Caught in Us (Lost 3)

"I still can't believe you’re here to stay. If you insist I treat you normally, help me unload all of these boxes. We have about four hours. Then we need to start preparing for the party I told you about." She wiggles her eyebrows, and I can't help bursting out laughing.

"I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have an appointment at the orientation office in fifteen minutes. I'll make sure to come back in time to prepare for the party, though."

"Traitor," she mutters under her breath. "By the way, I need to tell you something." She purses her lips.

"Well?"

Hazel twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, chewing her lip. "I'll tell you when you get back from the office."

"Ah, resorting to cheap tricks to make me help you unpack."

She rolls her eyes, starting to unload yet another box.

I stride through the campus, soaking up the sun. It's good to be back. There is a lot of commotion at the orientation office, and I wait in line for at least half an hour, despite having an appointment. I keep myself entertained by going over the syllabus for this semester again. Thank God American universities basically force you to do a broad selection of courses. In England, you choose one subject and stick with it until the end. I love to read, but it turns out that studying English wasn't exactly my thing. I still don't know what my thing is, but luckily, I have some time to decide before I have to declare my major. I'm still buried in the syllabus when a voice I haven't heard in months reaches my ears.

"How many courses do I have to take if I don’t want this one?"

The voice belongs to Damon. My heart does a double-beat, my hands freezing on the brochure. I don't dare raise my eyes for fear that seeing him might prompt a reaction that is best kept out of the public eye. The woman behind the desk explains something to Damon, and he acknowledges it with a short "Thank you." I can't help peeking sideways when he passes me. The air changes instantly, something like an electric shock zipping through me when our gazes meet. Were this the first time I saw him since he left that dreadful night, I think I might have had to grab the shoulder of the blonde in front of me for support.

I saw him once before when I was in London. I had found out that Damon was in London for a fight. I could hardly believe that after graduating high school he returned to fighting, so I set out to see him with my own eyes. It was a shock to my system to see him in the ring again. I was disappointed and told him so. Our encounter was very brief and bittersweet.

"Why did you never write or call, Damon?"

He gestured around himself as if the mere fact that we were in a fighter dungeon should answer my question. In a way, it did, but I wanted to hear it from him. "I made you a promise when I left California that I will only come back into your life when I get my shit together, and I can't make good on that promise yet." He took my hand in his and pressed his forehead to mine. "I will look for you when I’m able to. I don't know if you’ll still want me, but I will look for you."

That was the first and last time I saw him since he left California.

I snap out of my reverie when the woman behind the desk calls my name, the fragmented memories of that night full of heartbreak and hope sliding away in the recesses of my mind. Leaning slightly over the counter, I try my best to pay attention to what the woman is saying. Since I spent the first semester of freshman year in London, and now the second semester at Stanford, I can transfer some credits. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damon waiting by the door.

He's still there fifteen minutes later when I finish with the advisor.

"Hi," he says.

"Damon," I reply, unsure of what to say.

"Do you have time to talk?"

I lick my lips as I take in his appearance. He was sexy before, but now his sex appeal seems out of this world. He shed the few shreds of boyhood that betrayed his age sometime in the last year. Now he’s all man. The green shirt he wears stre

tches over his shoulders, and I wonder if they were so strong before. Imagining what’s beneath the fabric muddles my thoughts.

"Well, I'm supposed to help Hazel unpack..." I squirm in my spot, fidgeting with my fingers, then we move away from the door to a marble fountain. "So, Stanford, huh? Congratulations."

"I have to thank someone for practically forcing me to apply."

"What are you talking about? You didn't apply back when we..." I take a deep breath, letting my words fade.

"No, but you grilled me hard enough about college that I eventually applied for the spring intake."

A grin spreads over my face. "That's great. What about the fighting?"

"No more of that. I quit the day my Stanford acceptance came. I’m looking for an honest-to-goodness job, so if you know of anyone hiring, let me know. My dad is paying for Stanford, but I don't want him paying for anything else."

I nod in appreciation. "Wow, that's a change I never expected. Not in a million years did I think you'd let your dad pay for anything."

"I've learned a thing or two over the past few months. I have pocket money to last me about a week, but I’ll gladly give all of it out if you let me buy you lunch." He checks his watch. "Or early dinner."

"I can't," I say truthfully. "I promised Hazel I'd help her unpack, and then we're going to some party." I regret the promise more with every passing second. Damon unexpectedly cheers up.