Page 8 of I Knew You
“Don’t you call me that ever again.” My booming voice echoed in the car cab. “You’ve never treated me like a father, and I want to be anything but your son.”
His hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight. “You were made from me, Bram Winchester. My blood runs through your veins. There’s nothing you can do to change that.” His voice quietened. “And don’t say one word to anyone about what happened tonight. Julianna was driving. That’s the beginning and end of the story.”
My burning anger gave way to embarrassment and dejection as exhaustion swept over me. My father had paid for my scholarship. I didn’t earn it. I thought I was free of him, but my whole future rested on his shoulders.
He was right. I was nothing. Blinded by the inexperience of youth.
Yet my father couldn’t have been more wrong about Julianna. She wasn’t a waste of time. She was sunshine, intelligence, and kindness—all things good and bright in the world.
But she was too good for me. She had always been and would always be.
Chapter One
Julianna |September 17, 2024
“Julianna East!” my neighbor’s voice shrilled as soon as my tired feet hit the pavement.
I ignored her, heart pounding, letting the desire to flee propel me forward. The warmth of the late afternoon sunlight made it feel like a beautiful day, but it most decidedly was not. I swung my large canvas purse onto my shoulder. But I misjudged its weight, and the force of it made my back twinge. I lost my grip on the handles and could only watch helplessly as the contents of the open tote tumbled onto the ground.
Awesome.
After taking deep breaths and gently rubbing my lower back to ease the burning ache, I bent down and picked up the items. A headache bloomed behind my eyes as I hoisted the heavy box laden with personal effects from my back seat. I shut the car doors with my foot and shuffled toward my townhouse.
I was almost to the door when I heard the same voice behind me, following me. “Julianna! Did you hear me?”
I turned, put on my biggest smile, and met June Callahan’s eyes. June was, without contest, the nosiest and most ill-tempered woman in the townhouse complex.
“Hi, Ms. Callahan.” My voice was so saccharine, I almost didn’t recognize it.
“My word, that’s a lot of stuff you’re carrying there.” Her perfectly coiffed hair didn’t move in the wind, a testament to her hairspray. Her fancy designer clothes were perfectly pressed, and her gold jewelry was blinding in the late afternoon sun. How could someone so put together be so sour?
I clutched the box. “It is.” My biceps ached, and my nose itched from the dried tear on the tip of it. Not to mention my back was radiating pain the longer I stood and indulged her.
June’s arms bent across her bony frame. Her lips pursed thin, and disdain darkened her eyes. “You parked in the wrong spot. I didn’t know if you noticed.”
I noticed. I didn’t care because in a cruel twist of fate, my assigned parking spot was across the lot from the location of my townhouse. It wasn’t typical of me to break the rules, but I’d chosen a closer parking spot so I could easily carry my stuff.
“Yes, Kare—June.” I bit my lip at the slip-up.
Her eyes narrowed further as I continued. Had she meant for me to walk all my belongings across the lot for no reason?
By the look on her face, that answer was yes.
“I parked in Mr. Richardson’s spot. He’s on vacation with his daughter’s family in Jamaica until Sunday. I’ll be back in Siberia tomorrow, don’t worry.”
I turned and began walking again, effectively dismissing her.
She huffed. “It’s against the rules. Just because someone is out of town doesn’t mean…” The tip tap of her kitten heels followed me along the walkway. I swung around, maintaining my hold on the box.
She jumped.
“I’m well aware of the rules, June. I’ll move from the spot tomorrow.”
She crossed her arms tighter and pulled her face into a full pucker.
“Not good enough. You can’t just do whatever you want.”
I gritted my teeth. June had it out for me since I avoided the Fourth of July celebration that she coordinated for our complex over the summer. A few weeks ago, she’d left me notes about the dead flowers on my front stoop, which had withered in the North Carolina late summer sun. Then, last week, I had a note about how my trash leaked onto the walkway when I walked it to the dumpster.
