Getting Him Back (14 page)

I didn’t realize I wasn’t wearing shoes or a shirt until the frigid October air hit my tits. I ran anyway, my foot burning from the scrape of the door edge and my arms folded around my chest.

I saw Wyatt ahead of me, head down, moving fast and taking the turn toward the ravine and the El. But I was moving faster. Goddamn, the pavement was cold.

I called to him. “Wyatt. Wait up.”

He didn’t slow, and he was getting close to the El. It being Friday, there was plenty of foot traffic now, and I was afraid I’d lose him.

“Wyatt.”

He stopped. With the El backlighting him, I could see his shoulders sag with a sigh. He turned around. His face was in complete shadow, even as I ran up to him. I wanted to grab him so he couldn’t get away, but I screeched to a halt and hopped off into the marginally less freeze-burn-on-my-feet grass.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you came running after me.”

“And I shouldn’t be surprised you just took off.” I folded my arms, more out of cold than frustration.

This path wasn’t too popular, but I could see people stopping and watching out of the windows of the El.

I gave them sarcastic wave.
Yes.
There’s a guy with no shirt on a college campus.
Haven’t you people ever heard of fraternity hazing
?

Wyatt shrugged. “Everything he said is true.”

I hoped Wyatt hadn’t heard—wasn’t including—the part about him being raped. The idea of it, of someone hurting him like that, made me feel like heaving into the ravine. If I’d known, I’d never have gone so hard, grabbing his hands and holding them down as I fucked him tonight. What if I’d made him feel like that again?

As far as his past went...unless he was a lot older than he looked he couldn’t have been an adult at the time. I knew people who’d gotten away with a hell of a lot as teenagers, joyriding, vandalism. So what if he had gotten arrested?

“Okay.” It was my turn to shrug.

“
Okay
? What part of a felony conviction for larceny did you miss?” He moved and the shadow cut a sharp line across his face—his mouth and jaw lit up while the rest of him was as hidden as if he wore a mask.

“You could have told me.”

He made a disgusted sound. “You? Yeah, right.”

“Yes, me. You wouldn’t even take the twenty I was trying to give you. I know you wouldn’t steal anything from me. And why the fuck not me? You told Blake.”

His lips pursed. “And look at what a great move that was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to have to—” His voice broke. He swallowed. When his voice came back, it was hard and cold. “I don’t owe you anything. We fucked, that’s all. I’d think you’d have figured out by now that not every guy you do is going to marry you.”

That last part hurt, I’m not going to lie, but I couldn’t stop replaying that moment when his voice broke. Didn’t want what?

“I’m not asking you to. But I like being with you.” I lowered my voice to a whisper, hoping he’d be able to hear me and the rest of the campus wouldn’t. “Even when my dick isn’t involved.”

From the quirk of his lips I knew he’d heard me.

A group came out of the El and headed toward Prescott. “Just kiss him!” someone yelled, and then there was cheering.

Wyatt ducked his head, and as much as I wanted to take that advice, I knew that would be a bad plan.

“Come back to my room,” I said. “We can just talk.”

“I’m not sure we can.”

That and his wry smile warmed me up more than the catcalls.

“Where are you—you can’t stay in that room after he—”

“I’ll be fine. Stay in the library till it closes. There are lounges with sofas in some of the dorms.”

But he didn’t need to do that when he could stay with me. “I don’t care about your past.”

He laughed, loud and harsh. “You are fucking unreal. Nothing but sunshine. I’m sure even your shit doesn’t stink.” He took a step toward me. “Well, guess what? I care about my past.”

“So? Then tell me—”

Someone latched on to my upper arm. I thought it was Blake and I jerked free, shoving him away at the same time. I shoved pretty damned hard and the guy was lucky it wasn’t in the direction of the ravine because he went down, sprawled on his ass.

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?” It was a high whiny voice.

I looked down. The guy’s face was in the band of light from the El. I recognized him as someone from my dorm, but I didn’t know his name.

“You’re the one who grabbed me.”

The guy shot to his feet and grabbed at the bandanna attached to my key ring. “You’re supposed to be wearing it. Hand over your human card.”

“Seriously?” I spread my hands indicating my bare chest.

“It’s the rules.”

I yanked the card from my back pocket dropped it at his feet.

“Asshole. If you’re going to play, play right.” He bent down to pick up the card.

The stripes of dark and light in the space behind him were unbroken. Wyatt was gone again.

I didn’t chase him. I’d done enough of chasing people who wanted to be gone for this particular year. Wyatt had made it clear he’d gotten what he wanted from me and didn’t want any more to do with me and my non-stinking shit and the sun shining out my ass or whatever he’d said.

I made my way back to the dorm. Blake was gone, thank God, but I’d barely been back for twenty minutes when Makayla texted and then knocked on my door.

“So, I heard I missed all the excitement. Did you really run around campus in your underwear to hunt down your ex?”

“No.” I let her in and dropped onto my bed. Onto the towel. I hadn’t gotten around to stripping it yet, but this time I wasn’t keeping the pillowcase that smelled like Wyatt’s aftershave.

She sat on Connor’s bed. “So?”

“Blake came by. I wasn’t alone.”

“Artsy guy?”

I nodded.

“Oh my God, how could you do that?”

“I thought you were all about me moving on. You called Blake a douche canoe.”

“Because he is one. I mean, how come you had all this drama without me? I thought I was your best friend. Did they fight?”

“Again I say, I suck dick, but I also have one. If anyone was going to fight—”

“Did you punch him? I heard he was crying when he left.”

Jesus. Were there security cameras with a direct feed to her phone? What did Blake have to cry about? He’d been the one to say all that shit about Wyatt.

“I told him to get lost. Feel free to call your people in Philly to have him killed if he shows back up.”

“Pinky swear.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“So what were you doing running around outside in your underwear?”

I sat up and folded my arms over my turtleneck-and-sweater-wearing torso. I’d been freezing when I got back. “I had on jeans.”

Her eyes widened. “I thought they were making that part up. Just jeans and that’s all?”

The Washington press corps would kill for her sources. I nodded.

“What was so important outside?”

I shrugged.

“Artsy guy?”

“He’s studying engineering.” The words were out of my mouth before I remembered Wyatt didn’t want me.

She smiled.

“Shut up.”

* * *

On Monday I dutifully wore my zombie bandanna but I didn’t make any grabs for humans. I didn’t care if I “starved.” It was lonely being a zombie, since Makayla and Connor couldn’t walk with me anymore.

But at least I remembered to get to the library. I found the Academic Support Office and threw myself on their mercy. My failing ass had an appointment for calculus tutoring, Thursday at four fifteen in the Frayne Center’s math lab.

At work that afternoon, I should have been filing off the gigantic cart, but I spent time researching how to get a roommate change. It was some complicated BS with referrals from residential advisors and documentation. But if Blake was going to run around spreading shit about Wyatt, he ought to at least not have to live with the bastard. Assuming Wyatt ever decided to talk to me again, I’d let him know how to do it. Working here, I’d make sure his request got moved through fast.

Our calculus professor had the midterms back to us on Wednesday. Besides the huge F in glowing red, there were giant red check marks over the three problems I’d managed to do. Did that mean I’d gotten them wrong or right? Now I couldn’t even understand my grade in the class. The back of my neck was on fire as I shoved the ugly test into my backpack. At least I’d have something to ask the tutor about tomorrow.

I was trying to figure out my GPA as I headed toward the dining hall. Hoping that three As and a B-minus would even out into something to put off my parents’ aneurysms, I hauled out my phone to use the calculator and saw an email notification.

Perfect timing. An email from [email protected], probably reminding me of my appointment tomorrow.

I clicked open the attachment and almost dropped the phone.

Wyatt’s face, scared and young. With the height chart behind him—he’d only been five foot seven then—I knew it was his mug shot.

The attachment had the scratches and spots on it that made me think it had been run through copiers or fax machines. Wyatt’s full name, Wyatt James Reese, date of birth—he’d turned nineteen on September 8—no known aliases. Was this what they called a rap sheet in cop shows?

I’d barely stepped off the path before sitting down and pulling my laptop out of my backpack. It wasn’t like I could unsee the thing now. Though I swore if it turned out Blake had sent this to me, I would find something in that giant pile of regulations at Residential Life to get him removed from campus.

According to the Criminal Records Disposition Statement, Wyatt had been fourteen when he was charged with grand larceny, a felony. He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to two years in juvenile detention. I didn’t know what he stole. Thinking of the guy who wouldn’t take the twenty I’d promised him, or the sweatshirt I’d tried to give him, I still couldn’t believe he’d stolen anything, but it was there in black and white.

I felt skeevy as I did it, but I looked online to see where he would have been locked up. What I found out made me feel sicker. The detention center was called The Industrial Home for Boys, which totally made me think of something out of a movie set in the 1800s where the kids are in rags and starved and beaten. Turned out my imagination wasn’t too far off. A year after Wyatt’s sentence would have been up, two former residents sued and a State Supreme Court shut the place down for abuse.

“
I
care about my past.
”

I hadn’t meant that going through all that didn’t matter, but that it didn’t change how I felt. I got that sometimes sex was just sex, and before Blake, I’d done enough blowing and jerking off guys who pretended they didn’t know me the next day to know the difference.

But who Wyatt was when he dropped his shield of prickly indifference, when he came out from under his hair and hoodie, I liked that person. I wanted to be with that person. Not with the goofy follow-him-anywhere feelings I’d had for Blake.

I’d gotten nervous for Blake in a close game. I’d had my heart melt when he smiled at me. But I’d never felt this acid eating at my insides until they crumbled because I was imagining thinking about what he might have been through. I didn’t realize that a smile from someone who acted like they didn’t know how to meant a lot more than one from someone who smiled at everyone.

I had about ten minutes before I had to run to work, but I found out that West Virginia would have automatically sealed Wyatt’s criminal record on his last birthday. So who’d sent the record to me?

Chapter 13

I dared (though not to his face because that would have been awkward) Blake to show up at Thorpe Dining Hall for dinner. There was a section in the Student Code of Conduct that meant whoever had sent me that file was guilty of harassment, intimidation and the misuse of university electronic media.

But mostly I wished Wyatt would show up here or at my door again. It wasn’t the same now as it had been that first week he’d stayed away after we’d fucked. Then, I’d mostly wanted to do it again. But now, I missed him. His sense of humor, his gruff voice. I kept wanting to tell him things that he wasn’t around to hear.

I was in the main cafeteria line when my phone chimed with another email alert. It was from the same Do_Not_Reply address.
What now fucker?
I swiped it open.

I suppose I owe you some kind of explanation. If you still want to hear it, meet me on the stairs at three thirty tomorrow.

I recognized Wyatt’s grudging tone right away. And no one else would say “the stairs” and expect I knew what he meant. I guess it was cool if he wanted to send his own file around.

I beamed at the lady tossing slabs of turkey on plastic plates. Under her hairnet, her brow wrinkled, but then she smiled and dumped an extra ladle of gravy on my mashed potatoes. Sometimes dragging people into my world worked out fine.

I didn’t hear anything as I started up those narrow stairs from the basement of the campus center. Maybe someone was messing with me. But at the turn on the landing, there he was.

Wyatt let out a breath when he saw me. I hated that I didn’t know for sure if it was exasperation or relief.

“So you’re here.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “You did invite me.”

“Yeah.” His teeth sucked on his bottom lip for a second. “Um, thanks for not stalking me all over campus. I needed to think.”

My breath whooshed out of me with shock. “Seriously? That’s what you lead with?”

He squared his shoulders. “This isn’t easy.”

“What isn’t?”

“Talking about it.”

That anxiety ramped up in my stomach again. A sentence from the article on the closing replayed in my head.
A
representative for the youth alleged they were deprived of clothing
,
bathroom and shower facilities
,
as well as furniture in confinement.
Doors were covered so residents couldn’t see out of their cells.
To me that hid any abuse going on inside the cell.