The words tumbled softly from my lips, yet desperately from the pit of my stomach. “Did you save me from that man?”
Slade’s lack of any sort of reaction did nothing to answer my question. And before I could press him more for an answer, the professor started to speak. Ten minutes before the end of the class, Slade made his usual early departure, but not before leaning down and snatching the coffee to take with him. It put a huge smile on my face.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at my tree for my morning nap, but a dark, sexy guy and his dog were in my spot.
“I realize you’ve been off campus for a few years.” I dropped my bag on the opposite side of the tree. “But during that time, I made claim to this tree. It’s common knowledge, like the house you’re living in is haunted. However, since I kinda love Jerry, I’ll share the shade with you two.”
If Slade’s chest hadn’t been rising and falling, I would have thought he was dead. Eyes closed. Hands resting at his sides. Jericho smiled at me, and I winked at him, digging a pear out of my bag. I started to take a seat on the opposite side of the tree but feeling a little more confident than I did during our last tree encounter, I took a seat right next to Jericho and shared my pear with him.
“We’re not friends,” Slade said without so much as peeking open one eye.
I bit off a piece of my pear and fed it to Jericho, leaning over and kissing his soft, erect ear. “That’s fine. Jerry’s my friend. And he’s infinitely more awesome than any man I have ever been friends with.”
“Jericho.”
Ignoring his correction, I took several more bites from the pear and offered the rest to Jericho. “I’m from San Francisco. Where are you from? Here?”
When he ignored me—not at all surprising—I continued the conversation as though he was partaking in it. “Oh, wow! You’re from Montana. I wouldn’t have taken you for a Montana guy. You have more of a Carolinas vibe to you. I went to Asheville last summer with my friends. It’s beautiful. Siblings? Yes, I have an older sister, but she moved to France five years ago. Oh … really? You’re an only child? I can see that about you. I think it’s your poor social and conversational skills that give it away.”
The humor died quickly with his total indifference to engage in any sort of personal interaction. Even with my morbid curiosity about him living in the firehouse or staying out until the wee hours of the morning, I could have given up on Slade the asshole. However, the tiny possibility that he saved me that night or even if he just heard about it and chose to protect me through Jericho … well, it made it impossible to walk away—even if he didn’t acknowledge me.
I crawled around Jericho, nestling myself on my back between him and Slade. Staring up at the trees, I let the back of my hand brush his. “Wylder …” I whispered. “Was it you?”
He jackknifed to sitting and grabbed his bag. With the slightest of nods, he gestured for Jericho. I didn’t sit up or say another word. I didn’t try to make him stay. I closed my eyes and imagined him taking a life for me.
The problem? I had no idea why he would do that or if he did it.
*
Later that day, I knew I should stay away, but my feet automatically took me there. I couldn’t resist peeking in on Slade in his garage.
Sculptures.
He welded sculptures. That was what I’d deduced from the configurations on the floor, like a puzzle waiting to be put together. Like everything I thought I knew about Slade Wylder, it was just speculation.
He had nothing to say.
In what had become our routines since the convenience store incident, I slipped into the garage. He ignored me.
I checked my social media pages and responded to messages.
He ignored me.
Occasionally, I’d touch some of the pieces on the floor, trying to figure out what they would make. That always got his attention.
Nothing life changing. Just a pause. On a good day, he’d flip up his welder’s mask and give me a look. I’m pretty sure it said, “You’re crossing a line.” Since he didn’t say the actual words, I kept doing my thing—getting a little braver … a little more curious each time.
“It’s hot in here. And I’m going surfing with the girls. Wanna come?”
He flipped up his face shield and inspected the piece in his hands, sweat trickling down his forehead, snagging on his long eyelashes.
“Well, we’ll be leaving around four. So …” I opened the door. “You know where to find me.”
Nothing.
After closing the door, I heard Jericho bark from the house. A rare thing. I’m not sure I’d ever heard him bark. I followed my instinct—in spite of it failing me fifty percent of the time—and opened the back door to the house.
A holy-shit moment. I was going into the infamous firehouse. Not even the eighty-five-degree day could stop the goose bumps from popping up along my arms.
“Hey, Jerry. What’s up? You okay?” I squatted just inside the door and scratched behind his ears as he licked my face. It was just a kitchen. No big deal. Except it was the kitchen. The place Professor Dickerson prepared meals for his wife and the young college girl he kept in the dungeon.
Then my mind wandered to the other mystery … did Slade have drugs in here? The granite countertops and tile floor were tidy. What I could see of the living room seemed just as clean. No white residue or haphazardly discarded bongs.
“I should leave,” I whispered to Jericho as I slowly stood. Should always had the best intentions. I really should have listened. Instead, I did nothing to stop my feet from moving toward the fridge.
I did nothing to stop my hand from opening it. For some unknown reason, I felt like a map of his daily diet would let me into his head.
No such luck.
Inside were just the basics: eggs, condiments, a bag of lettuce, carrots, bottled water, beer, white butcher-paper wrapped meat, string cheese.
After closing the door, I peeked out the back window and glanced at my watch. I needed to get home, but my insatiable curiosity pulled me farther into the house to the living room with a small, modern gray sofa, a dark blue recliner, a dog bed, and a TV on a console in the corner.
“Go home, Livy …” I whispered to myself, unsure which was more disturbing—the need to talk to myself or the fact that I was seriously contemplating going upstairs.
“You’re taking trespassing to a whole new level.”
“Shit!” I whipped around at the eerily calm but stern voice behind me.
Jericho stood from his bed and took his place at Slade’s side as if he needed to pick a team.
“You let her in. Why?” He kept his intense gaze on me, but the question was for Jericho.
“He was b-barking. I-I hadn’t heard him bark before. So … I just wanted to check on him.” My voice shook like the rest of my body. With the front door a few feet to my left, I knew I could probably make a mad dash if necessary, but the chances of my sweaty hand unlocking it in time were slim at best.
He pushed the long sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, showing me those veins. I curled my lips together to hide their uncontrolled trembling. How could one man make me feel so protected and utterly terrified at the same time?
“Are you going to cry?”