The Sophomore (College Years 2)

“I don’t think she has her phone on her, but she told us she wants to see you,” Tony says.

“Where the hell is her phone?”

“It got lost in the car, I think? I have no idea. The police might have it. The car was taken in for evidence,” he says. “Or it was just towed? Not sure. It broke down on her last night in the parking lot at the Doghouse Grill. That’s how the guy caught her in the first place.”

“Fuck.” I pound the steering wheel again, so hard it hurts my hand. “I hate that fucking car. She needs a new one.”

“She can’t afford one,” he reminds me.

“I’m buying her one. Fuck this. I’m tired of it. I’ll trade in this shitty Mercedes and get Ellie something that’s dependable. I can drive whatever.” I don’t care. I was a pretentious little shit in high school, but I’m realizing that material things don’t mean shit if you don’t have the one you love sitting beside you.

“You’re going to actually buy Ellie a car?” Tony sounds amused.

“How can you laugh at a time like this, huh? Fuck, she almost died!”

“Jackson, calm down. She didn’t die. That’s the best thing about this. And you don’t realize that because you haven’t seen her yet. Yeah, she’s sore and she looks like hell, but she has a pretty good sense of humor about it.”

“A sense of humor? Some asshole attacked her,” I stress, barely able to wrap my head around those words.

“A drunk loser who’s upset because his wife left him. That’s what the police officer told Hayden when he talked to her earlier this morning,” Tony explains.

A ragged breath escapes me. I won’t be able to calm down until I see Ellie for myself and know she’s okay. I need to hear her say those words. Until then, I’m in pure freak out mode. “I’ll be at her parents’ house in an hour. Probably less.”

“You know where they live?”

I hesitate for a moment. “Uh, no.”

“I’ll text you the address. Oh, and Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“She’ll be all right. Really. She’s a lot stronger than everyone thinks she is,” Tony says before we end the call.

His words are supposed to be reassuring, but it doesn’t work. I’m stressed the entire drive, gripping the steering wheel so tight, my fingers are fucking cramping up. I have to shake them out every few minutes, which isn’t good for my game or my guitar playing. I need to fucking relax.

But when the girl you care about more than life itself is suffering, you can’t. It’s just that simple.

By the time I make it, I’m a rattled mess. Still running on adrenaline, and ready to tear that drunk asshole completely apart. Not that he’s going to cross my path anytime soon. He better hope not, because I will fuck that guy up, and then I’ll end up being the one sitting in jail.

I knock on the door, pacing the front porch. It swings open immediately, and an older version of my girlfriend is standing on the doorstep, blinking up at me before she breaks out into a gentle smile that has me staring mutely at her.

Ellie looks just like her. It’s uncanny, the resemblance.

“You must be Jackson,” she says. “I’m Renata. Ellie’s mom.”

“Nice to meet you—” I start.

She jerks me into a hug, surprisingly strong for such a small woman. I return the hug, finding comfort in the tight grip of her arms. The way she holds me, like a mom should. Something I don’t get much of. I’m not close to my parents at all. Since I’ve been in college, I rarely see my dad, and I used to consider us close. I appreciate how welcoming Ellie’s mom is. “It’s so nice to meet you too,” she says after she releases me, looking a little flustered. “Come in, come in.”

I walk inside the house, glancing around. It’s small but clean, and I can smell a candle burning. It’s homey looking, the furniture a little worn, but I bet that couch is comfortable. I glance to my left, spotting a photo of Ellie on the wall right next to where I’m standing. She’s young, like in elementary school, her hair in two ponytails on either side of her head, and she looks absolutely adorable. I smile as I study it.

“She’s in her room,” her mother tells me, her voice soft. “I insisted she come home for the weekend, so I can take care of her.”

“How bad is it?” I ask, my voice grave. I don’t want any bullshit. I need someone to be straight with me.

“She looks—terrible.” She tries to smile, but it wavers, and she gives up. Her face appears ready to crumple at any second, and I really hope she doesn’t start to cry. I don’t do well with women and tears. They make me uncomfortable. “But my girl is strong. I’m so proud of her. She tried her best to fight that guy off.”

“I bet she did,” I murmur, never doubting Ellie’s strength for a second. “Do you mind if I go see her?”