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And honestly, when was the last time I did anything reckless?
Nine
Caleb
21 years old
If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I’d look forward to my art history class each week, I’d call them crazy. But here I am, waltzing to the humanities building with a smirk on my face because I know in just a few minutes, I’ll get to see her.
Briar has been helping me with the coursework. Do I really need the help? Not entirely. But the first time I leaned toward her during class and whispered, “What was this period called?” she gave me that sweet smile and leaned so close I could smell the flowery scent of her perfume. “Baroque,” she whispered softly before nudging my shoulder. From that moment, I was hooked.
Now, I ask every period. Every artist’s name. Every style.
If Briar’s boyfriend wasn’t such a prick, I might actually feel bad for flirting with her so much. But there’s no way she’s actually happy with him. He’s controlling and selfish and so fucking full of himself.
I would treat her so much better than him. She just has to know that.
Turning the corner in the quad to head toward class, I hear a familiar voice up ahead. I scan the crowd of students coming and going and spot her familiar blonde locks.
Then my stomach sours.
She has her arms wrapped around Sean’s midsection, and she’s staring lovingly into his eyes. There’s a smile on her face as he dips his head toward hers and kisses her on the mouth.
I feel myself slowing as I watch them, a swirl of nauseating emotions landing in my gut like lead.
What is she doing? Why is she with him?
As I pass them by, the smile on my face has morphed into a clenched-jaw scowl. Neither of them even notices me. It’s like the wind has been knocked out of my chest.
I hurry to the classroom and take a seat in the back, slamming my book on the table in frustration. Briar doesn’t make it into the room until after class has already started. And when she takes the seat next to me, her cheeks are tinged pink, and she’s biting her bottom lip to hide her smirk.
My gaze is focused on the front of the room where the professor is talking. Even when Briar looks at me and nudges my shoulder playfully as a greeting, I don’t turn in her direction.
None of this is her fault; I have no good reason to be mad.
But I am.
I’m mad at her for letting that asshole have her heart when she deserves so much better. I hate that, because of him, I can’t tell her how amazing she is.
This morning, I actually let myself believe that I was one step closer to having her as my girl. Now I know the truth. It’s all a delusion, and Briar will never be mine.
* * *
Present day
The house is quiet as I pour my morning coffee. Abigail is out of school for the summer, which means she and Briar get to sleep in a little bit later.
It’s only seven thirty in the morning as I stand in the kitchen, staring out the window that looks over the backyard. I’m replaying the events of yesterday when a ghost from my past showed up at my house.
Dean Sheridan has changed a lot.
Sure, he was only fourteen the last time I saw him, but it’s more than the transformation in his size and appearance. He carries himself with a sense of bitterness and regret now.
I had a feeling he still harbored resentment toward me, but I was surprised to see just how much he showed it. He couldn’t even be cordial or polite to me.
I have no idea why he took the apartment in the first place. Is this how it’s going to be? Is he really going to hate me the entire three months that he stays here?
I wish I could just tell him that for everything he hates me for, I hate myself ten times more.
