Page 81 of Crashing Tides

Mom’s disapproving face pops into my head, so I take a step back, wrapping my arms around myself. In a t-shirt and gym shorts, I’m not dressed for the weather. The wind has taken an icy turn.

A part of me knows I’m overreacting. Parents die. Classes are failed. Partners cheat and lie. People recover from worse all the time. But I can’t calm down. Can’t stop freaking out. I want to punch a wall, and break a window, and jump off this damn cliff, and let the waves and rocks beat me into a pulp, but I can’t. Because Elarion’s right. This will pass, and I can’t live the rest of my life if I give into temptation now.

When I get back to my room, Aleo is gone, but his laptop is still blaring music. There are books and papers scattered all over his mattress.

As much as I hate to face reality, I have assignments due tomorrow. I sigh. Sit at my desk. Pluck a notebook from my backpack.

All of Duncan’s notes fall onto the floor. Dozens of scraps of paper, all neatly folded.

I consider leaving them there until Aleo yells at me to clean them up or throw them away. But I don’t want to do that. Instead, I gather the slips of paper slowly, cradling them in the palm of my hand. Then I pile them onto the desk and do something I’ve never done before.

I open them.

Why was I so afraid? It’s exactly what I expected: neat, cramped handwriting and quick, simple answers to questions I half-remember. A few must be recent. When I read them, my heart clenches. That color looks nice on you, but it would look better off you, and I missed you last night, and I hope you’re feeling better today, and Meet me tonight?

I hate having boundaries. I hate being lonely. It’s been three long days away from Duncan. Underneath all the pain, there’s a longing that refuses to fade.

Why the fuck do werewolves have to have fated mates? I can’t live with that knowledge hanging over my head. One day someone else will come along and I won’t be good enough anymore, and everything we built together will come crashing down, cards where I thought there was steel.

And maybe that’s a little optimistic. Who’s to say how long our relationship would have actually lasted. But I’ve already gotten attached, started getting comfy, started to feel like I finally found someone I could belong to, and now it’s all gone because of stupid werewolf magic.

The sight of Duncan’s handwriting makes me feel sick. He wrote all these notes to help me, even when he didn’t have to, even when I didn’t want anything to do with him. And as much as I want to call him a creep, I also have to admit that it makes me feel seen, cared about in a way that I haven’t been in a long time. Jane helped me as much as she realistically could, but Duncan risked humiliation, even academic discipline, just to spare me from embarrassment.

Nor can I discount the fact that he risked his life to follow me off the cliff. That alone makes my entire chest ache. Shifting in public, fighting a stormy sea, then dealing with me when I slashed his throat while we were drowning.

And he never told a soul my secret.

I think of the voice on the phone, and shiver. Unless… Maybe he did? But that doesn’t make sense. He likes me. Furthermore, he’s rich. He doesn’t need the money he can get by selling me out.

But what if he does?

No, I tell myself firmly. There’s zero evidence of that. Just a lot of instances of a guy going up to bat for me when I gave him no reason to.

I should call him. Maybe he can explain. Even if we don’t get back together, maybe we’ll be on better terms.

But whenever I look at my phone, all I feel is that terrible, lonely ache.

I reach for the tequila.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

When the phone rings, I’m so drunk I can hardly make out the Caller ID. “Hullo?”

It’s that damn voice again. “Dominic.”

“Stop calling me. I don’t like you.”

“I don’t need you to like me.”

I don’t have a good answer for that. “Well, good,” I grumble. “‘Cause I don’t.” I try to swipe the call away and miss, jamming my finger into to the charging port instead.

“I wouldn’t hang up, if I were you.”

I freeze. His voice is like knives in my eardrum. How does he know what I’m about to do? I glance at the window, but the shades are drawn. Aleo has gone out to celebrate his last midterm. I’m all alone, but I stumble to my feet to make sure the door is locked.

“I have a business proposition,” the voice continues, calmer now. “I think you’re going to want to hear it.”