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CHAPTER

THIRTY

CORTLAND

I can still smell her.

I glance at her as we walk in the dark, leaving the library behind, neither of us touching. I can still hear her whimpers, her moaning my name.

But I can hear other things, too.

Maya’s voice in my ear. “She’s got you all fucked up.”

Guilt churns in my stomach, and I hate it.

I meant what I said. For now, Remi has me.

I haven’t touched Maya since I told her that, but I don’t owe Remi a thing.

She avoids me for days at a time. Taunted me at The Veil when I was on my best fucking behavior after the game and left her alone.

Tells me constantly to fuck off in words but pulls me close in body language.

And after what she did to me, I’d say she owes me .

But I know that’s not true either. Being so near her, seeing her pain, all the ways I fucked her up… that guilt is piercing.

Just like she told me. “You broke me, Cortland. Now you have to deal with the pieces. And watch out, because they’re fucking sharp.”

I push that shit aside, tightening my fingers around my backpack straps as we walk along the brick path, past the fountain shaped like a tiger.

A wolf is a much better mascot, but no one asked me my opinion on that.

Before I started avoiding her, Maya pointed out Remi’s dorm is up ahead, to the left, but my house is off a road to the right. Remi veers to go left, and I grab the back of her backpack, dragging her toward me.

She spins around, shrugging out of my grip and glaring at me in the night. “My dorm is?—”

“I know where your dorm is, Remi,” I tell her. “But you’re not going there.”

She takes a step back, like she thinks she can run from me. “Yeah,” she says, annoyance laced through her tone. “I am.” She starts to turn away again, and again, I drag her back. But this time when I let go of the top strap of her bag, I grab her wrist, too, spinning her around to face me.

“Come home with me,” I tell her. “Just tonight.”

“No,” she says, the word harsh. “Just because you cornered me in a library and dropped to your knees doesn’t mean I?—”

I yank her closer, her body flush with mine, my hand on her wrist between us. “Stop being so fucking mouthy,” I tell her, my eyes dipping to her lips, then back up. I think about them around my fingers, how she sucked herself off of me.

I have to bite back a groan.

She tries to pull away, glancing over her shoulder as she does. “Sloane will be waiting for me and someone could see us?—”

“It’s two in the morning, Remi.” You shouldn’t be doing fucking homework alone this late anyway.

“Exactly. I’m tired. And I want to sleep. In my bed.”

I laugh at that, and she glares up at me. “You’re not scared of the dark? Being alone?” I ask her, swallowing after I do, those questions hitting too close.

I was. In the weeks that followed, I slept with the bathroom door cracked open, the light on inside.

I’d never admit that out loud to anyone, and I wasn’t scared , exactly, but the anxiety in the aftermath of everything just ate at me. And the dark made it worse.

The silence that follows my question, only the sound of the fountain at our backs, gives me an answer even when she says nothing. I pull her closer, the quiet mountain air seeming to cloak us in vulnerability, the dark letting us share our scars.

From the same wound.

It just ripped us apart in different ways.

“Come home with me,” I tell her again, my words rough as I search her golden eyes. I reach for her other hand, thread my fingers through hers. “Just tonight.”

“Sloane will freak the fuck out?—”

“Lie to her. You’re a fucking adult. Come home with me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

I hold my own, waiting.

Then she nods, and my chest feels tight. Full to fucking bursting.

“Okay,” she agrees, squeezing my hand, opening her eyes and looking up at me through her dark lashes. “Just tonight.”