The Fundamental Theory of Us (2 page)

Chapter Two

Located in the Blue Ridge Mountains, nestled in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, was the town of Boone—the town Sawyer left the Upper East Side for.

Named after Daniel Boone, the explorer, Boone also boasted Appalachian State University. She could have gone farther away from Manhattan than North Carolina, but nowhere else had a university with a math program that offered a full scholarship or the views she got here.

Or the anonymity.

When she left her old life behind, Sawyer swapped the best of everything for the bare minimum, and she never felt freer. Stuff didn’t make her happy. Nothing made her really, truly happy anymore, but she settled on “okay.” Okay meant waking up with the alarm, not the nightmare. Okay meant making it through the day without breaking down and
reliving
the nightmare. Vodka helped, too.

She parked in her designated spot in the off-campus building, not too far from Walker Hall. The whole way home, her mom’s voice sneered in her mind about the dangers of drinking and driving. On a good day, with little traffic, she could make the drive in fifteen minutes—and that included hitting every red light on the way, which seemed to happen often. Probably, she should walk from time to time, but there was something secure about having her car, that get-away attitude. And even though the old Civic had rust and peeling paint, and the seats were stained with only God knew what, it was
her
car. She worked hard for every penny she had.

Inside the building, she took the stairs. She never bothered with the elevator. If she got stuck with someone else, she’d either black out from fear or end up beating them to a pulp with her messenger bag.

At the top floor, she pushed open the door and exited the stairwell—and ran into a wall. Not, not a wall. Walls weren’t warm and muscular. Walls didn’t laugh, a low, sexy rumbling sound. Walls didn’t smell like Andrew Warren.

Sawyer jerked back, getting her foot stuck when the door closed on it. Heat crept up her cheeks as she yanked her boot free and her bag slid from her shoulder to the floor with a clatter that made her cringe. Smooth.

Andrew bent down to retrieve her bag, his piercing blue eyes locked on her, never looking away. “Sorry about that.” He handed over her bag. His fingers brushed hers and a jolt flashed right to her tummy. “I hope nothing’s broken.” His eyes flicked to her foot.

“I’m fine.”
Lie. Always lie.
She began moving to her door, the first one on the left. Andrew stepped beside her, like he was waiting to see if her foot really was all right. “What are you doing here?” Probably visiting some girl. Guys like Andrew Warren had their pick of girls.

A rare smile lit up the dark angles of his face. “I live here.”

“You
live
here?”

Andrew arched a brow. “Yeah. I thought you would have seen me.”

“Saw you where?” Sawyer backed up to the wall, feeling behind her for the doorknob. Her stomach launched into her throat.

“You know. Coming and going. The other day, in the parking lot.” He backed up to the opposite wall, giving her space. “It was late. Your paper bag broke.”

Shit, he saw that?

“I would have helped you out, but—” He shrugged, his gaze dropping to his feet. “You were inside the building before I shut my truck off.”

“The soup,” she said, remembering how she almost tripped over the three cans sitting side-by-side. “And my pineapple. You put them outside my door.”

Andrew smiled. “I almost came over the next morning and asked if you’d share some of your pineapple.” His smile melted and a shadow flickered in his eyes. “Anyway.”

Awkward silence stretched between them. Then Andrew turned, opened his door, and slipped inside. Sawyer stood in the hall, wondering what kind of backward Twilight Zone she had entered, and what the hell just happened. Andrew Warren lived
here
. Not just in her building, but
across the fricking hall
!

She stared at his door, like if she stared hard enough, time would reverse and she’d be alone. Away from Andrew. The only guy who turned her pulse into a Formula 1 driver and started an inferno in her belly.

A second later, heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs. Rachel stepped through the door and Sawyer let out a breath. “You’re following me?”

“Come on,” Purple Punk Princess said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’m not going to the party.”

“Fine, no party.” Rachel rolled her eyes. Her lashes danced. The lightning bolt danced. “I’m too hungry to argue. The choices are IHOP or Waffle House.”

Sawyer’s stomach growled, deciding for her. “Fine. But I’m driving. Just in case you decide to take a detour.”

Rachel held up her hand. “I, Rachel Dover, do solemnly swear I won’t take Sawyer Layne anywhere she doesn’t want to go. Especially any place where there’s abundant alcohol, rowdy frat boys, and lots of hot sex that no one will remember in the morning.”

Rachel didn’t realize the weight of her words cut like a switchblade.

No one ever did.

Chapter Three

The clock ticked on in measured silence on the table across from him. Andrew Warren watched the seconds and minutes blend into hours, sitting in his dark, unadorned apartment.

His life had become a confluence of fears, doubts, and loneliness, all wrapped in the guise of control. Daytimes were easy enough. Nothing in his classes triggered much of the hell he lived through. Nighttime, however, was another story. Most nights he fought sleep, like tonight, and filled his mind with thoughts of Sawyer.

He wasn’t stupid—he recognized the fear in her eyes. Saw the way she mapped her surroundings and plotted out escape routes like some people planned their free time. They were the same, he and Sawyer, though he didn’t know how. He could guess, but Andrew preferred tangible answers, not estimates and hypotheses.
Maybe that’s why I’m falling behind in Fundamentals of Probability
.

Could be he bit off more than he could chew this semester. He was supposed to ease into it—real life, like a normal human being.

Rosie sniffed from her bed in the corner. She was bored. Living here, she didn’t have enough space to run around as she did back home. Andrew felt like a dick for letting her get bored. She was meant for more than this—sitting around, staring at the walls. Waiting. For what? Hell if he knew the answer to that.

After applying a coat of lotion, Andrew shoved the stump of his leg into the prosthesis, pulled up the gator and the sleeve, and pushed to his feet. Rosie stirred, her tag clinking against the loop on her collar. In the dark, he saw the pleading in her soft brown eyes, the glint of moonlight on her golden fur.

“What do you say, girl? Should we go for a walk?”

Rosie yipped, her tail slapping the floor. She didn’t get up yet. She waited. Part of her training—anticipating Andrew’s needs and following orders. Rosie wasn’t an ordinary dog. When he let her be herself, back home, she sure seemed it. Rosie’s job was to be there for him. Andrew felt like shit for it in the beginning, until he realized he needed her, just as much as she needed him. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. Damn it, he loved the girl.

He grabbed the leash, still on the cushion beside him from earlier, and dangled it. Rosie took the hint. Her nails clacked over the linoleum on her way over, her tail making slow, happy swipes. She licked his hand, then nuzzled her head at his fingers, and Andrew clipped the leash to her collar. Grabbing a bag and a bottle of water for the walk had become second nature since he got Rosie, who was also his first pet. Not even a goldfish or a worm in his past.

Rosie, eager to get going, let out a louder-than-necessary bark in the hall. Andrew cringed. This place had a strict “no pets allowed” policy, however the owner made an exception for him, as a fellow veteran. They fought in different wars but the respect, honor, and inexorable bond between two people who saw the kind of things civvies could never understand.

Then it happened. The click of a lock. Creak of a door. A shaft of dim light speared the space between the door and the darkness inside the apartment. He knew who lived there. He had known for months, though he never actually saw her coming or going until yesterday.

Sawyer’s face peeped through the crack, her sleep-rumpled cheeks and hair familiar to him. He’d never seen her this way before. Though not a stranger to sleeplessness, he recognized it in others. They looked like they’d been asleep for a century and just rolled out of hibernation mode, when in fact, their eyes were shut but no sleep came.

“Hey,” he said, keeping the Golden Retriever’s leash tight. Some people had dog fears. “Sorry if she woke you.”

Sawyer blinked, her soulful brown eyes hazed in confusion and shot through with red. Then she said, “You know there’s a no pet rule here, right?”

“Special permission,” he said. “You know, just in case my iron lung collapses.”

For a second, it seemed she bought it. Her brows sank above a glare. “Iron lungs don’t go inside people’s bodies.”

“You got me.” Andrew surprised himself. He didn’t joke. Not with anyone. There was something about Sawyer that brought out a side of him long buried. “I’m an undercover cop and Rosie’s my drug-sniffing dog.”

Sawyer’s pretty lips twitch into a smile, the first one he had seen on her. “Where’s your badge?”

“I’m off duty.” Rosie’s tail
thwapped
his leg. “I’m just taking her for a walk. Want to join us?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized.

Her dark eyes shot wide, a thread of something there he couldn’t quite read. Fear? Longing? Hope? “I should probably get back to bed,” she said, and Rosie interrupted her with an argument of her own. She pulled on the leash, almost dragging Andrew to Sawyer, then gave Sawyer’s hand the same treatment she had given him on the day he met the dog, eight months ago.

Which told Andrew two things: the first, Sawyer was in pain, which he already knew, but this pain ran deeper than he suspected, and second, Sawyer probably needed Rosie more than he did.

Rosie pressed her head under Sawyer’s hand, forcing her to scratch behind the ear. When she got what she wanted, the traitor dog slumped against Sawyer’s leg, and Andrew noticed it was bare. Miles and miles of smooth, light tan skin, to the hem of her shorts. And hell, they were
short
shorts. Barely shorts. A little strip of fabric, a couple stitches of thread, and some elastic holding it all in place. Andrew glanced up and caught the wary look in her eyes.

With a few months of watching her under his belt, Andrew knew he hadn’t made a good impression on Sawyer. The way he froze up whenever he saw her didn’t help. Neither did the serious way she studied him, as if searching for hidden threats—threats he didn’t mean for her to find.

He took a step back. Softened the clench of his jaw. “Make sure you lock your door.”

A tense beat later, Sawyer nodded. He waited until she shut the door, then clicked the lock, like a warning. As he led Rosie down the stairs, Andrew realized how stupid, how threatening he’d sounded, when that was the last thing he meant.

Chapter Four

In the morning, Andrew grabbed a couple frozen burritos, chucked them in the microwave, and guzzled down two cups of coffee with too much cream. Today was Saturday, and he had an appointment at ten. During the week, he drove to and from class, if he couldn’t make it on foot. All the back-and-forth and class time meant less exercise for him and Rosie.

So, on Saturday mornings, he woke around six, ran some drills with Rosie in the woods a mile from his apartment, then returned home for breakfast. After he ate and Rosie chowed down on some kibble, they jogged into town.

Andrew sat on the couch to eat. He didn’t have a kitchen table—didn’t need one. When the civilian versions of MREs and freezer food were all he ate, a table and chair weren’t necessary. Cooking wasn’t his thing. His mom had tried—God bless the woman—and failed to teach him any skills in the kitchen. He burned toast on the lowest setting. It took him to the age of twenty-five to learn to make coffee that was barely drinkable.

At nine AM, he shoved on his running shoes, gathered some snacks for Rosie, a couple bottles of water, and shoved everything in his backpack. Rosie waited by the door, her tail wagging.

“Ready to go?” He knew the answer.

She yipped and let her pink tongue hang out one side of her mouth.

“Come on.” He clipped her leash on, pushed open his door, and turned to lock it.

Andrew heard her behind him, shuffling. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Sawyer sneaking down the hall to the stairs. Rosie stopped her escape with a few barks. Andrew bit back a chuckle, thinking his dog sounded like one woman calling out another for sheer stupidity.

Sawyer pivoted on her heels, slowly. Her gaze locked on the dog. “Good morning, Miss Rosie.” Rosie barked and nuzzled Sawyer’s hand, and bathed her fingers with kisses. The little traitor. Sawyer lifted her pale lashes, revealing tired, haunted eyes. “Hi.” The word was a whisper. A feather.

“Hi.” He wanted to ask, “How are you?” But he held back, knowing she’d lie. It was what he would have done if she had asked him a few months ago.

“I thought you were already out.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, clearly embarrassed. She must have seen him through her window, which had a view of the parking lot. He’d taken his truck the short drive to the woods, since Rosie’s tennis ball was in the glove compartment.

“We were.” He explained their weekly Saturday morning outings. “Just heading back out. Jogging downtown.” Half-truth.

“Oh.” She shifted her weight to her left foot and balanced the stance with her bag. “Library for me. The Wi-Fi here sucks.” A blush settled over her cheeks, for reasons he couldn’t decode.

“Would you prefer to stay here and get your work done?”

She toyed with a strand of her sunshine hair that looked softer than silk. “Well, yeah. Of course. But”—she shrugged—“such is life.”

“Use my computer. The connection’s fast.”

Sawyer blinked. Then her gaze hardened. “Why are you being so nice?”

Because he liked her—what he knew of her, anyway. Because, selfishly, he wanted her in his space. Touching his stuff. Touching him. He could have told her that. Instead, he said, “It’s the one thing that costs nothing and the world is in short supply of.”

Sawyer nodded and he felt a knot loosen in his chest. Beneath the defensive façade she hid enough vulnerability and pain for an entire small town. He didn’t know her very well, but Andrew had a soft spot for her. Since their first meeting in Fundamentals, when he snagged the only available chair in the room—on her left—Sawyer became a beacon, whether she meant to or not. Calling out through the fog. For what, he wasn’t sure, and doubted she knew either. Maybe she wasn’t trying to get
his
attention, just someone in general. Either way, she had gotten it, and now he couldn’t let go.

She hesitated, nibbling on her lip. She always hesitated. Thought through every angle. Her analytical mind at work. He wanted to crawl inside and watch her decision-making process. He bet it was a fucking work of art.

“Take my keys.” Andrew held them out. “Password for my desktop is ‘Rosie937’ with a capital ‘R’.”

She shook her head but reached for the keys. “I don’t get you,” she said in that too-soft way, her hand frozen under his keys. “You don’t even know me. I could steal everything in your apartment. And take your truck.”

Andrew shrugged. “Yeah, you could.”

“But you trust me.”

“I do.”

Wariness melted from her shoulders, leaving behind a resigned strength she carried in spades. “I really don’t want to go to the library today.”

“So don’t.”

“You’re sure?” She still hadn’t taken the keys.

“Positive. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

Sawyer emptied her lungs in a slow hiss and accepted the keys. “Thank you. Is there anything I can do to pay you back?”

The answer hit him so fast Andrew couldn’t believe it. “How about an exchange? You use my computer whenever you need it—”

“If you’re suggesting sex, you can forget it.”

His eyes goggled. “I was going to ask for help with Fundamentals.”

“Oh.” She blushed, then the blush seeped away, leaving her pale. Sawyer swayed on her feet. “Oh. God, I’m…”

“Sawyer.” Andrew ignored the way she flinched when his hand touched hers. “Don’t worry about it. If you want to help me with Fundamentals, you can. But I don’t want you feel like you have to do … that. I’d never ask that.” The idea of
that
with Sawyer made him hard. Andrew angled his body so she wouldn’t see the tent in his track pants.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Let’s forget you mentioned it. Look, use my computer, eat my crap food. Do what you need to do. And know that you’re safe with me, okay?”

He didn’t wait for a response—Andrew headed for the stairwell. Impatient as ever, Rosie tugged on the leash, and he let her lead him down the steps and out into the crisp autumn air. She knew the route after a month of living here and going to these appointments. Andrew jogged in a steady rhythm with Rosie keeping pace. All the way into town, his mind drifted back to Sawyer.

When Andrew got out of the Marine Corps, his recovery took up the majority of his time, and when they sent him on his way, he couldn’t figure out what to do with his life. There wasn’t much call for someone that could shoot a target from a thousand yards away or make a HALO jump from a plane at thirty thousand feet. His ability to evade capture and withstand torture didn’t translate into real world jobs.

With his prosthetic, standing for long periods of time was out, so even the full-time fast-food jobs were off the list. He didn’t actually
need
a job straight away. He needed something to keep his mind busy. For three months, he sat in his house doing nothing, until his mom dragged him to a therapist. Before that, he’d been firmly in the “therapists are bullshit” camp. Three sessions and a new best friend with shiny blonde hair and an affinity for bacon-flavored treats later, he changed his tune. Paying someone to spill your guts might seem like a colossal waste, but it worked for him.

Andrew sat down in the chair across from Jennifer Ortiz. This was the part he hated—the beginning. Once he got started, the words flowed easily. Today, Jennifer went first, like she had on his first day with her a month ago.

“You seem different today.”

That’s all it took for him to open up. “There’s this girl.”

“How old is she?”

“I don’t know, nineteen maybe? She’s in a few of my classes.”

Jennifer crossed her legs. A dark suede pump dangled from her right foot. “It’s politically incorrect to refer to a female who is considered an adult as a ‘girl.’”

Andrew rubbed a knot between his brows. “Okay, woman. Anyway, I’ve seen her around campus and in my building—”

“She lives in your building? Or…?”

“Yeah. Sort of across the hall, on the diagonal. She reminds me of me, back when I was discharged.”

“You think she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder?”

“It’s easy to see in her. Even Rosie can tell.”

Jennifer looked at Rosie, who sat on a dog bed by the electric fireplace, soaking up the warmth. “She’s a smart dog. What about this woman makes you think she’s suffering from PTSD?”

Andrew told her about the other day in class. “It was just her phone, but the sound made her jump, like I used to when someone slammed a door or made a loud popping sound.” He still couldn’t watch TV or movies, just in case he heard it. “I think it’s deeper than just the sound for her. I touched her hand, when I was helping her pick her stuff up, and the look in her eyes was—the only way I can describe it is she looked scared shitless.”

He told Jennifer about this morning, feeling like a dick for betraying Sawyer’s confidence, but what she said—it rattled him. He wasn’t proud about getting hard about her non-offer, either. Of course, he didn’t say anything about it to Jennifer. What was the point of talking about a part of his life that was over? Who wanted a guy with one leg?

Instead, he told her how Sawyer tried to hide behind baggy, shapeless clothes, and let her fine blonde hair go too many days between washes. Like she was trying to push people away. For the most part, it worked. Except, Andrew saw through it—through her. Deep down, they were the same. And deep down, there was a light inside Sawyer, glowing brightly, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.
You can only block out the sun for so long before its brilliance steals away the darkness
.