Page 26 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

James

P ain blossoms under the vise-like pressure of Tanner’s fingers as they dig into the exposed flesh of my upper arm.

He wrenches me forward, dragging me through the sea of students congregated on the beach.

Splotches of red and black blur past my vision, creating a swirling, expressionist image of hedonism at its peak.

No one spares me a second glance as we pass, too self-absorbed to notice my silent pleas, or maybe too drunk to realize what they mean.

His grip is unrelenting as he maneuvers me through the throng of people.

He drags me behind him with strides longer than I can match, forcing my body to contort into an awkward angle with my feet lagging behind the rest of me.

I jerk my shoulder back, attempting to dislodge his grasp, but he clamps down harder.

A small whimper escapes my lips, and only then does his grip relax, but he doesn’t release me completely.

It’s as if his hold is on both my body and my mind, but as he eases off my bruising shoulder, the binds that kept me locked in shock break, setting my fury free.

How dare he think he can treat me like this?

Never in the fifteen years I’ve known him has he put his hands on me in an unwelcome way.

Even as a kid, he was always gentle to the point it was almost insulting.

He got even worse once we started dating, always treating me like I was made from glass.

It’s such a contrast from now that I don’t even recognize the man in front of me.

Sand gives way to pavement as he continues to haul me further from the beach and into the public parking lot. I plant my feet, stop dead in my tracks, and jerk my arm again, this time with enough force to pull it free from his steely claws.

“What the hell, Tanner?” I shout, my outburst catching the attention of a few drunken stragglers.

The stranger wearing my boyfriend’s skin whirls around to glare at me, his eyes alight with a manic intensity that looks alien on his face.

His lips curl into a sneer as he stalks toward me, radiating malicious energy.

My heart takes flight in my chest, beating hard enough to break free from the confines of my rib cage.

For the second time in twelve years, Tanner scares me.

I take a step back.

Then another.

I go to take another step, but my retreat is blocked by the cold frame of a stranger’s SUV. He is on me in an instant, slamming his hand into the metal near my head, boxing me in.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls through clenched teeth. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to—the loathing that drips from every word sends a spear of icy fear through me in a way shouting never could.

“You don’t get to say shit,” he continues, looming over me further. His eyes bore into me, his pupils so dilated that only the barest hint of his icy blue irises peeks out from behind them. “What the fuck were you doing with the roommate?”

“With Morgan? I wa—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” This time, he yells, punctuating his words by slamming his hand on the car, inches from my head. He turns away from me in one erratic, sweeping motion and starts to pace. “I saw you with him. I saw you touching him,” he seethes.

“Tanner, love, I promise you nothing was happening. We were just talking. We are friends, and I talk to my friends.” My voice quakes, but I keep my tone calm otherwise.

I reach my arm out and take a hesitant step forward like I would if I was approaching a stray dog.

That’s what he feels like right now, a feral beast lashing out without discretion.

I can’t find a trace of the man I loved at all.

“I told you to shut up,” he roars, whipping back around to focus his attention on me. As he spins, something dislodges from his pocket and is flung into the air.

Time seems to slow as I watch it arc through the air and hurtle to the ground. He doesn’t notice, too consumed with slinging vitriol in my direction, but his words fade into white noise as my focus narrows in on the small plastic baggie full of white powder lying on the asphalt.

“Is that cocaine?” I ask, holding my voice calm and level against the white-hot rage ignited by the drugs. He knows—he fucking knows—how I feel about this. “Are you fucking high right now?” My rage burns through the paper-thin mask of calm, making my voice shrill.

That snaps him out of his coke-fueled ranting. He looks at the bag and then up at me, his eyes widening in abject horror as the color drains from his face, and he glances away from my scorching stare.

“Ophie…I…baby…it’s not what it looks like.” He refuses to meet my gaze as he stumbles over his words.

“It looks like a fucking bag of drugs,” I shout, and he recoils. At least he has the decency to look halfway ashamed of himself.

“Baby, it’s only a little coke,” he whines. “It helps with stress, and all the guys at work use it to help blow off steam.”

“I…I can’t do this right now.” The tidal wave of anger recedes almost as quickly as it came, leaving devastation in its wake. An aching void consumes my heart and takes its place. “Please, just go. I’ll stay with Chelsea tonight. We can talk when you are sober.”

“O, just let me explain.” The desperate edge to his voice causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. He lurches at me, reaching out to grab me again, but I step away from his touch. I don’t want him anywhere near me right now .

“Is everything all right here?” Morgan asks, his tense tone making it sound more like a warning than a question. He’s flanked by Gage and Nathan, the three of them wearing matching scowls as they approach us. Morgan comes closer than the others and tries to angle his body in front of mine.

That spark of manic intensity reignites in Tanner’s eyes.

He turns toward Morgan and cocks his arm back, but my roommate is oblivious, his focus entirely on me.

I want to warn him, but I freeze, unable to do anything but watch as Tanner’s fist crashes into his unsuspecting face.

He stumbles back but regains his footing before he falls.

Blood starts to well from the fresh cut on his lip.

A cruel smile grows on Tanner’s face, and he rears back for his next attack.

A scream catches in my throat. That hollow void inside me grows solid, filling with lead. It’s a paralyzing pressure, rendering me unable to move or speak or even breathe.

Gage steps in with catlike grace and catches Tanner’s arm before he can do any more damage.

The constricting pressure lessens enough that I can suck in a gasp of air, but I can’t fill my lungs.

My breathing grows frantic, coming in short, erratic pants, matching the furious hammering of my heart.

A high-pitched ringing resonates in my ears, and dark shadows circle my vision, causing everything to seem so far away.

I lose the world around me: Morgan, Tanner, love, drugs, blood.

None of it matters.

Not when I’m dying.

My legs give out from under me, and gravity pulls me to the ground in a heap.

I’m vaguely aware of my surroundings, but everything feels indistinct, like the remnants of a forgotten dream.

A few sensations slip past the haze—the soft caress of a hand on my cheek, a familiar voice calling my name, the smell of spiced wood drifting past my nose—but nothing is able to break through the cloud of all-consuming dread.

The world turns on its side as I feel my body being lifted off the ground.

I’m enveloped in a protective warmth, and I turn into it, burrowing my face into that same woody scent.

The sound of a car door shutting registers through the fog.

My body is shifted around again, and then I’m surrounded by a low, steady thumping.

I focus on it, using it as a metronome to count the time in between breaths.

Five beats in.

Hold for two.

Five beats out.

Repeat .

The beating is my lighthouse in the storm, guiding me toward the safety of the shore and helping each breath come easier than the last. A gentle hand runs over my hair in soothing strokes; I’m not sure if it’s a new sensation or one I’m just now becoming aware of.

I pull my head out of the darkness and find that my refuge is actually the hollow of Morgan’s neck. The creases that mar his face relax as his watery eyes roam over my face, taking in every detail. He lets out a small breath and pulls his hand from my hair.

“There she is,” he says, wiping the drying tears from my face with his thumb. The touch is almost reverent, and I lean into it, embracing the comfort it brings.

“Wh-what happened? Where are we,” I ask, my voice still raw.

He cradles me against his chest, holding me in his lap in the back seat of an unfamiliar sedan.

I shift, turning to sit up straight on his thighs, and find Karis behind the driver’s seat.

She watches us through the rearview mirror, her eyes narrowed on me in Morgan’s lap.

I meet her stare, and she raises an eyebrow in challenge.

We hold each other’s stare for several seconds before I avert my gaze to the road.

“We think you had a panic attack,” Morgan starts to explain.

“It was pretty bad.” He takes in another shuddering breath.

“I was really scared. You stopped responding to us. It was like we weren’t even there.

I tried to talk you through it like I have before, but you didn’t register a word that I said.

I looked for your medicine, but I couldn’t find it.

I asked Chelsea about it after Nathan went to get her, and she looked at me like I was crazy.

Are they back at the hotel? Do you still need them? ”

“No. I-I didn’t bring them with me.” My eyes fall to my lap.

“Why not?”