I close my eyes and drop my head back against the seat, letting the hum of the engine vibrate through my skull. One thought pushes through—Madeline, my buttercup. I can’t help but smile when I think about last night.
The girl has flipped my life on its head, and I’m not mad about it. My life without her was dull, with no connection to anything—an anger I didn’t want to deal with simmering inside of me. Madeline makes me see the world in a different light. She’s been through it too, but still she cares about everyone—who’s worth caring about. As sappy as it sounds, it makes me feel fucking picked. No man has or ever will be where I was last night. My face was buried between those long legs of hers that drive me crazy, and then I was inside of her. I now understand what people mean when they talk about heaven.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, hoping it’s her. I’m trying not to blow up her phone. I’m already getting what I want.
Bennett:School announcement soon. It’s official. Homicide.
I stare at the screen, my stomach dropping. They found enough to call it murder. Coach Murphy is dead. My brother had already told me they were certain it was her, but they had to wait to make it official.
I text back, “Details?”
Bennett:Not yet. Keep it quiet until morning.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, my jaw tight. It might be a good thing the cops are on the case. Madeline can maybe leave it be, but I doubt it. It’s not her way. That girl is going to keep me on my toes.
I close my eyes again. Drop my head back.
When we finally pull into the Kingmakers parking lot, I’m the first one off the bus, grabbing my bag and heading for my vehicle.
“Locke!” Grant calls after me. “Not going to the dorm?”
“Later,” I shout over my shoulder.
I jump into my truck and make the short drive over to town. I could walk it, but I don’t know what our plans are after I pick her up. I’ll have to tell her about what my brother texted me.
The coffee shop comes into view, and I see her through the window—sitting at a table, alone, staring at her phone.
Relief hits me so hard when I see it. Every muscle in my body relaxes. She’s there. She’s fine. She’s?—
The door opens, and someone steps out.
Emily.
She’s got her bag over her shoulder, her head down, walking fast. She glances back toward the coffee shop window, then crosses the street before turning at one of the three lights in town.
My blood goes cold and then hot.
I push through the door hard enough that the bell jangles violently, hitting the glass. Madeline looks up, and I see it on her face—guilt, surprise, the flush of someone who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t be.
“Luke—” She blinks, wide-eyed, starting to smile to try to cover the barrage of things that passed her face when she saw me.
“Outside.” My voice is tight. “Now.” A small huff leaves her, but she nods, getting up. I follow her out. “You talked to her.”
“Luke, it’s not?—”
“Don’t.” I run a hand through my hair and pull to feel the sting. “Don’t lie. I saw her leave. You know Emily. The girl I told you to stay away from.”
Madeline’s chin lifts. “You don’t get to decide who I talk to.” I get that, I do, but it’s still not going to fly. She knows how I am. This isn’t new. Still, she let me have her last night. Her thinking that she can get away from me is gone. I’m not even faking that shit anymore. Not when a psycho is running around and chopping people up.
“I get to worry.” I step closer. “I get to worry when my girlfriend goes behind my back to meet with someone connected to a fucking murder investigation.” I stare down at her. “Madeline”—I try to soften my voice—“if something happens to you, I don’t think you understand how gone I am for you.” I take a deep breath. The L word is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it. Not because it isn’t the truth but because I don’t want to scare her. “I’ll make a chopped-up body look like child’s play if anything happens to you.”
Madeline softens at that, putting her hand on my chest. “I’m sorry,” she says, “but she’s scared. It was all over her. She gave me her number. Didn’t want people seeing us talking. I want to meet up with her.”
I stare at her, my chest tight. She’s not backing down.
“Where?”
“The library. Public but quiet,” she suggests.
