He’s one of those guys who can make a woman feel naked with a single glance.
Enough, Trinity.Focus on your mission.
Shaking thoughts of the visitor-TA-sex god aside, I leave the stage area and head left toward the edge of the field.
A part of me wants to stay and toss my cap in the air with my peers, but I don’t have the luxury.
Besides, I got what I came for.
Climbing the steps that lead out of the stadium and to the small public parking lot, I suck down a breath of warm air. The crisp breeze feels divine on my skin.
While the day might be absolute perfection, each step carries the risk of hitting an emotional landmine that could blow this sense of peace to bits.
Ignoring the pressure squeezing my ribs, I cross the parking lot at more of a power walk than a jog so I can avoid weird side-eyes from other pedestrians.
When I stop at the curb for cross traffic, the thud of footsteps behind me catches my ear. I peer over my shoulder, spotting a man beelining for a pickup truck a few cars away from where I stand. Hairs lift on the nape of my neck.
The way he carries himself—shoulders stiff, fingers twitching—tickles the back of my mind. He reminds me of my brother and his enforcer friends.
When traffic clears, I pick up the hem of this stupid robe and break into a run across the street. Once I’m safely on the other side, I pivot to check. The man stays by his vehicle, fiddling with the key.
I shake my head and laugh.
You’re paranoid, Trinity.
And I don’t have time for paranoia.
Trinity
I race across campus as though my life hangs in the balance, clutching the cap and gown I shed so that I appear less ridiculous.
While the post office won’t close for another hour, I only have five minutes until the cutoff for mailing this package priority overnight.
When I push inside the door, I’m panting a little, but I arrived with plenty of time to spare. I pay the dimple-faced woman behind the counter, my graduation attire half-slung, half-tucked over my arm, and leave with a spring in my step.
Who knew that one little box could weigh me down so much?
Now I just have to pack up the rest of my apartment. I’ve experienced about all the endless summer I can handle. Even if I adored the sunny West Coast, I wouldn’t want to stick around after Finn’s warning about the brewing conflict between the New York faction of the Irish Kings and the offshoot branch in Los Angeles.
As soon as he told me, I made arrangements to move. Thelastthing I need is to be dragged into that saga. I also decided to off-load the package, just in case something went screwy.
As much as the idea of getting snatched scares me, an LA Gallagher getting ahold of that box would be infinitely worse.
I figure Texas should be far enough away until I figure out my real post-college plan. Austin’s always been a dream visit, so why not? For the past few years, I’ve followed a local band on social media, and the city’s vibrant live music scene fascinates me.
I would have applied straight to graduate school, but I couldn’t decide which psychology program to choose. Child Psychology, Marriage and Family Therapy, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Jungian Psychology, Wilderness Therapy… The list goes on.
For now, I plan to settle in Austin and find work at a crisis center. I spoke briefly with Finn’s wife about her work at a women’s shelter, and I think that sort of setting would be a good place to begin.
Maybe pursuing such an intense start to my psychology career isn’t wise, but after what happened to Angelica, I could never forgive myself for easing into things just for the sake of comfort.
Thinking about her always puts me on high alert. Complacency is my enemy, and so is any false sense of security.
On impulse, my eyes skate around, surveying my surroundings.
With the campus mostly deserted for winter break and only a few graduates and their families lingering post-ceremony, I’m one of the few souls out here.
I spin in a small circle, following the line of brilliant blue sky above me.
