Winter (Four Seasons #1) (27 page)

Class flies by
without disturbance and I almost manage to block out the gesturing
and whispered conversations. What I can’t block out is Noah’s
intense gaze, fixed directly on me. Every time I look over he’s
watching me with a torn look on his face. It’s as though he wants
to run across the lecture theatre and grab me so we can both flee
the building. I know if I don’t get it out of the way he’ll be
staring at me through the whole class, and I don’t want to deal
with that. I shoot him my,
you-don’t-get-to-threaten-and-lie-to-me-and-expect-to-still-look-at-me-like-that!
glare. He tenses immediately, like he knows all of
his secrets aren’t so secret anymore, and that I’m aware of the
woman and kid out there somewhere waiting for him to go back to
them.

Ten minutes
before class ends my phone buzzes. I slip it from my jeans pocket,
glad I’m seated so far back, and find a text from Luke.

Luke: I don’t
remember calling you but Brandon and my call history inform me that
I did. Please forgive me? I really think we should talk.

I hit reply
and type,

It’s okay,
you’re right. We do need to talk. I’ll see you when you get
back.

Luke: Thanks.
And I mean it. I’m sorry.

Me: No
worries. But isn’t it more my style to get rip-roaring drunk in
order to handle my problems? I thought you dealt with stuff better
than that.

His response
makes my heart contract.

Luke: Maybe
some things. But not this. Not you.

Noah’s at my
side before the crush of bodies has filed out of the theatre. He’s
hatless, and a few of the girls are staring. He brushes his hand
back through his wavy hair and draws a tight smile. “You have
another class after this?”

I come out
straight out with it. “Why didn’t you tell me you were
married?”

Noah reels
like I just slapped him. “I…it…”

“
What? It just
never came up?”

“
It wasn’t
important.”

What. The.
Fuck
? I want to smack him straight in his
pretty boy Irish face. “How the hell d’you figure that?”

“
Because me
and Kimberly, we were never really in love. We just had to get
married, because…”

This is going
to be interesting. Is he going to tell me he has a child?
“Because?”

“
Because…”

Apparently
not. “Because you have a child together.” I finish for him. He
blows out a sharp breath down his nose.

“
Yes.”

“
We’re done
here, Noah.” I start walking away but he grabs hold of my arm, hard
enough that his fingers dig into my skin through my
coat.

“
We’re not
done, Avery. You fucked up, too. You slept with that
guy.”

“
Yeah, but I
didn’t lie about it. I didn’t hide it from you and pretend like I
had any business messing around with you. Plus the fact, you’re not
my boyfriend!”

“
Then you’re a
slut, Avery. Plain and simple. You shouldn’t have been fooling
around with me at all if you didn’t want to commit.”

My jaw hangs
open. Some words are a red flag, can be heard over a chattering
crowd. Slut is one of them. Two guys pause in the hallway; the
tallest, a dark haired guy with full sleeve tattoos, steps closer
and smiles. “Hey!” That smile says we know each other, but we
don’t. He continues, ignoring my look of confusion. “I was
wondering if we could go over some of those notes you mentioned
last week? You got time now?” He eyes Noah’s hand gripped around my
arm and his steely glare contains a clear
message—
get your hands off her or I’m
gonna fuck you up.

Noah scowls
but lets go. I rub my arm and step away from him, thanking the
stranger silently with my eyes. “Yeah, sure. Now would be
perfect.”

The stranger
shoots me a smile—no judgment, nothing—and gives me a nod. “Okay,
then. Let’s go.”

I start
walking, hugging my file to my chest, and I don’t look back. I can
feel Noah’s gaze burning into me all the way down the corridor,
until the door slams closed behind us and I find myself stranded on
the street with two guys I’ve never spoken to before.

“
Uh…thanks.
That was a little…”

“
Fucked up,”
the tattooed guy says.

I try hard to
smile, to keep things light in order to hide the fact that Noah
really scared me for a second there. “Yeah. That. Are you guys in
Media Law and Ethics?” I don’t recognize the tattoos. Both of their
faces are unfamiliar, which isn’t surprising given that the student
populous clocks in at close to six thousand people and I generally
keep to myself. The shorter guy, who I now see has a small nose
stud and shockingly bright green eyes, snorts.

“
Yeah, I doubt
either Cole or myself would fare too well in a class that requires
you to study the law or ethics, media related or otherwise. No, we
just like climbing up into the towers. It’s nice and private up
there.”

Okay, wow. So
they’re together. My gaydar must be on the fritz these days because
I really wasn’t expecting that. Then again, I was hardly expecting
my mother to be gay, either. I look between them, trying to picture
them together in my head and failing big time. Cole drops his
messenger bag and thumps the other guy on the arm. Hard. He tugs a
hand through his scruffy, dirty blonde hair, shaking his head.
“Dude!” He turns back to me and points a thumb over his shoulder at
the other guy. “Ignore Pete. His brain doesn’t filter anything that
comes out of his mouth. Or think about how it might sound first,
either. We go up there to smoke sometimes, when the monotony of
college life grows too dull to handle. That’s why a little privacy
comes in handy.”

My gaydar has
been vindicated, if only slightly. I notice that their eyes are a
little bloodshot, and it’s obvious Cole doesn’t mean they smoke
cigarettes. “Oh. Sure.” I give them a cautious smile. “Okay, well
thanks again for the save. I really appreciate—” I cut off when I
look down and one of Cole’s tattoos, three script letters on the
inside of his wrist, jumps out at me. D.M.F.

D.M.F?

I narrow my
eyes at him. “You guys know Luke, don’t you?”

Cole and Pete
shoot each other wary looks. “Reid? Yeah, we know Reid. Why, how
d’you know him?” Cole asks.

Pete scans me
from head to toe, rubbing his hand across his jaw. “You aren’t one
of
those
girls,
are you?”

“
One of what
girls?”

“
The pathetic
ones that follows his ass around, trying to have sex with him at
every available opportunity? You look too classy for
that.”

A hot blush
leaps up at my cheeks. “Uh, no. I’m not. I’m normally trying to run
in the
opposite
direction from Luke Reid.”

Cole bursts
out laughing. He elbows Pete in the ribs, rubbing his fingertips
across the stubble darkening his jaw. “Hey, y’know what? I think
this might be her.”

Pete eyes me
even closer now, a look of intrigue on his face. “Y’know what? I
think you might be right.”

This sounds
like it’s heading somewhere bad. I shunt my bag strap higher up on
my shoulder, clutching at my file like it’s a shield and I can fend
off whatever they’re about to say with it.

“
Yeah, the
past year we’ve been playing together Reid hasn’t even looked at a
groupie once. Said there was a chick he was waiting on,” Pete
continues.

Cole appraises
me, curiosity on his face. “I haven’t seen you at any of our gigs.
How d’you recognize us?”

“
I…your
tattoo. Luke mentioned D.M.F. I just put two and two
together.”

“
You
seen
his
D.M.F.
tattoo?” Cole asks, smirking. My blush grows even deeper. Cole
knows if I’ve seen Luke’s ink, then I’ve at the very least seen him
shirtless.

“
No, of course
not. I’m not this girl, either. You must be thinking of someone
else.”

It’s plainly
obvious he doesn’t believe me. Not for one second. He gives me a
placating smile and raises his hands—
I
surrender
. “Fair enough. But you really
should come to one of our gigs. We’re pretty good.”

“
Good enough
to get signed, anyway,” Pete adds.

My poorly
formed
sorry,-I-can’t-come-to-your-gig
excuse freezes on my lips. “What do you mean,
signed?”

“
Y’know…an
agent spots you, realizes your band kicks every other living rock
band’s asses and wants to make millions off your exceptionally
talented behinds.
Signed
.”

A hundred
different thoughts collide at once inside my head. It’s hard to
pick out a question, to know which one to ask first. “Luke never
mentioned that he’s signed,” is all I can mutter.

“
That’s
because the contract’s still waiting for the bastard’s signature,”
Cole says. A stern look forms on his face. “The ink on our John
Hancocks dried weeks ago, and yet ol’ Lukey boy’s still ‘thinking
things through’ apparently.” He bunny rabbits his fingers on either
hand, throwing up some air quotes.

Pete snorts
for the second time since I met him. “I have no idea why he would
choose being a cop over being a fricken’ rock star is all I’m
sayin’. His salary has to be terrible. If he waits much longer,
we’re gonna have to try and replace him, see if the record company
will still have us.”

This is so
confusing. To never have met them, to have never even seen them
play, and then to be confronted with the knowledge that Luke could
really do this. Could really be in a successful band…I don’t know
how it should make me feel, but my anxiety levels just tripled. I
start backing away from them, my head reeling. “It was nice meeting
you both,” I mumble, turning my back. I only get five paces before
Cole calls out after me.

“
Don’t forget,
mystery girl. Come to a gig! We’re playing Friday night at Papa
Joe’s.”

Twenty Three

Just
Call

“
THE SICK
things is, Glen, this guy was a part of the community. He had
contact with troubled teenagers who were in vulnerable positions.
Who knows what he could have done to any of them.” The woman with
the overly backcombed hair on the late night news runs her tongue
over her teeth as though she’s used to getting lipstick on them.
Her co-presenter focuses on her mouth for a second and I find
myself absently wondering whether they’re sleeping together. The
guy takes a sip of water from his glass and nods.

“
I think
that’s what the people of Wyoming are asking themselves right now,
Kathy. We’re only discovering the extent of this man’s sickness
now, years after the events took place. Maxwell Breslin was not
only a charismatic man, but he was incredibly intelligent, too.
Good at hiding his dark alter ego. Who knows what else is going to
come out of the—”

I switch off
the TV and stare at the blank screen. Seriously?
Seriously?
A dark alter
ego? My dad could be a dick sometimes, especially to Mrs. Harlow
when she allowed her Bijon Frise to crap on our driveway, but come
on. The extent of his malicious capabilities was a strongly worded
post-it note stuck on her letterbox. I tip my head back and let out
a loud sigh. There’s no point trying to bury my head in the sand by
avoiding stuff like this. It’s everywhere, and besides I don’t feel
half as hideous as I thought I would. Maybe that has something to
do with how ridiculous the lies are.

Leslie’s out
for the evening, and Morgan’s parents are driving her to Seabrook
House for her first therapy session since ‘the incident’. They’re
returning to Charlestown straight afterwards, so no doubt Morgan is
going to be in better spirits over the coming days.

There was a
Way Out of Wyoming movie poster stuck to my apartment door when I
got back from class, with my father’s face tacked over that of the
hooded murderer’s. I’d considered causing a scene but I was just
too tired. Instead, I did the only thing I could think of: I left
it there. The only piece of advice Amanda St. French has ever given
me that seems to work: if you don’t react, people get bored. And if
they are bored, they soon forget about you and your
baggage.

The knowledge
the poster’s probably still there is driving me nuts, like any
second I’m going to explode off the small sofa and yank the door
open so I can burn it to ash there in the hallway. But I don’t. I
leave it there, a practice in will power. I want to be ignored
again, so if I have to put up with a couple of weeks of this, then
I am damn well going to learn how.

I glance at my
cell phone. It’s been quiet for the past three hours but I keep
holding my breath like any minute it’s going to ring. I hate that
I’m waiting for him to call. Hate it. I shouldn’t be feeling
anything but stupid as a result of the other night, and yet I’m
filled with a whole swirling mess of emotion. Anger. Hope that he
won’t be mad at me for leaving his apartment. Resentment that I
keep seeing his face every time I close my eyes. Fear that I may
have been cold enough, rude enough, cruel enough to close the door
on any opportunity we might have had to be…I don’t know what.
Friends? Friends with Luke is safe. Anything else is dangerous,
especially since he’s clearly as damaged as I am over my father’s
death. He said he was jealous of me. That he used to wish Maxwell
had been his dad, too. So how can he possibly have a healthy
attraction to me? I snatch up my phone and decide to take
control.