So now I try to make things for Janie every opportunity I get.
Shrugging, I say, “Meh. It’s no problem. I hope Janie likes it though.” I point to the sketch. “I also made her a tiny Iron Man in the back. Just to, you know, nudge her in the right direction.”
Charles laughs. “I’ll be sure to tell her that. I know Janie will love it. Appreciate it, Miss Littleton.”
Picking up my backpack, I open the door of the car wider, ready to hop out. “Just so you know, my offer still stands.” Charles frowns and I explain, “To call me Wyn instead of Miss Littleton. In case you forgot.”
“After you reminding me about twenty to thirty times in the past year alone? Of course not, Miss Littleton.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Ha. Ha. Goodnight, Charles.”
He chuckles. “See you Monday, Miss Littleton.”
Yes, Monday.
When I’ll get to go back to my actual home, St. Mary’s.
Waving goodbye to Charles, I finally climb out of the car and shut the door behind me.
I sling the backpack over my shoulders, ready to hit the shower and wash this long, awful day off my body.
The only thought that’s keeping me going right now is that it’s done. What my parents wanted me to do and had me miss school for. Now I won’t ever have to do it again. And on Monday Charles will be here at around six in the morning and he’ll take me back to St. Mary’s. Plus the next weekend visit isn’t until my dad’s birthday, which is still weeks away.
I’m walking down the driveway of my house, lugging my backpack on my shoulders, when I hear it: the sound of a car door shutting with a bang and sharp, thudding footsteps.
Followed by my name, “Bronwyn.”
In his voice.
His.
For a second I stare blindly at my well-lit house.
I also come to a halt, freezing in my spot, my heart thudding as loudly as those footsteps that I can still hear.
The footsteps that are growing closer and closer with each beat of my heart.
Until they stop and my heart stops with them.
Only for it to slam back to life because I hear my name again, this time with an edge of impatience. “Bronwyn.”
I spin around and there he is.
As if stepping out of the past.
Tall and broad and shrouded in darkness, he stands exactly where he did the night he walked me back home.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think that this is a hallucination.
That he’s an apparition.
But I do know better, and when he starts to walk toward me, as crazy as it may seem, I realize that he’s here.
He’s really here and he’s coming closer.
He’s crossing over to me, his steps purposeful and long, his eyes flashing, glittering in the dark. And when he reaches me, my backpack slides off my shoulder and falls to the ground.
“Conrad? What…” I can’t seem to form words right now. “What are you doing here?”
He’s staring down at me, his gaze sweeping over my stunned features. “Are you okay?”
“What?”
“Are you fucking okay?”
I don’t understand the urgency in his voice but still I reassure him, “Yeah, of course. Of course I’m okay. Why would you think that I wouldn’t be?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead he takes his time studying my features some more. As if to make sure that I’m not lying about being okay.
And I still don’t understand why.
I still don’t get what’s happening here.
Then, “You didn’t show up this mor —” He stops himself before saying, “You didn’t show up for soccer practice.”
“Oh.”
That’s all I can say as I frown up at him, still confused.
Wondering if missing soccer practice should warrant such a reaction from him.
Should it though?
I mean I know he’s my soccer coach but is that really why he came, because I missed practice?
“What the fuck happened? Your parents did something to you?”
“What, no.” I shake my head, my heart squeezing that he’s always so on edge when it comes to my parents. “They didn’t do anything. Well, except pulling me out of school today. But anyway, they wanted to take me away.”
“Take you where?”
“Uh, to New York. For a campus tour,” I explain. “Well, it was mostly for this event my dad was invited to, at the school. It’s his alma mater and they were throwing this charity thing with my dad as the guest of honor. So they took me along as well. To meet all the people, see the campus, that sort of thing. In fact, I’m just getting back. But someone from my dad’s office called the school and let them know that I’d be missing today.”
Which I hated, by the way.
I hated missing school.
I hated not going to his office this morning. I hated it because I missed him.
So much.
“Campus tour,” he clips, his jaw ticking.
“Yes,” I reply.