Page 7

Chapter

Seven

Just like those times in my Grandma’s spare bedroom, my entire body seized, fear sinking its claws into any rational thought and refusing to release. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

I just had to be quiet, and then?—

Another creak and a whimper slipped from my lips.

Adrenaline flooded my veins as a dark silhouette shifted near the doorway. It was happening again. My lungs constricted, refusing to expand. Trapped. I was trapped.

Panic clawed at my throat, and I was paralyzed by the sickening sense of déjà vu—heavy breathing, rough hands?—

A choked cry ripped from my throat as the shadow moved closer. No, no, no! A scream built in my chest but lodged there, blocked by sheer terror until I blurted, "Don't touch me! I won’t let you touch me again!" I hurled the words out into the blackness, my senses scrambling to make sense of what I was hearing, the shadow slowly creeping along the wall toward me.

"Sharla?"

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I flinched. It was so dark, I couldn't see anything, but the contact brought my body violently to life, breaking the spell. I tried to strike out with the palm of my hand like I'd learned in the self-defense class I took last semester, then yelped when my arm tangled in the sheets. I gasped for breath, trying to extricate myself.

Before I could, I was scooped up, blankets and all, and crushed against a warm chest.

"It's me. Hey, shhhh. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm so sorry."

I worked to fill my lungs, my mind spinning. My head immediately defaulted to Logan, but that was impossible. He was across the country, which meant?—

"I know I'm the last person in the world you want here right now. I’m sorry. I'm not going to hurt you." He was rambling so fast, I could barely place his voice.

"Rob?" His name came out hoarse, and his arms tightened around me.

"Shh, Shar. I’ve got you.”

I forced a ragged breath into my lungs, blinking as my chest heaved. I was in my bedroom. It was Rob, not him. He wasn’t trying to touch me. He wasn’t going to hurt me.

I repeated those last two sentences like prayers, and the panic began to subside.

As soon as my head stopped spinning, reality draped over me like a thick blanket. It was Rob. Why was Rob in my bedroom?

The day before crashed into my consciousness—the leak in the washroom. He was just coming in to use the washroom.

"What time is it?" I whispered.

Rob cleared his throat. "I don't know. I think around three?"

I dragged in greedy breaths, the vertigo beginning to subside as all of my other senses came online. Rob's heartbeat beneath my ear. His arms linked around me. No fabric between my cheek and his skin.

I should’ve been pissed. Should’ve shoved him away, but exhaustion sank into me like body lotion. "You said you would wear a shirt."

Rob blew out a breath, and I thought I caught a hint of a chuckle. "You were asleep. I didn't think you’d see anything."

That was nice. Not snarky or sarcastic, not pretending I wanted him or that I was a prude for telling him to put on clothes. Why was he being nice to me?

I needed to push away, to get the scent of his body wash or deodorant or whatever warm spice I was smelling out of my nostrils, but I couldn't move. My arms were limp noodles and my whole body felt like it was smothered under a candle snuffer.

I mustered the only fight I had in me. I needed to balance the force. "You seriously couldn't come home at a decent time when you knew you were going to have to come in here?"

"I tried to be quiet."

My heart thundered in my ears. Rob. Rob was sitting on my bed. His arms were around me, and he sounded lucid. Heat flashed through me. That, along with the adrenaline spike at the memory of Logan being in Winnipeg, allowed me to push myself out of Rob's arms.

I curled around myself, moving away from him. "Don't you think you could not party for two nights until your washroom is fixed?" How could he be so selfish? The audacity to come home at all hours of the night and just assume that it was acceptable to walk into someone's bedroom.

Rob didn't answer, and the silence stretched between us like an elastic band ready to snap. I wrapped my arms around my knees, finally able to at least make out the outline of his head and shoulders.

"You think I was partying?" His voice was low, terse. Almost sad. It lobbed a bucket of cold water over the snarky reply I had waiting on the tip of my tongue, sparking doubt. Was he partying? I'd been right next to him and hadn't smelled any alcohol or smoke.

"I come home late every night,” he said.

"Yeah. I'm aware." I swallowed hard.

"And that's what you thought ever since you moved in?"

My pulse kicked up a notch. I didn't know where he was going with this, but I didn't like it. "Can we just—Can you just?—"

"I have a job, Sharla."

I bit my lip, my thoughts draining like water through a colander. "What kind of job?”

"I'm on the janitorial staff,” he grunted. “I work the night shift, so it doesn't conflict with my classes." He shifted to the edge of the bed. "Unlike Logan, I don't have daddy's money to cover everything."

My throat worked, but I couldn’t form words. Janitorial staff? A night shift? Why had Logan never mentioned that to me before?

Truthfully, I hadn’t ever brought up the annoyance I felt at Rob’s hours. Logan didn’t like when I criticized him, as evidenced by his reaction to me bringing up the whole bare chest situation. It was better if I pretended Rob didn’t exist. For my sake and his. But still. After six months, it was odd that a full-on job hadn’t come up.

I locked onto Rob’s silhouette rising and moving along the wall toward the washroom. The door creaked, and light flooded into the room as he flicked the switch. He walked in and closed the door behind him, leaving a rectangular, glowing outline.

I tried not to listen. Tried not to imagine him unzipping his pants, relieving himself, and washing his hands in my sink. Drying his hands again on my towel. But it was impossible not to.

The sweat on my skin started to cool, and I shivered. I hurriedly straightened the sheets and comforter, pulling it up to my chest just as he opened the door again. I wasn’t wearing a bra, just my cotton camisole, and I suddenly felt self-conscious.

Rob opened the door and his eyes met mine. “You’re not wearing the bracelet he gave you.”

I blinked and glanced at the nightstand. No, I’d left it in the washroom. On the glass shelf. “I don’t wear jewelry at night.”

“Huh.” Rob wet his lips, then dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry I woke you."

I was plunged into darkness as he flicked off the light and exited into the hall.

_____

He called me Shar. That realization flashed in my head like a neon sign when I woke with my alarm the following day. Rob had been in my room. He’d held me in his arms. And he’d called me Shar.

Logan called me Shar. Crystal and Maddie called me Shar. But Rob?

Had last night been some jacked up fever dream? Some hallucination my brain made up to process Logan leaving?

The phone rang in the kitchen, shattering the early morning quiet. We really needed to invest in a cordless. I fumbled out of bed, hopping on one foot as I frantically pulled on a pair of sweatpants.

"Hello?" I whispered, stumbling into the kitchen and snatching the phone before it could wake Rob.

"Shar!” There was that name again. “Did I wake you?" Logan's chipper voice boomed through the speaker. I could hear whooping and hollering in the background. What the hell time was it?

"No it's fine. I was getting up anyway." I glanced at the clock. It was only seven, but—right. He was two hours ahead of me. I crept toward my room, stretching the cord and easing the door shut behind me. I slumped to the floor and leaned back. "I’m so glad you called. What are you doing?"

"Not much, just breakfast before training." More laughter rang out, and I rolled my eyes. I could already tell that getting Logan alone would be like herding a cat. “They’ve got this huge buffet, like everything you can imagine. Sausages?—”

“I’ll give you sausages!” someone cried out.

Logan laughed, his breath crackling in the speaker. “Sorry, pancakes, fruit, whipped cream, it’s insane. Ooh and chocolate milk. The best chocolate milk.”

I couldn’t help but grin even though it felt like my insides were being yanked through my stomach. I was so happy for him. Of course I was. But there was a part of me that hoped he would’ve called missing me. Heartsick. Even a little.

I yawned. "That’s amazing, I?—”

A loud crash interrupted me, followed by guffaws and shouts. "Sorry babe, Coop just ate it hard. What were you saying?"

I sighed. This was a losing battle. "Nothing. I just—I miss you."

"Aww, miss you, too! Love you. Phone you later?”

“Mm. Yep, I’ll be back at?—”

The line went dead.

I held the phone for a minute, listening to the dial tone before peeling myself off the floor and exiting the room to unstretch the cord. I wanted to ask about his flight. To tell him about the washroom disaster. Probably not about what happened last night . . .

The realization that I hadn’t intended to tell Logan about that gave me pause. I replaced the receiver on its cradle. Nothing had happened. Rob was helping me calm down. In the light of day, I could see it for what it was. A trauma response. I had been startled at night, and since that reflected what had happened when I was a teenager, I was sucked right back to those nights.

It wasn’t my fault that I freaked out.

It wasn’t Rob’s fault that the washroom was unusable.

It was nobody’s fault. Logan would understand that.

I started hot water for tea, then began getting ready for orchestra. Logan's carefree attitude grated on my nerves like a bow against unrosined strings. At least Tchaikovsky never flaked on me. Dating Logan sometimes felt as dramatic as the 1812 Overture—all sound and fury. Intense emotion, and that was an understatement.

That was why I loved him, though, wasn’t it? He was always balls deep in whatever moment presented itself. The problem was, I wasn’t in his moments currently. For two months he was living a plethora of moments that were decidedly Sharla free, and the fact that he wasn’t thinking about me or missing our life here burrowed into me like a tick.

I exhaled and rubbed my temple. It was fine. This was his first day with new teammates. I wanted him to dive in, to fully embrace this experience. I was just sad, and the night before had been a total trash fire. This was probably a me issue.

I threw on a clean pair of dark jeans and a cozy burgundy sweater, not even bothering with makeup. Grabbing my violin case, I rushed out of the dorm room, careful not to slam the door.

Once outside, I took my first full breath of the morning. Even though Rob was in his room, his existence filled the house like air freshener. Especially after last night. What if he just showed up again? Walked in when I wasn’t expecting it? Put his arms around me. Pulled me against his chest . . .

I ignored the heat lifting to my cheeks and worked to shake the memory of him in my bed as I hurried through the winding tunnels connecting the Douglas buildings. Still, my mind raced faster than my feet.

I should’ve been relieved to discover that there was a beating heart under the layers of asshole Rob usually presented. He could see I was upset, and he knew he’d caused it. He wasn’t a complete narcissist, so it made sense that he’d want to help. To apologize.

But those rationalizations didn’t strangle the brand new thoughts—emotions? Possibilities?—that had bloomed in my mind after that moment. I’d liked his touch. And then I felt annoyed with Logan, which never happened.

I was so lost in thought, I nearly collided with a group of students heading in the opposite direction. I mumbled an apology and quickened my pace. I surfaced in the arts centre and entered the rehearsal room early.

I took my time tuning up, listening to the creak of the wood, the hiss of my rosin against my bow.

“Since when do you beat me here?” Caleb slid into his seat.

I grinned. “Since my boyfriend calls me on Winnipeg time.”

Caleb laughed and Ms. Franck started in with instructions. I listened fully, grateful to have a respite from my own thoughts. We started with warmups, and when we began our first piece, I took a deep breath and let the music wash over me—Vivaldi's "Winter" from The Four Seasons . The frenzied sixteenth notes flurried from my fingers, each note dragging me further outside of myself.

As my bow danced across the strings, I floated, lilting with the resonance. The world faded away—no more worries about Logan, the washroom, or bad memories. In that moment, it was just me, my violin, and the music.

As we reached the end of the first movement, Lily stood for her solo. Her slender fingers caressed the fingerboard, coaxing out the plaintive melody with effortless grace. She was so damn good, I couldn’t even muster envy.

I would get there. She had a year and a half on me, and I knew I was on the short list for that spot once she moved on. I had to hope Franck would notice what I had to offer. Maybe Logan’s call this morning would turn out to provide a boost. Getting there early couldn’t be a bad thing.

At the end of rehearsal, chairs scraped as everyone in the orchestra packed up their instruments. I carefully loosened my bow and nestled my violin into its case. I stood and walked toward the back exit. Just as I pushed through the door, Lily bounded over to me, ponytail swishing.

Caleb loped along behind her. "Want to grab a coffee and knock out that music history essay?"

I hesitated. Part of me longed to rush back to the house, to see if Rob was there. To have him break my rules and call me a shithead so the universe could start spinning on its correct axis again. Another part dreaded a second awkward encounter after last night. What if he was nice? Again? "Sure, sounds good."

The three of us claimed a table in the arts lounge and spread out our notebooks and textbooks. I stared at my notes, but the words wouldn't come. I doodled for a bit, read a little more on Mendehlson since he was the composer I’d chosen to research. After an hour, it was obvious I wasn’t going to make much headway.

I closed my textbook. “I’m going to head for lunch.” I already knew both their classes were in this building in another forty-five minutes, so I didn’t bother inviting them along. “See you tomorrow?”

"Sure, see you then." Lily smiled. Caleb put out a hand for a fist bump.

Slinging my violin case over my shoulder, I headed for the bookstore. They had pre-made salads and cookies there—the lunch of champions.

After grabbing my food, I headed for the library. Food wasn’t allowed in the general areas, but snacks were okay in reserved study rooms. I walked in and filled out the sign in sheet, then settled in for the next few hours. I couldn't avoid the house forever, but damn, if I wouldn't try to stay away as long as possible.

I worked on my essay, my composition homework, then left the study room to do some internet searching and check my email. Crystal and Maddie had sent a few about the upcoming hockey invitational.

The Outlaws were defending home champs three years running, but without Logan, did they stand a chance? The tournament was a highlight of the year at Douglas U. The snowy tailgate parties, the packed stands, the epic post-game celebrations . . .

I smiled wistfully, remembering last year. Logan scoring the game-winning goal in overtime. The bonfire by the pond where we drank spiked hot chocolate and laughed until our voices were hoarse. That was what started all of this. Me and him. It was the night he gave me the playlist.

This year promised to be even bigger, but without Logan, it all seemed pointless. What was the fun in sledding down Pratt Hill on cafeteria trays without him? In shotgunning beers in the parking lot before sneaking into the arena? In slow dancing to Journey at the closing banquet?

By the time I walked home, the house was dark and quiet. I flicked on the light, half expecting Rob to be sprawled on the couch even though I knew from past experience that he should be gone by now.

The door to his room was open. No sounds. I took off my shoes and hung my jacket, straightening my poppy pin on the lapel, and wandered into the kitchen. There was a note on the counter.

Plumber came by. Needs to order a part for the washroom. Won't be fixed for a while. I’ll use the washroom on campus before I come home.