Heading East (Part 2 of 2) (The True North Series) (8 page)

“I don’t trust you, Luke,” she said. “I don’t trust you not to hurt me again.”

9

KAT

After that disastrous night, I stayed out of Luke’s way. I bought food at the deli next door and ate it up in my apartment, stashing bottles of water in my room to keep hydrated. I kept to my side of the building and even bought curtains and a rod to hang in front of the glass doors. It was a cold-hearted move, true, but I couldn’t bear seeing him day after day knowing that I’d hurt him. I had enough problems at school without having to worry about him too.

Still, that didn’t stop me from occasionally peeking around the curtains, hoping to catch a glimpse of him walking by.

On the fourth day my conscience finally got the best of me. I walked out to the patio and looked in on his place. I tried the door, finding it unlocked like he said it would be, and walked inside.

“Hello?” When there was no answer, I headed towards the only room in this place I hadn’t yet laid eyes on. I knocked on the door then cracked open the door to peer inside.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but the black walls, black furniture, and large framed black and white drawings on the walls took me by surprise. The bedding was crisp white with black edging. The entire room was dark and sophisticated and so utterly male.

“What are you doing?”

I spun on a heel, busted written all over my face. “I was looking for you,” I said, closing the door behind me.

“If you wanted in my bedroom, all you had to do was ask,” he said, but even though his words seemed playful, his face was stern. He took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of the couch then proceeded to fold up his sleeves.

I watched, mesmerized, in awe of his beauty as he undid the first button on his collar.

“Well?” he asked, still cold as ever.

I had never seen him like this before and, as much as I hated that he was angry with me, a small part of me found his daunting persona kind of hot.

It’s sick, I know.

“Kat.”

I blinked, clearing away the fog of desire in my head. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a white square of fabric, waving it in the air with a small smile. “I come in peace.”

He leaned against the back of the couch, folding his arms. “Oh?”

My heart was thumping and the back of my head felt numb as I opened my mouth to speak. “I’m not good at apologies…” I began, wringing the fabric between my fingers.

“Uh-huh. Go on.”

The son of a bitch was actually enjoying this! I shifted my stance and straightened my spine. “I’m not sorry for telling you the truth, but I am sorry for avoiding you for the past week,” I said, trying to remember all that I’d come here to say, those little mental notes that I’d been tucking away all week. “I just don’t want you thinking that I’m using your affection for me to get a free place to stay. I’ll still gladly pay the rent, though if it’s okay with you, I might have to prorate this month because I just bought a sewing machine and a few other things for school.”

The corners of his lips lifted but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I know you, Kat. I know your motivations and your worries and I never once thought that you were using me for my apartment.” As he talked, he took off his tie and proceeded to unbutton his shirt. “But I hated being shut out, especially after my confession.”

I nodded. “I know. I’m not very good at—” The words stuck in my throat when he
untucked his shirt from his pants. “What are you doing?”

He walked past
me, hairy chest and six pack for days. “Changing into more comfortable clothes.”

I waited for him to say something flirtatious, but his face remained neutral. He disappeared into his bedroom and came out a few minutes later wearing only a pair of grey pajama pants.

“You’re still here,” he said and walked past me to the kitchen. “Was there more to the apology?”

I followed him. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, pouring some whiskey into a glass tumbler.

“You’re acting weird. Are you still mad at me?”

He took the drink to the couch and sat down with a long sigh, lifting his bare feet up onto the coffee table. He took a sip then lay his head back onto the couch. “I’m just tired, Kat,” he said, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. “Tired of bullshit, tired of trying and not getting anywhere.”

I sat on the edge of the coffee table. “I wish it was easy for me to trust again. But you, of all people, know why it’s hard.”

He lifted his head to give me a reproachful look. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to look stung. I waited for him to say something else, to maybe elaborate on what he
did
mean, but he said nothing. “Well, I’ll leave you alone then,” I said, getting to my feet.

Luke’s hand shot out and grasped my wrist. “Would you sit with me for a few minutes?” he asked, and, for the first time today, I felt some warmth coming from him.

I nodded and sat down beside him, careful to keep a few inches between us as he turned on the TV. He took my hand and placed it on his thigh, his fingers tracing gentle lines on my palm. We sat like that for long moments, our eyes turned to the television but our bodies in tune with each other. I was so aware of him; I could feel the heat emanating from his body, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Thank you,” he said, flashing me a tired smile and laying his palm flush against mine.

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Just being here with me was exactly what I needed.”

“Rough day, I take it?”

“I’ve had a long, exhausting day full of disappointment.”

“When your record deal goes through, you’ll be able to quit that job.”

He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know if music is what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Hell, if someone like me can do fashion, then you can certainly do music.”

“This is real life, Kat. Sometimes a dream is just that: a dream. Sometimes what we want most is exactly the thing we can never have,” he said, giving me a long, meaningful look.

“That’s a defeatist attitude,” I said, smacking his thigh to take his attention off me.

He shrugged. “I’m just being realistic. But it makes me happy to know that you’re living your dream. You’ve worked hard for it, you deserve it.” He took hold of my hand once more and got to his feet, pulling me up with him. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

He took me as far as the glass door to my apartment then stopped to give me one last lingering look. “Have a good night,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I closed my eyes and savored the tender connection, pretending for that moment we were back in that wonderful time before he found his identity and before I lost mine.

~

I squeezed the strap of my book bag as I headed towards Professor Ramirez’s office, my new ballet flats squeaking with each step on the shiny tile floor. I found the office door open but stood at the threshold and cleared my throat.

He looked up from his computer. “Come on in,” he said in a thickly accented voice. “Please, take a seat.”

I set my bag on the floor and sat down, unable to keep from my fidgeting. I had no clue why he wanted to see me in his office, but I was guessing it wasn’t because of my stellar performance thus far.

“Katherine—”

“Kat.”

He gave a short nod. “Kat, how are you?”

Anxious. Unsteady. Freaked
out.
“Fine.”

“I wanted to meet with you about your progress.” He
steepled his fingers and tapped them against his bearded chin. “How do you think you’re doing?”

Barely surviving.
“Fine.”

He let out a long sigh through his nose. “But I don’t think you’re doing fine, Kat. Your sewing skills are great but your designs have been… not up to standard.”

My heart sank into my stomach. It was as if he’d just given voice to the nasty thoughts that had lingered in the back of my mind since arriving in New York. In a small way I felt a sense of relief, as if someone had finally called me on my bullshit.

“You may want to consider switching to the Fashion Merchandising program,” he said in a tone that was meant to come across as kind. He studied me, waiting for a reaction, but I was too stunned and devastated to speak. “If you’d like, you can wait until the quarter ends before making the switch. I think Fashion Merchandising would be a good fit for you. There you’ll study the business and, after you graduate, you can gain employment as a fashion coordinator or stylist for a department store or boutique, and you can bring with it your own unique sense of… style.”

An “Okay,” was all I could muster. I don’t know how I managed to stand up and walk to the door.

“Kat?” Professor Ramirez called.

I turned around, my limbs completely numb.

“I’ll tell you what—if, at the end of the quarter, you can produce three designs, then I’ll let you stay. But you have to wow me.”

I nodded, my vision starting to blur from the tears I was desperately trying to hold off. “Okay. Thanks.”

I don’t know how I made it home that afternoon without accidentally getting on the wrong train to Brooklyn or New Jersey. All I could recall was walking in the door and collapsing into the armchair, staring at the mess I’d made around me. On the desk were piles and piles of fabric, sketchbooks, and the brand new sewing machine I’d only used a handful of times. Across the room I’d placed a dressform and pinned pictures and scraps of fabric on the brick wall behind it. In the short time I’d been living here I’d somehow managed to make this place my own, yet now it looked as if I’d just been playing house.

I never belonged here, in this city, in this apartment. My one consolation was that I could say with all honesty that I tried.

With a heavy heart, I pulled my laptop out of my bag, ready to put an end to this charade.

I was putting the sewing machine back in its original box, hoping I could still get a refund, when a knock on the patio door broke through my thoughts. Luke slid the door open and stuck his head in. “What’s going on here?” He looked around, not missing that I’d taken everything off the wall and had cleaned up the desk.

“I’m going back to Alaska,” I said, not meeting his eyes. If I did I might do something brash, like stay.

“Why? Is everything okay?” He crossed the room in three effortless steps and stood in front of the desk, trying to peer into my face. “What’s wrong?”

I told him about the meeting, keeping my eyes on the table. I realized belatedly that I’d started to cry when the tears started to splash onto the wood surface. I swiped my hand over it, hoping there was a chance he didn’t notice.

But of course he did. I should have known he would. “Hey, hey,” he said, rounding the table and engulfing me in his long arms. “Who cares what that asshole says?”

“Everyone. He’s the fucking head of the program, for fuck’s sake.” I let him hold me for two more seconds before twisting away to continue clearing the desk.

“Well, what about the three designs? He gave you a chance to prove yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your friend Stella was right—I
am
unoriginal,” I said. “Whatever I show him in a few weeks isn’t going to change that.”

He studied me for a moment before saying, “Maybe it’s for the best anyway. Maybe where you really belong is in that mobile home.”

“I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.” Luke, more than anyone, had firsthand experience of my contrary nature. Unfortunately this time the fight in me was all gone. I faced him, leaning against the desk. “I don’t belong here, Luke. I’ve always suspected it and now I have proof.” I touched the fitted top I was wearing. “I’ve tried to fit in but, no matter what I do, I just feel out of place. Like I’m just impersonating someone else and doing a sucky job at it.”

“We all feel that way in the beginning. But you just fake it until you make it, remember?”

“I can’t fake it anymore. This apartment, this city… it isn’t me.”

“Yes it is,” he said, his face the picture of aggravation.

“I’m going back to Alaska, Luke. I’ve already booked the ticket.”

He planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “No way. You’re not quitting. You need to stay and finish what you started. The Kat Hollister I know is not a quitter. She does not back down from a challenge,” he said in a forceful voice that echoed throughout the apartment. “Aren’t you the same badass girl who carried around a
Glock in her pants like it was no big deal?”

“That girl is long gone,” I said, feeling miles away from the person he described. I couldn’t even remember what it was like to be so secure in myself. “She disappeared the moment I landed in New York City.”

“Then we need to find her again.”

I finally looked up and let him see what was left of me. “She’s gone.”