Page 68 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Becks huffs. “Did you tell him you like him? Or, I don’t know, make a move?”

Shaking my head, I take a sip of my coffee. “No, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t work out anyway.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I think he wants to live that rockstar player life. Dating me would really cramp his style.” She laughs, and I blink at her strange reaction. “What?”

“Dave is hardly living his best rockstar life,” she says.

My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, sure he was sleeping around a lot when we first got here, but the last couple months? It’s been less and less . . . in fact, I don’t think I can remember the last time he brought a girl home. Certainly not since the EP was released.”

My heart picks up to a steady gallop.

“James even thought maybe he secretly met someone, but apparently not.”

Dave hasn’t brought a girl home since . . . No, don’t read into this. Becks is naive, maybe she just hasn’t noticed or maybe he’s been hooking up backstage like he wants.

“Dave—He’s a fairly secretive guy,” Becks continues. “He doesn’t drink. He thinks no one knows but . . . I noticed he onlyever drinks Clausthaler beer. I haven’t brought it up—” She suddenly turns to me like she just spilled a huge secret. “Oh! I shouldn’t have—please don’t mention it, okay?”

I shake my head. “No, of course I won’t.”

She takes a deep breath and sighs. “Thanks. I don’t knowwhyhe doesn’t but . . . he obviously doesn’t want people to know.”

“I’m sure he has his reasons. Oh,” I say, remembering, “by the way, I took some pictures of the wedding. I’ll make you copies once I can find a place to get them developed.”

She frowns. “I thought you used the darkroom at the newspaper office.”

Shit.

“Uhh . . . well, Randall said he doesn’t want us using it for our own personal stuff anymore.”

“Bummer, but that’s fine. Can’t wait to see them, though. You take the best photos.”

My apartment dooris a welcome sight after I finish my last exam. My hand is cramped from so much writing but it’s over, and I very much plan to get into my coziest pajamas, pour myself a cup of tea, and crawl into bed with one of the many books I’ve been neglecting stacked in the corner of my room. But when I get inside, the red light on my answering machine is blinking.

Randall’s voice crackles to life when I press play on the tape. “Rodriguez. I need you to come by the office as soon as humanly possible. It’s important. Don’t make me walk all the way across campus to bang on your door.”

What the hell could Randall possibly want from me? Maybe he’s pissed at my abrupt exit. Maybe he was expecting a new crossword for this week’s paper then suddenly, when there wasn’tone to be had, he realized I was gone. I shake my head and check the time. It’s only four thirty and it’s a Thursday. Randall will definitely still be at the office. Maybe if he’s in a good mood I could even persuade him to let me develop Becks’s wedding pictures. Grabbing my bag, I walk across campus, the sunlight disappearing behind the buildings as I wrap my jacket around myself to keep the chill away.

When I finally reach the double glass doors, it seems empty, but just like I knew it would be, there’s a light on in Randall’s office. The doors are locked, but I knock loudly, hoping he’ll hear me. After a few minutes, he appears. First he looks annoyed at having been disturbed, but his expression softens when he sees me, and he jogs over to let me in.

“Miss Rodriguez,” he says unlocking the door. “You got my message?”

“Yes.”

“Please, come in.” He steps back and lets me into the office, relocking the door behind me. He gestures toward his office and I follow along behind him. “I wasn’t sure I’d hear from you,” he admits, sitting back down at his desk, which as usual is covered in piles of spreads. “After you left, I—” He looks up at me sheepishly. Like he knows that what happened to me was shitty and he did nothing to stop it. “Well, I just have to say that I hope what happened doesn’t deter you from pursuing a career in journalism. Out of everyone in the program, you show the most promise, and I’m sorry it took me so long to recognize that.”

This is surprising. “I . . . well, thank you.” When I received his message, the matter sounded urgent, not him needing to clear his guilty conscience. “To be honest though, with no internship prospects for after the holidays, I don’t think I’ll get very far.”

His lips part. “None?”

I shrug and sit down across from him. “Well, then maybe yourluck is changing because someone called our office trying to locate you.”

I freeze.

Randall holds up a piece of paper. “A mister Lewis. He said he wanted to know how to get in touch with the woman who wrote the Carnal Sins articles in the school paper. I didn’t exactly feel comfortable giving out your number or address, so I told him I would find a way to pass along the message and that you would call him.”

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