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CHAPTER 14
Charlotte
It’s over. The Weymouth Police Department charges Eddie Kessler with attempted kidnapping and sexual assault. College Hill PD might have slapped his wrists with community service, but not Weymouth PD. That’s the reason the security team drove him back to Vermont. The nail that secures his coffin is a pile of warrants for grand theft. Eddie might’ve been able to weasel out of a stalking charge, but Weymouth is tightening the noose on the clubs that make them look inept. The Hunt quickly distances itself from Eddie, claiming that he went rogue.
I’ve never seen Asher that violent before. From a safe distance, I watched him once in the Monarch schoolyard, holding a bigger kid by his throat up against a brick wall. The kid’s feet flailed in his solid grip. Asher eyed him the way a person watches an interloping insect crawl up a wall. He dropped the kid to the ground like garbage, and the kid screamed apologies before Asher had another go. I remember Asher’s face that day. His expression remained detached as he watched the older kid beg.
But he wasn’t unemotional with Eddie. Asher’s face twisted, transformed by rage. His passion was unleashed, with no way of rearing it back. I had wondered if he could murder someone, and at that moment, I knew. It was terrifying to watch his anger uncontrolled, but I felt protected. Now, I can barely look into his eyes without heating up.
Life will never return to normal. I don’t even know what that is. But it’s safe enough to move off campus, and I move forward with my plan. I must have privacy and a car. Marshall has an apartment to rent above his bar, and he’s shocked when I ask to see it. The space is underwhelming, and the oak wood floors are darker than I’d like. But there’s a pretty bay window that looks out onto the street below, and I can always paint the walls lavender. We shake on it, and he hands me the key.
The guys have their own keys, but last night, I slept alone. In the morning, I roll over and pull the curtain back to check the weather. Outside, it’s misty and gray, a typical day for a New England spring. My bed is a warm cocoon of down, and I can’t summon the energy to place my feet on the cold floor. I roll onto my back and close my eyes, trying to return to my dream. Asher told me he loves me again, but I’m too scared to say it back. I couldn’t make my mouth move. I’m afraid his passion will trap me if I give in. My hand drifts between my legs. I was sore for days after we fucked, and I’ve barely thought of anything else ever since. I think of Asher to keep Eddie Kessler out of my dreams.
Freshmen aren’t supposed to live off campus, but I’m tired of the dorm gossiping about my life. They should get their own. Anyway, no one’s checking to see if I’m actually living in my room. They probably think I’m at Theta or Gamma. Thank God.
My phone chimes, and I frown. It’s Helen inviting me to Theta House. I went over there a few times and saw the lackluster welcome on their sour faces. “Goodwill slut” is what they call me behind my back. I don’t have to hear it to know they’ve said it.
Since I’m heading to Theta, I dress up in my Stella McCartney from this season. I debate on wobbling into Theta house on four-inch heels, so I can look down on them from a great height. Old Charlotte approves, but I change my mind and wear sensible boots with a two-inch heel.
Helen clasps her hands when I walk through the front door. “Charlotte, I love, love, love it.”
We air kiss, careful not to touch or I might barf. “Oh, I got three loves today. How sweet. I have something to ask you.”
“You have a point and get right to it.” Helen shows me into the living room where Amber Kennedy, vice president of Theta, is seated by the fireplace. Her eyes sweep over my clothes, and good taste makes my presence a little less obnoxious. The only reason I’m here is because we all want something.
“I want to throw a charity event.” I sit against the arm of the farthest couch. “And I want Theta to co-host it.”
“Why do you want to do that?” Helen’s expression tightens as if I’ve found her family tree with all the nuts attached.
“I inherited control of the Howland charities, and I’d like a trial run to try out my fundraising skills. I think it would be fun, and since Theta is a charitable organization, I thought you would be eager to help.”
Helen exchanges a look with Amber. “It sounds interesting.”
“It will boost your philanthropy mission,” I point out. I wasn’t expecting a lack of enthusiasm.
Helen’s laughter isn’t meant to be kind. “You want to help us with our mission? That’s considerate of you, but unnecessary.” Helen stands up and sits beside me. “Charlotte, you’re a guest of Theta. We should be helping you.”
“This would help me and others,” I reply. “I want to donate the money to the counseling center.”
“No.” Helen’s frosty tone clashes with her smile. “It’s forward thinking, but not the best plan for us right now. Or you. Relax and enjoy the mixers we host. We want you to pledge Theta next year, and you can launch your schemes then.”
“Why?” I ask her. My voice drops the sweetness because I want some truth.
Helen looks at Amber, and Amber answers for her. “Please note you’re not a pledge, and your participation is limited. We’re doing a charity luncheon with the College Hill Ladies Club. Many past Thetas belong, and we’d like you to be our guest of honor.”
“And what am I being honored with?” I ask.
Amber sighs as if I shouldn’t ask questions. “It’s an inspirational panel on people in our community who have motivating stories to tell.”
Bullshit reeks of bullshit, and old Charlotte isn’t buying it either. Do they think I am an idiot? Of course they do. They plan to parade me out in public and receive praise for being caring friends that led me back on the path to wholesomeness. They’ll probably dress me in white with a collar to my chin and a hem to the floor.
Wren steps into the living room but isn’t quick enough to leave without being noticed.
“Wren, Charlotte is here,” Helen calls out and points to me as if I’m translucent. “You know each other, right?”
Wren barely smiles as she stands in the middle of the room. Her hands fidget. Wren is not the fire, and I don’t mind jumping into the frying pan. But we haven’t spoken much even though the olive branch has been waved around.
“I was telling Charlotte about the upcoming luncheon,” says Amber. “Why don’t you take Charlotte on a tour of the house? She’ll be a visiting guest of Theta.”
