Page 2 of Don’t Leave (Stay #2)

CASSIDY

A s I leave Mackenzie Hall, where my economics class is held every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, my feet grind to a halt as a shiver of dread slithers down my spine. Luke Wellington is sprawled out on one of the stone benches along the walking path.

His blue-gray eyes sweep over the exiting crowd. A pit the size of Texas grows in my belly as his gaze sweeps over the exiting crowd. Unsure who he’s searching for, I duck my head and hope that my long curtain of black hair will shield me from his view so I can escape.

Most of the girls on campus would be ecstatic to catch Luke’s eye. He’s tall, probably around six foot or so, with broad shoulders. He’s muscular from skating hard at practice and lifting weights in the gym several times a week. He’s handsome with blond hair and blue-green eyes.

Swoonworthy, even.

But that’s not what I see when I look at him.

I see is someone who has the power to resurrect my past and bring the fledgling success I’ve found at Western crashing down around my head.

The moment his gaze locks on me, the delicate hair at the nape of my neck prickles with awareness.

All thoughts that this is simply a case of paranoia vanishes as he rises to his feet and pushes his way through hundreds of students who are trying to flee the building.

As much as I want to pretend I don’t see him, it’s pointless.

Instead of darting away like every instinct inside is screaming for me to do, I straighten my shoulders before forcing my feet to shuffle forward.

My muscles tighten as he eats up the distance between us.

A million memories somersault unwantedly through my head as our gazes collide.

I can’t help but remember how he came to my rescue and fought off the three guys who’d pinned me down before wrapping a shirt around my naked body.

He murmured soft words I can’t remember before gathering me up in his arms and carrying me to his truck.

A heavy silence had fallen over us as I’d sat huddled in the front seat during the short drive to the dorms. He’d stayed in my room with me until I’d fallen asleep.

The next morning, I’d tried to make myself believe that it had been a terrible nightmare, but I knew the truth. Could see the bruises on my wrists.

My life had been spiraling downward for months. What had happened that Saturday night at an off-campus house party was rock bottom.

Heat and shame flood my cheeks as our eyes stay locked. Luke is a stark reminder of the mistakes I’d made last year.

The reason I’d come to Western was for a fresh start.

A clean slate.

A do-over.

I’d wanted to move on and leave the past where it belonged—in the past. At Dartmouth. A good five hundred miles away from where I now was.

But how could I do that with Luke here?

How could I forget about everything that had happened when he alone had the power to dredge it all back up again? When he could shatter the fragile peace, the hard-fought success, I’d found over the last two months?

His expression remains shuttered, making it impossible to decipher what he’s thinking. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

The way his gaze probes mine makes me feel as if he’s silently feeling me out. Picking through all the secrets I’ve locked deep inside.

I’m tempted to shake my head, but I need to know what he wants.

This isn’t the first time he’s sought me out.

But it needs to be the last. Maybe if I give him a few minutes of my time, he’ll leave me alone.

It feels like everywhere I go, there he is.

I want to believe it’s a string of coincidences, but something tells me that’s not the case.

My teeth sink into my lower lip as I reluctantly say, “I only have a couple of minutes and then I’ve got somewhere to be.”

That’s a lie.

I’m done with classes for the afternoon, but don’t want him to know that. If nothing else comes out of this, he needs to understand that there is nothing between us. And there’s certainly no reason for us to speak again. As that thought slams through my head, guilt swiftly follows.

Because he saved me that night.

Saved me from ugly, unspeakable things those three guys were intent on doing.

Things I can’t bear to dwell on. If I do, anxiety will flood my system and my chest will constrict. Nausea will churn in my belly, perspiration will spring to my palms, and my thoughts will race as fast as my pulse.

And then I won’t be able to breathe. It’s like I’m being choked from the inside out.

For the past ten months, those debilitating feelings of anxiety have been a constant companion.

I’ve only started to master the symptoms through relaxation, breathing techniques, and regular sessions with my therapist. I can’t—no, I won’t allow someone from my past to show up and derail all my hard work.

As much as I want to forget, there’s a tiny part inside me that wonders if maybe it’s something I need to remember. This is the one person who came to my rescue when no one else did.

Without him…

I can’t finish that thought.

“That’s fine,” he murmurs. “Want to go to the Union? Maybe grab a coffee?”

I’m already regretting this decision. “I guess.”

Ten minutes.

Fifteen tops.

That’s more than enough time to figure out what he wants and then, hopefully, we can both move on with our lives.

Separately.

The three-minute hike to the Union is made in awkward silence.

As soon as we step inside the one-story building, we head straight to the coffee shop.

Once our drinks are in hand, we find a table buried in the back that offers more privacy away from the pool tables and groups of people who are relaxing between classes.

I take a sip of the scalding hot drink and wait with hunched shoulders for him to delve into this conversation. Nerves prickle along my skin before settling in my belly.

A long stretch of silent moments slip by as I shift on my chair.

Just as I’m about to shoot to my feet, he clears his throat. “You remember me from Dartmouth, don’t you?”

Everything within me stills.

For a second or two, I consider the merits of lying. Then I can get the hell out of here. But I’m tired of all the lies and the secrets.

It takes effort to force out the response. “Yes, I remember.”

God knows I don’t want to. I’ve done my best to forget everything that happened. With him sitting across from me, his blue-gray eyes pinned to mine, that’s impossible. It’s all so fresh and vivid.

And I hate it.

I hate that he’s able to bring it all rushing back to the surface again.

A slight tremor wracks my body as my mind tumbles back in time.

It’s a relief when his gaze drops to the steaming cup of coffee before flicking back up again. “When we were dancing at that party, I didn’t realize it was you.” He corrects himself. “Not right away.”

I hadn’t recognized him either.

We were just dancing, having fun at some off-campus fraternity party. A few days after that, Cole and I ran into him at a restaurant and he’d told my boyfriend that he knew me from a different school. When he’d mentioned Dartmouth, everything had clicked into place.

The realization had rocked me to the core. Ever since that happened, I’ve been terrified he would spill all my secrets.

I’m knocked from those thoughts when he says, “At first I thought I was imagining the likeness.” He lifts his eyes to mine before sifting carefully through my shuttered expression.

“I tried to find you after that night. I wanted to make sure you were okay, but you disappeared from campus. Not knowing what happened to you only made it worse.”

It’s a little surreal to sit across from someone who is a stranger and, yet, will forever be intertwined with my story.

Almost tentatively, he reaches across the table that separates us before covering my hand with his own.

“I’ve spent the last year wondering what happened to the girl I found up in that bedroom.

The more I tried to push you from my mind, the more you stayed with me.

” His lips quirk at the corners. “Part of me wondered if I’d conjured you up at that frat party.

It seemed impossible that it could really be you.

” His gaze scours my face as if he’s still trying to convince himself I’m real. “You look different than last year.”

My heart jackhammers as my gaze falls to our clasped hands. “I’m in a much better place than I was before. I’m a lot healthier.”

Some of the tension disappears from his expression as he nods in agreement. “You look great.” A slight flush hits his cheeks as he corrects himself. “I mean happy. You look happy . It’s nice to see.”

“I’m a lot happier now than I was at Dartmouth,” I admit.

I don’t want to think about what a mess I’d been last year. Anxiety. Depression. Out of control drinking. Indiscriminate hookups. It took hours of therapy to help get all that under control.

It never occurred to me that he would be affected by the night in December our lives collided. I assumed he’d forget about the incident. Or that I would be the fucked-up-girl story he laughed about with his friends in the morning. Our interaction had been so fleeting and random.

Even though I hate talking about what happened, maybe he deserves to know how it all unfolded. He’s the only one who helped me the entire semester I spent at Dartmouth. It’s a harsh truth my mind continues to shy away from.

As I stare into his eyes, I realize it might be cathartic for both of us.

For me to release the words and for him to hear them.

Unsure what else to do, I start at the beginning and tell him what it was like to play hockey growing up and how my dad mapped out my high school and college athletic career.

I talk about the pressure to push through to the next level and how I’d given everything else up—including a social life—so I could focus on getting a scholarship to play at Dartmouth.