Page 94 of Crashing Tides

Duncan looks panicked, wide-eyed and out of breath. He reaches toward me, then stops himself, like thinks I might push him away. There’s no way I’m going to do that, but maybe he doesn’t know.

“Probably not,” I admit. “But I’m here. Can we talk?”

It occurs to me then that I don’t know what I’m going to do if the answer is no. Stumble home? Take a nap on the stairs? The only thing I know for sure is that I would definitely cry. I’m honestly not sure if I’m capable of walking back to my dorm right now, not when it felt like running a marathon just getting here.

“Yeah,” says Duncan, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, come inside.”

I want to make a joke about that, but I’m about to collapse. Breathing hurts. I’m pretty sure I forgot to take my pain meds. I shouldn’t be here. Gretchen is going to be pissed when she finds out I disobeyed all medical advice and left my dorm.

“See you later,” says Felix, touching me gently on my shoulder. Then he’s gone, down the spiral staircase, sconces flaring to life around him in a ghostly glow.

Unsteady, I follow Duncan into his room. The palm of his hand hovers at my side, like he thinks I might fall over. I hate to admit it, but he’s right to be concerned.

His room is the messiest I’ve ever seen it. The bed is unmade, the desk is piled with papers and textbooks. Clothes are strewn across the floor, on the back of the chair, at the foot of the bed, even hanging from the door.

He’s quick to say, “What do you need?”

The noise that escapes me is involuntary. Without hesitation, he helps me over to the bed, props me up on a pile of hastily gathered pillows and laundry. Maybe I should be offended that he couldn’t be bothered to find a set of clean sheets or something to bunch up behind me, but I think it’s kind of sweet that he recognized the urgency and used whatever he had on hand, regardless of how it looks.

“Thanks.”

He gets me a glass of water, insists on plugging in my new-old phone even though it’s at fifty percent, and then stands in the middle of the room staring at me. He looks like he’s about to combust. Like he thinks there’s more he should be doing, but he can’t quite decide what that is, so he’s just going to panic instead.

“You’re making me dizzy. Sit down,” I say, and he grabs the chair from the desk and scoots it across from the bed. Then he straddles it backwards and scrutinizes me.

I close my eyes so that I won’t see the pity, the anger, the regret, and whatever else might be there. “I missed you,” I say, and I don’t dare look at him. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Dominic,” he says, and his voice is so, so warm. I could drift into it. “You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.”

“But I went with him,” I protest, finally opening my eyes. Grief, anger, disbelief, self-hatred all mix into a terrible stew in my gut, and I can’t handle it anymore. “I was drunk and he scared me so bad, I didn’t know what to do⁠—”

“He lied to you.” Duncan shakes his head. “He lied to you and then he attacked you. That isn’t your fault.”

“I was so stupid,” I say. Hot tears spill down my face. My voice is thick. “I just completely freaked out⁠—”

“You’re not stupid,” he argues. “It’s not your fault⁠—”

“He said he wanted one scale and that if I did anything he was gonna kill you instead and I was too scared to call the cops because he said he’d make it so much worse⁠—”

“Dominic—”

“—and I just didn’t know what to do so I called you and I was gonna call Jane and then⁠—”

“Dominic—”

“And then everything went completely wrong⁠—”

“Dominic!” Duncan shouts. That shuts me up, leaves me stunned and staring, afraid to move. “It’s OK,” he says, and he looks like he’s scared, too. When I look closer, I realize he’s got tears in his eyes. His knuckles are white where he grips the back of the chair. “It’s OK. I’m never, ever going to be angry with you about this, OK? I-I want to know more about what happened, but I’m not angry.”

“He didn’t force me outside⁠—”

“He lied and manipulated you to make sure you were alone and vulnerable. Stop beating yourself up. I could never, ever be angry with you for that.” He wipes at his eyes, then meets my gaze. “I promise.”

“I put you in danger⁠—”

“I haven’t even begun to process what the fuck happened,” Duncan says. He tips his head back as he pinches the bridge of his nose, baring his throat to me. Then he looks at me. “But I’m so, so glad you’re alright. I thought—I thought it was too late.” Now he really sounds like he’s about to cry as he presses his forehead against the back of the chair and inhales sharply. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“I’m so stupid,” I tell him.