Page 66 of Safe Place

I don't tell him that I don’t have the time. And I don’t tell him that a C minus isn’t failing, but it’s enough for me to lose my scholarship.

“I understand. Thank you, Professor.”

I turn and head for the door, holding it together until I’m outside. The second I’m alone, the tears spill over, hot and fast, no matter how hard I try to blink them back.

I had a tutoring session scheduled today and had already booked a room at the Student Center. The one they booked for me was the room tucked at the very end of the hallway. Normally, being all the way back here with just Carter would have made me anxious, but right now, I’m grateful for the isolation.

I need to think.

I need to figure out how to pull my grade back up, maybe rearrange my shifts at Boston Brews and the bookstore to make room for meeting with the TA, for tutoring sessions.

Settling at the small table, I flip open my laptop and pull up my calendar. My stomach sinks immediately—there aren’t many open spots to squeeze in tutoring for myself. And then my eyes land on the event I marked in red.

My stepfather gets out next week. Shit.

My heart kicks into a rapid, panicked rhythm. My throat tightens, tears threatening as my breathing turns shallow.

Deep breaths, Sophie. You’re in Massachusetts. He’s in Illinois. He can’t even leave the state…right?

But the thought doesn’t calm me.

I close the laptop. Open it again. Close it.

I should call someone. Micah, maybe. But what would I even say—my stepfather is getting out of prison and I'm scared and I've never told you any of this? I wouldn't know where to start.

I'm still trying to figure out the words when the door swings open so hard it bangs against the wall, making me jump.

Carter steps in, and the first thing that hits me is the smell—a faint trace of alcohol mixed with something sharper, almost chemical. Not as much as my stepfather used to reek, but close enough that my chest tightens instantly, memories clawing at me.

“I knew you’d be here, you fucking bitch. The universe is on my side again.” His voice is low and furious, his words slurring just slightly. His eyes are red, glassy—not drunk enough to stumble, but off and jittery. He’s also high, maybe.

“How dare you block my number,” he spits, slamming the door behind him. Then, just as quickly, his expression twists into a smirk. “But it’s okay. You know why? Because I know I can change your mind.”

He starts walking toward me, calm and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment.

“Carter, you need to leave,” I manage to say, though my voice is shaking.

“Leave?” He laughs, ugly and amused. “Come on, sweetheart. I came all this way for you. Don’t act like you don’t think about me, too.”

“You think you’ll ever find someone better than me?” He’s close now, way too close. The room is small, and I’m already pressed against the corner of the table with nowhere left to move.

“Let’s make this quick,” he murmurs, leaning in, his breath sour with alcohol. “I’ll give you a preview of how good I can make you feel.”

“I said leave,” I repeat, louder this time, but my hands are trembling.

He grins, tipping his head as if I’m being cute. “What, you playing hard to get now? You didn’t seem to mind my gift. Though I’d have liked a thank you.” His gaze drags down my body. “Let me see if you’re wearing any of it.”

Before I can react, his hand shoots out, grabbing the neckline of my shirt. The defective seam tears easily with a loud rip, and the fabric slips, exposing my bra completely.

His eyes widen, and his smirk turns darker, more lustful. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, this view,” he breathes, licking his lips. “You make me so hard. I can’t wait to taste this.”

“Stop!” I shove at his chest, but he’s stronger than me, his grip like iron. His other hand digs into my waist, pulling me closer as his fingers trail toward the waistband of my jeans.

Panic surges white-hot through me. I can’t think—I just act.

I sink my teeth into his hand, the one gripping my ripped shirt. Hard.

“FUCK!” he yells, jerking back and releasing me.