auditorium is halfway across campus!
Thankfully, since I grew up here, I already know where the auditorium is. We had many a school trip here, whether it be for business ethics or for plays and such. While I don’t necessarily need the orientation, I don’t want to start this school experience off wrong.
Pressing the lock button in my car, I hotfoot it toward Pickrell Auditorium. There’s no time to take in the scenery since the place I need to be is on the other side of campus, so I put my head down and get there as fast as possible. My feet pound the pavement, sweat from the Georgia sun slides down the side of my face from my brow. But within just a few minutes, I’m where I need to be, huffing and puffing.
“Damn, I need to exercise more,” I say, swallowing hard and resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
Taking a moment to collect myself, I take one final, deep, cleansing breath before climbing the stone stairs, passing the thick, cement columns, and heading inside through the open door. Flies will be buzzing before long if they keep those doors open. It’s summer in Georgia, not winter. Flies are the worst enemy, especially the ones that bite you.
As soon as I enter the fray, I’m amazed at all the life I see. It’s buzzing, loud and abrasive to my eardrums. But secretly, I love it—the life, and what it symbolizes. All the people going to and fro, making a choice to put their education first. It’s sublime to see like-minded individuals.
I smile. My gaze doesn’t quite search the crowd but skims over it. Faces don’t stand out to me, which is a good thing. It means no one will know who I am unless they have family that lives in this town that spreads shit like wildfire. Even then, unless they’ve seen me before, if I don’t say my name, no one will know I was the girl left pregnant and alone sophomore year.
They won’t know I’m the girl who lost everything, while the prince of the town gained everything he ever wanted.
Pushing my bitterness to the side, I make my way toward a row to sit down. They looked uncomfortable, all plastic and no cushion and painted in the school colors, red, black, and silver, but I couldn’t care less.
I’m in college. I’m doing something no one thought I’d be able to because I’m a single mom. Fuck that stereotype. I’ve always done me, and since me includes Maverick, I’ll run myself into the ground to make his life perfect.
Just as I get to a row of seats, a leg shoots out in front of me, stopping my advance. Slanting my eyebrows, I peer down at the leg and then up into the eyes of the guy keeping me from sitting down. He leers at me, eyes raking me from top to bottom as he licks his lips suggestively.
Great. One of those guys.
I cross my arms, shunting my hip to the side. The very same hips that spread due to my pregnancy. Shit, everything spread. I’m no longer the slim bean I was in high school. I’m now curvy, with a little pudge of a stomach I hide with my jeans. Motherhood suits me if this guy’s expression has anything to say about it.
“Um, do you mind?”
“Not at all, marshmallow,” he replies, giving me a lazy once-over. “Question. Are you as soft on the inside as you look from the outside?”
Disgust slides over my features. “You have no class at all, do you?”
“If you were the teacher, I’d never miss a lecture.” He smirks.
Do punks actually think pickup lines like that work?
“Just let me through.”
Not even at the campus for thirty minutes, and someone is already propositioning me. Terrific. Just what I wanted. Not like I need to focus on my degree or anything.
He ignores me, even going so far as to lean forward and block my destination with his whole body. “Name’s Easton. What’s yours?”
I eye him. “Not interested.”
His eyes flick between mine, and something he must see there has his lips spreading into a predatory smile. It’s not a bad look at all, even on an asshole like Easton. Especially with a cut jawline, intense eyes, and the wide-set, muscular body he seems to be hiding under his clothes.
Sue me for looking, but even I’m not completely turned off by guys. I just never had the time before to appreciate how they look. Being a single mom and all, I had more important things to worry about.
I bite my tongue to keep from smarting off. But another voice jumps into the fray, stopping me in my tracks, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Fuck, man. Leave the girl alone with your corny shit.” The voice is deeper and gravellier than what it used to be, but I’d recognize it all the same.
Please, God, no! I yell inside my head.
In slow motion, I tilt my head up to make sure I’m not hearing things. Sure enough, there he is in all his brooding glory—my bastard of an ex.
Maverick’s dad.
Hunter fucking Prince.
“You,” I seethe, narrowing my eyes.
I hadn’t seen this asshole since Christmas Eve my sophomore year in high school when he broke my goddamn heart and left me in the ditch of my own misery. He looks the same, except taller, buffer, and now there’s an aura of menace surrounding him.
Everyone looks between us as we stare the other down. Tense silence expands, nearly suffocating me.
Since he isn’t acting like a douche, which was his go-to setting when we last saw each other, I assume he no longer recognizes me. Of course, he wouldn’t. I no longer look like the girl he knew in high school. I no longer look like the version of myself he promised the world to.