As we keep walking, I feel the need to say, “Ren, thank you. You know, for saving my life?—”
“You’d have done the same for me,” he cuts me off with a shrug and a crooked smile, and damn, I’m reminded again why he’s popular among girls.
“But if you really want to thank me you could buy me a drink and then take one of my shifts at Pet Manor this week.”
I snort at his proposal. A drink and a shift at the pet shelter he owns. Maybe it’s because we experienced a similar childhood, or it’s the interests we have in common, but this connection I feel with Ren is getting stronger the more time I spend with him. He’s really become a good friend.
It’s crazy how my life has changed. Misfortune and pain have been a constant presence since I was a kid. I only had Ollie and Brad in my corner, and then later came the brotherhood and its latest addition. Ezra.
“A soda will suffice for now.” Fortunately, Ren’s words take my mind away from dangerous territory.
For now?“How can you drink soda in winter? I’d rather get a hot drink.” I playfully bump Ren’s shoulder with mine, forgetting for a moment about the hit it took against the tree. I hiss at the sting and roll my arm to once again check that I didn’t break anything, when the button on the cuff of my jacket gets stuck in my hair.
“The real question is: how are you still alive?” He clicks his tongue as he faces me to help untangle the strands.
“How indeed.” I huff.
two
SULLY
I was lying on that sidewalk again, he was on top of me, and time just stopped. He lifted his head. The man in the white mask. Those dark eyes, that bottomless intensity aimed at me. It felt like he was utterly and unwaveringly focused on me. Hearing every breath in my lungs, every beat of my heart, every thought inside my head. Would he have listened to my words as well? My hidden kinky desires?
The sun is slowly setting. The walk to my dorm is filled with thoughts about Pet Manor where I volunteer. This is the third pet shelter Ren opened with his brothers. It’s very close to the university grounds. Rami bought a house for Ren when he was accepted into college, and on the land around it, he built the shelter with some funding from the state and a few generous investors—mainly Sari, Rague, and Michael.
At the café earlier, Ren told me the two dogs we were taking care of were adopted, and Dare was able to find the lost cat’s family.It made me think of my own cat, Pink. I found her on the street when we were still living in Grand Crossing and took her in. She was all skin-and-bones, a snarly, scratchy little thing. Half of her ear was missing, and she had scars all over her body, which told me how rough her life had been. Her alert, frightful eyes did me in, I saw myself in them. It took me a month, but she finally warmed up to me. She has been at Ollie’s since I can’t bring pets in the dorm. I miss her little body snuggling mine while I’m sleeping.
I’m a block from my building when the hair on my neck stands. This again. I stop on the sidewalk and look around. There are a few students chatting, strolling, and minding their business. They’re not looking my way, but I feel eyes on me all the same. Is it possible to feel someone’s gaze even when you can’t see them?
This keeps happening since the scaffolding accident. Right now the sensation of being watched is too powerful to ignore. Could it be another effect of my PTSD? I wish I could ask Meg. I could find another therapist, but trust doesn’t come easily to me. She was very skilled in treating trauma, but more than that, she understood me, helped me to improve my coping skills, and was part of the support system I developed. She was…is my friend.She is in a coma, not dead, I remind myself.
I resume walking at a faster pace. I almost told Ollie and Rague about the scaffolding accident once, but I don’t want them to worry about me or to think that I’m falling back into bad habits. And anyway, how could I possibly tell them?A masked man, whom I probably made up a month ago when someone saved me from an accident I didn’t tell you about, is watching me…I think.
How do I know he’s not lurking with menacing intentions? Well, I don’t. I don’t even know if he’s actually there. Gods!Iamfalling into bad habits again. I should be freaking out and doing something, calling security, the police, or at least telling someone, especially with Nine’s black cloud hanging over our heads. But again, I don’t think this is her doing. I’m not directly related to the brotherhood, I’m Rague’s brother-in-law—an extra addition, not a primary one like Ollie or Hunter.
Plus, after all I’ve been through, I think I’ve gained a powerful intuitive sense, a cautious alarm that warns me if something is not right—like that Jacob guy, I felt repulsion from the moment I felt his eyes on me. There’s no siren blaring inside my head now.
Is it because I’m having those dreams? They wake me up during the night with a start—sweaty, craving, dick throbbing. I’m not surprised to realize I wouldn’t mind his attention…in real life. No one has ever looked at me the way he does in my dreams. How would it feel when I’m awake? My body and mind yearn for him and his undivided attention.
I am a certifiable disaster.
Should I call Brad and ask him what he thinks? I unlock the dorm’s front door and then close it firmly behind me. Or maybe I can ask Lori, being thestalking master—a title he gave himself—he could help me find out if there is someone out there or if I’m just losing my mind. He won’t judge me, that’s for sure. But would he keep it between us or blab it to my brother?
I run up the three flights of stairs and reach my room without bumping into anybody. I do lose balance as I lift the messenger strap over my head and hit my shoulder on the wall. Pain flares again from the tree trunk encounter, and I remind myself I need to apply a pain-relief patch when I get to my room.
When I arrive, the door is ajar, but before I can take a step back, I hear my brother’s and Lori’s voices coming from inside.
“Can’t you see his face when he’s looking at you? It’s like minus one degree frostier than bloody Elsa,” Lori is saying.
“He’s a psycho, he looks at everybody like that,” Ollie retorts with a huff. Who are they talking about? The only psychos I know—real psychopaths—are Raph and Ezra. Actually, I don’t know Ezra. We talked only twice, and I was mostly stuttering and rambling on. I’m so lame.
“Duh, but he seems to have a particular bone to pick with you. What gives?”
“Shouldn’t you be helping me?” I hear a loud thud and then my brother’s growl.
“Are you several sandwiches short of a picnic? I don’t DIY under any circumstances since the great table collapse of 2018!” Lori tsks.
I remember that day vividly. We were renovating his grandma’s kitchen. One of the table’s legs gave way, and the top fell right on his foot, bringing down three open cans of yellow wall paint all over him. People at the hospital kept asking him if he hurt his foot while running away from Sylvester the cat. It was epic.
