Finding A Way (21 page)

"It's all right, babe. We all gotta go to that dark place some time or another. We all have our demons. You just gotta figure out how to deal with them. You’re not the only one, sweetheart."

She nods her head slightly, turning out of my view. I study her movements while she wipes at her face.

"Let's get outta here. You've got a big day tomorrow anyway," I suggest, tugging her up to her feet, but never letting her fingers escape mine.

After Mac dropped me off last night, Sierra and I lounged around the house, getting things ready for my first day of classes tomorrow. I talked about how I was so excited to finally start, but also nervous. Sierra said the campus is huge, so don’t get overwhelmed.

My seat in my English Literature class is the perfect one. I stay in between the classroom full of students, blending into the crowd like a shadow amongst them. Everyone speaks around me, but no one notices me. The professor talks about Shakespeare and I can’t help my mind wandering back to the creek yesterday. Mac holding me, like he does all the time now, felt good. He’s such a caring and kind man underneath his hard exterior. For someone covered in tattoos, and muscles which scare the crap out of little kids, you’d expect he would be as hard as he looks. Instead, he’s compassionate.

Sierra told me he’s never like that with any of the women he sleeps with, so I must be special. I shrugged off her suggestion. I can’t think of being with him that way. I don’t want to think about being with anyone. We obviously have a connection, but I’m not ready to give myself to someone emotionally again.

Since Derrick’s accident, I’m too afraid to get close to anyone. I’m afraid of losing them, too. I don’t think I’ll be able to come back from it next time. I didn’t really come back from it this time, but at least I’m living my life instead of walking around like a zombie.

“Excuse me, but do you have an extra pen?”

I’m saved from my thoughts when I see a handsome guy, maybe in his twenties, leaning over the empty seat between us. I nod my head, fishing around my bag for an extra one. Handing it to him, he flashes me his beautiful white teeth.

“Thanks. I’m Chase, and you are?” He tips his head to the side.

“Callie,” I reply to him, looking him over.

Brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin, not too skinny, but not muscular like Mac. He’s attractive, but in a clean cut sort of way. He seems like he has money from the way he’s dressed, wearing a polo shirt and light colored ripped jeans.

“That’s a perfect name for someone as beautiful as you, Callie.” He raises his eyebrows a little.

I don’t want to be rude to him, but the last thing I want is to hear pick up lines while I’m trying to make it through my first day of classes. He may think he’s smooth, but he’s not. I know his game already. Been there, done that, heard it all a thousand times.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“You should come to my buddy’s house this weekend. He’s throwing a little Welcome Bash. It should be pretty awesome. Beer, music, you know. It's gonna be a rippah.”

I sigh quietly before letting him down.

“Sorry. I’m not a real fan of house parties.”

He lets out a soft laugh before continuing to pitch me his idea.

“I’m usually not either, but this is different. We’re all old enough to drink. We just prefer to have it at his house so no one has to drive from the bar.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head at him. I mean I’ll give it to him; his persistence is impressive, but still it’s not going to change my mind. I’m not going to a party where I won’t know anyone besides the people I bring with me. That’s not fun. That’s just awkward.

He slides me a small piece of paper. I open it up and read the address of what I assume is the place the party will be held and a phone number.

“Call me if you change your mind. It starts at nine.”

I fold the paper back up, tucking it into my hoodie pocket before answering him.

“Thank you, but expect nothing,” I confirm my already made up mind.

He makes a muffled noise and turns back to taking his notes.

The professor dismisses us early in light of the first day of class. English Lit. was my only class today. So, I walk around campus, familiarizing myself with it. I walk out of the classroom building, wandering through the small courtyard which lies in between the buildings. Seeing a park bench placed in front of a fountain, I take a seat and pull out my phone. I open up my little yellow notepad app and type in my entry for last night and today being I forgot.
Nature.

I hit save, leaning back as I watch the busy campus around me.

Derrick would have liked it here. I know he would have. He was supposed to have a full scholarship here, which was one of the main reasons I chose this university. At first, it was only because I wanted to be close to him, but once I saw the campus online, I instantly fell in love with it. I loved the city, being I was from a small town. I wanted the opposite. I love the hustle and bustle that surrounds the city and I love Boston’s rendition of a Central Park. I haven’t seen it in person yet, but I plan on going there as soon as everything settles down. Hopefully Mac will be the one to take me there.

I jump when I feel two hands slip around my shoulders, pulling me into them. My heart pounds in my chest and my panic sets in just as I spin around to see a very amused Mac. I throw him a glare trying to regulate my breathing.

“Jesus Christ, Mac! You can’t just sneak up on someone like that! You almost gave me a heart attack."

I hear him let out a small chuckle, massaging my shoulders where his hands are on each side. His touch feels amazing. Having his hands on me is heaven. It seems like he finds every knot in my shoulders while he continues to massage them.

“I highly doubt you were that scared, Red,” he whispers into my ear.

This man always needs to get close when he talks and it’s screwing with my head—or my vagina, one or the other. Either way, it’s amazing.

His breath blows lightly against it and goosebumps break out on my skin. His voice is the sexiest thing I've ever heard. It makes my mind picture what he looks like naked again, even though I've been doing pretty well at fighting it. I cannot think about him that way. All right, let's face it, I never freaking stopped thinking about him. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I can think all I want, but I can't touch. No harm done, right?

The amusement in his voice makes me want to punch him. Heart attacks happen to people of all different ages and with all the stress I’ve had in the past three years, I wouldn’t doubt if my heart was waiting to cave in one of these days.

I shoot another glare at him before letting out a long breath.

“Still, don’t sneak up on me like that. What are you doing here anyway?” I ask.

I know he doesn’t go to the university, so really there's no reason for him to be here. Unless maybe he was coming to see me, but he didn’t even know my class time and I’m out two hours earlier than I’m supposed to be.

“Well I came down to look at an employee’s truck, but I saw you sitting here,” He shrugs casually.

I knew he wasn’t here to see me, but it doesn’t stop the little bit of disappointment which filters through my brain. For a second, I thought maybe he was coming to surprise me. Maybe he would wait for me in the hallway outside my class and greet me with a big…
UGH!
I’m ridiculous to be thinking like this. We are friends, even if he holds me whenever we’re around each other. It doesn’t change the fact I’m not ready for a man in my life, and he will never be ready to have a woman in his. We’re two fucked up people who can never be with someone else. I guess we have more in common than I thought.

I stand up, grabbing my bag and spinning toward the direction of my apartment.

“Well I won’t keep you. I’m gonna head out anyways,” I say.

I start to walk away when I feel his hand grip my upper arm, turning me around to face him.

“Why don’t you just come with me? I was gonna come back and pick up his truck, but you can drive mine back to the shop and I can grab his now. It’ll save me a trip.”

I give him an unsure look, contemplating his idea. I've never driven a truck before. What if I smash it on the way to the garage? I don’t have the money to pay for that. I barely have enough money left to buy groceries for the apartment, and I’m not calling my parents to ask for more money. That is
not
an option.

“Red, it’s fine. You can drive my truck. I’ll be right in front of you. Just follow me there. Come on, don’t leave me hanging. You know how I got you covered all the time? Cover me this time," he pleads with me.

I huff out a breath and cross my arms over my chest. I poke my finger into his hard chest as I make my point to him.

“Fine, but I’m still mad at you for scaring the shit out of me, Malcolm Davis, and you owe me big time.”

A crooked grin plays on his lips as he shrugs his shoulders at me
.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I bump my shoulder into his side before walking past him toward the garage. I want to get this car and get the hell out of here already.

“Stop with the pet names Mac, and stop calling me
Red.
The color of my hair is auburn, you jackass. There’s a big difference.”

“You’re going the wrong way,” he yells in my direction. I can literally feel him laughing at me still. It’s not funny. I’m mad and sexually frustrated, and that’s a horrible combination.

I swear, I want to kiss, fuck, and bury Malcolm Davis all at the same time. How is that even possible? Those three emotions shouldn't fit together, but in my mind that's where they all lie. Together. Each one equal to the other.

He tags along behind me, laughing.

Once we get the teacher's car on the road, I follow Mac to his garage in the city. I think I cheated death about ten times driving on these crazy city roads, but at least Mac’s truck is now safely parked in the garage parking lot.

He shows me around the garage, taking time to let me see his beautiful car he’s building. It’s gorgeous from what I see right now. It isn’t fully put together, but the candy red paint job makes up for the lack of assembly. I lean against the front hood of it, admiring what it will be when he’s done.

“What kind of car is this?” I ask, running my hands against the smooth feeling of the paint.