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Tipping his head away from her touch, Logan cleared his throat and mumbled his answer.

Paige had to strain her ears to hear.

“Because I don’t deserve it.”

Her breath caught in her chest. Had he really just confessed that?

He pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his jeans. “My name isn’t Dave, you know?” Then he turned away and walked out of Paige’s view.

Blood pounded through her veins, whooshing though her eardrums so loudly she couldn’t hear his footsteps. But she knew he must’ve stopped because the light from the hall continued to shine into the room.

Curious as to what he was doing, Paige shifted just enough to see him again. He’d stopped with his back to both beds and stood in front of Paige’s desk, or rather in front of the four-by-six picture sitting beside the television. In the portrait, she and Trace posed for the camera, giving each other bunny ears as they tilted their heads together and grinned.

Realizing he must now know who Mariah’s roommate was, Paige held her breath and let the blanket fall from her face, revealing herself.

Slowly, he turned, as if something beyond his power was forcing him around.

When their gazes met, a shockwave of emotion passed through her. She hated him more than she thought it was possible to hate, because for a brief moment, he’d actually made her feel sorry for him. He’d actually made her respect him.

Unlike her father, he hadn’t turned to alcohol to deal with his problems. He’d done the opposite, becoming the sober designated driver. And he’d freely admitted he’d done something worthy of never deserving happiness again. He seemed remorseful as if he wanted to somehow make up for his past sins.

After living for three years in a house where no one wanted to deal with their problems, she was awestruck by the courage and strength it must take for Logan Xander to admit daily he was flawed and for him to actually do something to correct his character.

But she didn’t want to feel awe or respect for him. She wanted to keep hating him. Blaming him.

He stared at her, looking frozen and vulnerable, his eyes large and his bottom lip occasionally jerking.

This boy was capable of murder, of murder with his bare hands. He’d killed her brother with a single punch, the force of his fist knocking Trace unconscious until he’d fallen backward and landed on the ground where he’d split his head open against a broken bottle.

Trace had been strong too, so much stronger than Paige. And if Logan Xander could outmuscle him, who knew how much damage he could do to her?

But she didn’t experience an iota of fear. She glared at him, daring him to come at her, to attack, to try to hurt her more than he already had.

“Dave?” Mariah called, sounding confused.

He glanced at Paige’s roommate before he tripped backward and bolted for the door, slamming it behind him.

Paige shuddered and squeezed her eyes closed, telling herself it had all been a horrible, awful dream. She hadn’t just felt sorry for Logan Xander. She hadn’t respected him, and she never would.

“What a strange guy,” Mariah mused from her bed.

As snoring rose almost immediately from the other side of the room, Paige pulled her blanket back over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, but hot tears of humiliation still managed to trickle through the cracks of her sealed eyelids. Mad at herself for the complete malfunction of her emotions, she brought up a picture of Trace in her head. He was nine and she was six, maybe seven, and he grinned up at her from the base of a tree as he held open his arms. Go ahead and jump, Pay Day. I’ll catch you.

Love for her lost brother helped her antagonism for his killer level itself back to healthy proportions. Settled once again in her bitter comfort zone of animosity and blame, she fell asleep with no more dreams for the rest of the night.

Chapter Six

“IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND?”

The question yanked Paige’s attention to her two suitemates as nothing else could. “What?”

Her second week at Granton had gone much better than the first. Dr. Presni still glanced warily at her every time he started Geography class, no doubt expecting her to run away weeping again, but she kept her expression blank and her attention alert. And everything seemed to go okay.

Her classes progressed without a hitch, except maybe Chemistry. She did not get chemical equations at all. She’d only enrolled in the core requirements this semester and hadn’t actually taken a “marketing” seminar yet. She kind of dreaded the day when it came to that. Marketing wasn’t in her blood. But if fulfilling Trace’s dreams were the only way to keep a piece of him alive inside her, she’d learn the marketing world, scraping by until her fingers bled.

“Wow.” Tess snagged the picture Bailey had been holding and pulled it to her face for a closer study. “He’s freaking gorgeous. What’s his name?”

A white hot needle of pain and memories pierced her chest as she watched her suitemates play tug-a-war over the framed photo. “Thanks, but…no. That’s not a boyfriend. He…he’s my brother. Trace.”