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What we had might have been unusual for most people, but it was us. I didn’t want anything else. Just him. Professor. Not my professor. With the hot obsession burning in his amber eyes. Blank-faced. It didn’t fucking matter as long as we were together.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I walked blindly from the panic room. Holes of varying sizes riddled the walls as I passed. Pictures littered the floors, along with blood and human tissue that I didn’t have the stomach to identify. Secret service-style men walked past me, their eyes shuttered, their faces gray and grim.
Outside, I saw even worse destruction. Clouds of dust still polluted the air, along with the lingering scents of gunpowder and maybe sulfur, given the rotten-egg stench. Or perhaps that was death I smelled.
Darkness had fallen, but there were so many lights outside that it might as well have been the middle of the day, given how bright the grounds were. More men in suits with white communication devices in their ears patrolled the yard, ugly guns in hand.
It was like a scene in an action movie after the climax of the main character having some vengeance-filled shootout with the evil villain. Only no one was cheering. They were solemn and battle-weary.
Stumbling over my feet and debris from broken pieces of the house, I went to the SUV that was still parked out front. Huge dents and scorch marks decorated the vehicle, but it was still standing, although the tires were now flat. Going to the rear hatch, I pressed the button, testing if it was locked. When it beeped and lifted, I reached inside and pulled out my gym bag.
Breath hitching, I turned away, already thinking about how I needed to find somewhere to buy a new phone and then get a flight out of New York. It didn’t matter where, just as long as it took me far away from this awful place that had stolen so much from me.
No one stopped me as I walked down the driveway, silent tears streaming down my face, grief choking me. No one spoke a word to me as I stepped through the destroyed metal gates, one hanging at a precarious angle, the other lying on top of a Hummer-style vehicle that had a crumpled front end.
I walked for miles in the dark with no real sense of where I was going before reaching a twenty-four-hour gas station that sold burner phones. A grumpy old man stood behind the counter, his face scrunched up like a bulldog as he rang up my purchase and then tossed the dusty phone case on the counter.
There was an old wooden bench outside the store. I dropped down onto it and tore off the dirty plastic wrap. The phone was an older model, but it helped me accomplish what I needed.
Ordering a ride share. Buying a plane ticket. I should have called my parents. Or Hayat. Anyone. But I had barely been able to keep it together to tell the old man I wanted a phone. Hearing the voices of those I loved, who I knew would hold and protect me, would have finished destroying me.
All I wanted was to go home, crawl into my childhood bed, and never think about this day again.
The day I lost everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY
abi
It took me a moment to focus on the house when my driver rolled to a stop. Afternoon sunshine glared off the Pacific Ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the beach in the distance a lullaby I remembered well from my childhood.
A cough pulled me out of my misery long enough to mumble an apology for lingering in the back of the Uber driver’s car. Opening my door, I stepped out and quietly shut it behind me before walking down the driveway.
My parents’ beachfront house was in the same gated community as Hayat’s. They’d bought the four-bedroom, two-story house when I was a toddler. I’d loved the area, but there always seemed to be something missing. Creswell Springs felt like it was that missing piece, but after meeting Vaughn, I couldn’t help wondering if he had been what I was searching for all along.
Chest throbbing from the loss, I climbed the steps to the front door.
I didn’t have my keys. Everything was still in my dorm back in Creswell Springs. That was where I should have gone. Finals started tomorrow. My family wasn’t expecting me until the following weekend for what was supposed to be a brief visit.
Fuck finals.
College no longer mattered. I’d hire someone to pack my stuff so I never had to go back there again.
Head pounding from all the crying I’d done, from lack of sleep, from my world upending, I rang the doorbell. Sundays were lazy days in the St. Charles house. No one got out of bed before noon, and everyone stayed in their pajamas as a rule. It always helped Ali and me combat the Monday scaries when we were younger.
A wave of dizziness hit me as the front door swung inward. Dad stood there in a pair of Superman sleep pants and a plain dark blue T-shirt, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth.
When he saw me on the porch, his blue eyes lit up. “Abi-cakes!”
A fresh wave of grief began to suffocate me, a sob I fought hard to contain ripped from my throat. “Daddy.”
Through my tears, I saw his face pale, and then I was being scooped up in his arms. “Kin!” he shouted, his voice thick with panic as he kicked the door shut, carrying me into the living room.
“What are you yelling about?” Mom complained as she walked out of the kitchen. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
Dad sat me on the couch, his hands running over me as if searching for injuries. “Abi, what happened?”
“Abi?” Mom appeared beside Dad, both of them crouching in front of me. “Honey, talk to us. Are you hurt?
