“You’re a narcissist. You’ve always been vain and petty and ego-driven. You have serious daddy issues and a fucked-up dating history—including, most notably, with me. You always take the safe route because you’re scared. Case in point, your lame corporate job. You try so goddamn hard to make everything perfect because you’re convinced that’s the only way you’ll deserve—what? Love? Life, even? And as far as the world is concerned, you pushed my college roommate out a window to his death. You’re taking the fall, anyway, for reasons I honestly don’t understand.”
Maybe it was being back here in Winston-Salem, falling into familiar patterns; maybe it was the stress; or maybe I would always react this way to Coop’s uncomfortable truths. Without thinking, I shoved him. He staggered back.
“Congratulations,” I said. “You’ve managed to top your old record. Nowthat’sthe worst thing anyone’s ever said to me. If you hate me so much, what are you—”
Coop seized my shoulders. “Let me finish. I get it. You’re hungry. You want things so bad it hurts. You’d do anything to get them.”
“Coop—”
“And I fucking love you for it, all right? I always have. One look at you freshman year, and I was doomed. I know it’s wrong because of Caro. But it’salwaysbeen wrong, for one reason or another. Never the right time. And Christ, never worse than now. But I can’t hide from the truth any longer. Do the wrong thing with me, Jess. I promise, I will make you happy. I will love you for the rest of my life. I’m going to do it anyway; I accepted that a long time ago. But please. Do it with me.”
Here it was again, the radical choice: be good or be happy. Thank god I had another chance to do it right.
I kissed him with ten years’ worth of longing, pushing my fingers through his hair, the thick shock of it, the hair I’d watched him tuck and smooth and brush away so many times, without being able to touch it. He picked me up and walked me to the tree. I wrapped my legs around his waist and cupped his jaw. This time, I was the hungry one, the one who couldn’t get close enough.
I pulled back. “I love you. I loved you at Myrtle Beach and that day I found you in Blackwell and at graduation when I turned you away. I’ve loved you ever since.”
“I know,” Coop said and kissed me again. “Come on.” He put me back on the ground. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I just want to be free with you in this city. I used to dream about it.”
We walked to the bike, and I fit myself on the seat behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I like your dreams better than mine.”
The engine roared, and we were off, streaking down the road, nothing but farmland and fiery-topped trees and blue sky ahead of us, a North Carolina beauty that filled me with a sense of home. I looked behind us. Blackwell Tower was still visible far off in the distance. But we were racing away, and it was growing smaller.
I was safe now. All alone with Coop, and he loved me. So I rested my cheek on his back and closed my eyes, allowing myself to remember the final puzzle piece, the last part of the story. Remember it so I could let it go.
I could almost step back to the night, the hour so late after running from Coop’s apartment. I was desperate to go home. Still reeling from my confession about my father, and Harvard, and Dr. Garvey; from the way Coop had exploded, yelling at me toDo something, goddammit, Jessica; he can’t get away with it. All I’d wanted was to stop the night from doing any more damage, to put it to rest.
Bishop Hall had been mercifully empty, everyone out partying for Sweetheart, or because it was Valentine’s Day. In the elevator I’d sunk into the corner, letting the walls hold me up, then stumbled out when the doors dinged open, down the hall, and into my suite. It was pitch-black. I tripped over something in the living room, cursing, then pushed open the door to my room and stumbled to my bed. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t wake up until a whole century had passed, and I could try my luck with a fresh set of people.
I’d reached for the comforter, then froze. There, in a small ray of moonlight, a surreal vision: torn blond hair, sticky and red, matted against white sheets.
For a second, I’d been dumbfounded. Then, fear made a crack in my heart. I tugged the curtain to let in more light.
And screamed.
Heather. In my bed, blood everywhere.
I staggered back, feeling my legs hit her empty bed. I dropped and stared, still clutching the folder from Student Affairs, the one announcing her victory. Unable to move, my mouth open in a wide O, as if I were silently screaming. I couldn’t will a single muscle to move, couldn’t process a thought. I sat, and looked, feeling very strangely cold, like my limbs were encased in blocks of ice.
Heather was dead.
As soon as I thought it, she blinked.
I jumped to my feet, another scream lodged in my throat. Her face turned, and she spotted me.
“Jess.” Her voice; oh god, her voice was a ruined thing, so raspy and choked I could barely hear it. I could only stare at the gashes across her body, leaking blood, lurid in the moonlight.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
“Help.”
I blinked.
“Please…Jess. Help me.”
