Tutoring the Delinquent

In nothing but football pants and cleats and pouring sweat, I peel out of the parking lot minutes later, racing home. Hurtling through the entrance and shouting her name. She’s not there, though. She’s not there. Only her addicting scent. Battling the crippling disappointment, I struggle to think for a minute, then drive my truck back to campus and search her old dorm room while her roommate babbles at me and takes selfies with me in the background.

Not here.

Where is she?

Where…

And then I know.

I know exactly where to find her.

My blood runs ice cold.

Chapter Eleven

Iris

I sit huddled in the embrace of the cove, the wind carrying droplets of salt water and stinging my cheeks. The moonlight keeps the beach from being totally dark, but that didn’t stop me from stumbling and falling twice in the forest on my way down the path. I have blood on my knees and the heels of my hands, but I don’t care. I’m numb. I’m shaking. I can’t move. It took all of my strength to get here and now I’m a statue on the sand. A monument to being gullible.

A sob breaks from my lips and I draw my knees up to my chest, rocking, tears coasting down my cheeks and over my mouth, dropping off my chin.

Stupid. How incredible stupid can I be?

I don’t have a chance to answer that for myself, because I’m distracted by the roar of an engine. Once the hum cuts out, I sit, immobile, staring at the clearing, positive some drunk students are going to come stumbling out onto the beach any moment, searching for privacy in which to make out. I never expect Teddy to come striding out of the woods, bare chested in football pants. “Iris,” he chokes out, slowing to a stop and doubling over. “Oh thank God. Thank God you’re okay. I found you.”

Even now, when I know the awful truth, my heart still clamors at the sight of him. “You should be celebrating,” I murmur, dazed. Exhausted. Devastated.

“I don’t want to be anywhere but with you.” He approaches me slowly. Almost cautiously. But his eyes…his eyes are wild. Bloodshot. When he glimpses the blood on my hands and knees, he turns as pale as a ghost. “You’re hurt. You’re fucking hurt.”

“No, I’m not. I’m fine.”

He tears at his hair. “You shouldn’t have come here in the dark—”

“Stop.” I cover my eyes. “Just stop.” Quit acting like you care. It hurts.

A beat passes. “Iris, I can see you’ve closed yourself off to me. The way you’re looking at me is different and I can’t fucking stand it, honey. Please don’t do this. Please don’t believe what that idiot told you.” He falls to his knees in front of me and it’s impossible not to acknowledge how gorgeous he is. How chiseled. A God draped in moonlight, fresh from victory. “I lied. I lied to them.” He takes me by the shoulders, shaking me gently, the breath rattling in and out of his chest. “You showed up at practice and they…they were all lusting after you and it’s arrogant, God, I know it sounds arrogant, but the fact that you locked me down piqued their interest. No one has ever even turned my head. And they want to know why you did. They wanted to sample my treasure. And I couldn’t allow it. I’d go fucking mad if someone laid a finger on you. So I tried to…I told them I was only using you to repair my image, so they would fuck off and stop wanting what’s mine. I messed up. I knew right away I’d messed up and I was going to fix it tonight. I was too late.”

A tear escapes my eye and he howls brokenly, throwing his head down into my lap and wrapping his sinewy arms around my waist

“Don’t cry. Oh God, please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

I play back his explanation in my mind. I play it back twice and I find…

I believe him.

There was a part of me that didn’t believe the receiver. There is no way to fake the kind of passion Teddy and I brew together. But the hurt of that initial sting went too deep and I don’t know how to repair myself. I’ve been wounded too severely by the lies to stop the bleeding.

“It’s better this way,” I say, not recognizing the dead quality of my voice. “We’re nothing alike. I’m not the girl who dates the quarterback—”

“Yes, you fucking are! You’re marrying him.”

“No.”

“No?”

Bloodshot eyes lift to mine, swirling with insanity. My breath hitches. I’m right, aren’t I? He would be better off with someone who didn’t grow up alone. Someone who has experience with being in the public eye. Someone who would look more appropriate at his side—

He sits up, having gone very still. “Are you saying you’re not going to marry me?”