Page 22 of Die for You
My chest squeezes. Fuck, that sounds way too familiar. “I’m sorry you went through that.” Part of me wants to reach out and squeeze his hand. Dosomethingto reassure him. To thank him for being willing to share that with me. But then I remember he literally broke into my apartment, and I keep my hands to myself. “I can relate.”
Jeremiah never got physical with me. At least, not in such obvious ways. He’d grip my arm too tight, wrap his arms around me to restrain me, but he never hit me. He punchedaroundme—walls, tables, doors. But that was enough. Enough to set me on edge and know, deep in my gut, that I was never truly safe with him. The threat was always there, like an undercurrent beneath my feet. A constant, terrifying promise to drag me out to sea.
Knox’s green eyes finally flick back up to mine, and my breath catches. “I hate that you can relate. And I hate that you don’t trust us, but I get why you don’t.”
I nod and return my attention to my pancakes, a lump in my throat. At least he understands. Someone does. I feel like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to find that. To hear someone say,I get it. I get you.
If Knox can go through that hell and come out on the other side, so can I.
Deep in my chest, something stirs. A glimmer of hope.
I shove it back down.
“Probably has something to do with you literally breaking into my home and spying on me. That can cause some trust issues.”
He ignores my jab. “You can trust us, Rory. We would never hurt you. Anything we do, it’s for you.”
I open my mouth but clamp it shut again before any words can come out. The only words that come to mind are snarky and acerbic, and for once, I bite them back. He doesn’t deserve them, even if he is a home invader who cooks pancakes for his unsuspecting victims.
But I can’t be the sweet girl who trusts the first guy who’s nice to her after she’s been with an abusive asshole for four years either. Especially when this guy has clearly never heard the wordboundariesa day in his life.
“Rory?”
I drag my gaze up to his. “It’s Aurora.”
“I like Rory.” There’s that smile again. The one that stirs the butterflies in my stomach I thought had died long ago. “You don’t have to believe me. We’ll prove you can trust us. However long it takes. We’re not going anywhere.”
On my walk home,I keep my head on a swivel. Damien said Jeremiah showed up on campus looking for me. Claiming I’m still his girlfriend. Nausea churns in my gut.
He’ll find me alone. It’s only a matter of time. Without hockey to keep him busy or puck bunnies to distract him, he has all the time in the world to track me down. He knows where I go to school, so I must be commuting from a reasonable walking distance. There are only so many places I could be hiding.
He could be lurking around any corner, watching for me to see when I come and go.
I’ve worked my ass off to get this far. Foster kids who bounce from home to home don’t grow up with many resources. No safety net when you’re kicked out of your last foster home and age out of the system. I’m in my final semester before graduation—I don’t want to give up when I’m this close.
I don’t want him to take anything else from me.
My phone buzzes with a call. A name flashes on my screen that simultaneously turns my stomach and makes me roll my eyes.
Barb Crowder.
Jeremiah’s mother. My former foster mother.
I could answer. I could tell her to stop calling me, that I don’t care what she has to say in Jeremiah’s defense or about how evil I am for breaking his heart. But that would only be fanning the flames. There is no reasoning with Barb or hearing her out, just as there’s no reasoning with Jeremiah. At this point, all I want is for them to be out of my life so I don’t have to deal with them anymore.
After I decline the call, my voicemail chimes a full minute later. No doubt she left a ranting, raging message demanding that I make amends with Jeremiah, chastising me for breaking his heart and being the worst thing that ever happened to him.
I’m done with Jeremiah, and I was done with her a long time ago.
Behind me, an SUV rumbles up. I shield my eyes against the bright sun rays and keep my shoulders back. So far, every vehicle has passed by me without slowing, but the tires decelerate on the pavement as they get close. My chest clenches.
There are no good scenarios in which a vehicle slows by some girl alone on the sidewalk—either Jeremiah or another creep who wants to kidnap me.
I scramble for the pepper spray dangling from my backpack?—
A low, familiar voice calls out, “Get in.”
Thankgod. My shoulders relax, and I don’t bother with the pepper spray or to glance in their direction. “Fuck off.”
