Let Me Know (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

Marcus

“Marcus Reid.” Professor Keegan steps up to my desk and rifles through the test papers in his hand. He pulls a booklet from the pile and passes it to me. “I expected a lot more from you than this.”

I got a fucking D. Fucking brilliant.

I knew I was struggling since Amber’s mom threatened to have my scholarship terminated, but I had expected to do a lot better than this. Shit, I need to pull my act together or else I’ve lost Amber for nothing.

I drive home, vaguely aware of what I’m doing. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, but none of that improves my mood.

I park next to Chase’s car and trudge to my apartment. I’m not in the mood to see him right now, but if I plan to pull up my grades, I need to do some serious-ass studying. I don’t have time to drive aimlessly around like I’ve been doing lately.

I enter the apartment. Smoky isn’t on his carpeted tree and he isn’t on the recliner, his other favorite hangout. He isn’t on the couch, either, but Chase is with a beer in hand and the same distraught expression he had when he found the contract from Amber’s mom in my room. Guess I’m not the only one having a crappy day.

For a moment, I consider grabbing a beer and joining him, but I’ve been drinking way too much lately, which partly explains my quiz mark. I can’t keep doing that. I’m not Frank.

“Crappy day, huh?” I walk past my bedroom. Smoky isn’t in there, either, and for the first time since I arrived home, panic inches its way in. “Where’s Smoky?”

Chase doesn’t even look at me. “Where the hell do you think he is?” he snaps.

I flinch at his tone. Guess I deserved that. “She didn’t have to take him. She could have still visited him here.” I’m not a therapist, but even I can see the difference in Amber when she’s with him. Cuddling him relaxes her in ways I can’t. She won’t be able to do that very often if she took him back to her grandmother’s home. And with everything going on, she needs what Smoky can do for her more than ever before.

Chase pushes himself off the couch and stalks over to me. He stops inches from my face, nostrils flaring. “Why the fuck does she think you’re screwing around again?”

Shit.

“Are you?” He steps away from me, disgust leaking from his pores. “Are you back to screwing girls like you used to? Are you back to screwing Tammara again?”

“Hell, no. I love Amber. She’s the only girl I want to be with.” The force of my tone would be enough to put a dent in the living room wall if my words were solid. “But she needs to move on with her life, and she needs to do that without me in it. That’s what her mom wants.” Never mind what Amber and I want.

“I get that. I hate it but I get it. But what I don’t get is why she thinks you’re screwing around again.”

Everything inside of me—the strength I got from Amber, the hope, the anger at what I’ve been forced to do—drains away. My head and shoulders slump forward. “Because I told her I was.” I close my eyes and see her pained expression in my head. “I screwed up and mentioned that I told her mom it wasn’t all me in the video. I didn’t want Amber to figure out the real reason I broke up with her. So I lied.” I reopen my eyes. “I told her I was bored with having sex with only one girl.”

Chase glares at me. I step back. He’ll never forgive me for what I did. No more than I’ll forgive myself for putting the pain on her face.

“So what?” he asks. “You thought she’d be okay after you dropped that bombshell on her? You thought she’d be okay after you told her you never loved her after all? ’Cause I can tell you now, Marcus, that was a shitheaded stunt you pulled. She was barely holding on before with the trial, the lies and the harassment. You destroyed her.”

He pushes past me and grabs his coat. “Hope you can live with yourself after that, ’cause I sure the hell can’t.” He leaves, slamming the door behind him.

I stare at it, unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe. I haven’t felt this helpless since the night I saw Frank rape Ryan. I have no idea how to fix the damage I’ve caused, because the one thing I can do, should do, is the one thing I’m forbidden to do—talk to Amber.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Amber

Sitting on my bed, I bounce the back of my head against the wall. The cracks in my heart deepen, threatening to sever chunks of it, like the face of an eroding cliff.

I want to scream and I want to kick, but I also want to hide from the knowing glances. Everyone’s positive they know exactly what happened between me and Paul—because of the letters and Marcus’s video. Now Paul is the innocent one, not me. And to prove my theory correct, I’ve even received “fan” mail claiming I’m a whore.

I touch the worst of the scars on my back, beneath my lotus tattoo. The scar aches at the memory of Marcus kissing it. It aches at the memory of how strong and beautiful I feel when his lips press against the raised scar. It aches at the memory of being loved by him. My entire body aches at the memory of being loved by him.

It’s been three weeks since the video surfaced, a week since we officially broke up, but the images of Marcus and the girl are all I see in my head, again and again and again. And they don’t contain themselves to when I’m studying or sitting in class. The images haunt my nightmares, too. Only in the dream, I watch them have sex while Paul is whipping me.

I press my palms against my eyes, as if that will erase the images in my brain. As if that will erase the pain in my chest from knowing Marcus walked away from what we had because of my mother, and because what we had wasn’t enough to fight for.

A knock at the door intrudes on my pity party.

“Come in,” I call out, not having the desire or energy to climb off my bed to open the door.

It opens and Jordan enters carrying a beach bag. “You know what you need?” She drops the bag at the end of my bed.

My head flops back against the wall. “A time machine, so none of last year happened.” I’d warn my seventeen-year-old self not to accept the volunteer position at the animal shelter. I would warn her to listen to her mom and accept the internship with the law office.

If I had done what Mom wanted me to do, none of last year would have happened. Trent and Michael would be alive. Trent and I might still be a couple. And what Marcus did with that girl would have nothing to do with me, because he and I never would have met to begin with.

Jordan chuckles at my comment. “Not a time machine,” she says. “You need to go out into the world of the living again.”

“I go out.”

“I’m not talking about classes. Or the gym. I’m talking about going out with your friends.”

“I’m not in a going-out mood. Besides, I need to study.” I pick up the psychology textbook lying next to me, which I had planned to read when I first climbed on my bed three hours ago. It’s still closed.

“You need to do this, Amber. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I hug the book. “Maybe another night.” A night that isn’t Valentine’s Day. The last thing I want to see are happy couples in love.

Jordan tugs on my arm and pulls me up. I don’t bother fighting it. I’m not going to win even if I try, and something tells me she’s not in this alone. Emma will be here soon to help drag me out.

“Where’re we going?” I ask as Jordan searches through her bag.

“To see a movie.” She straightens, holding several wigs.

The door opens again and Emma strides into the room. “Good, she convinced you to come with us.” She flashes Jordan a big grin, which Jordan has no trouble returning. Glad they’re so happy, considering how miserable I feel.

“I’m not sure about this,” I say.

“That’s what you think now, but you’ll change your mind once you see the movie.”

“What movie?”

“The animated one with talking dragons. It looks cute.” Translation: there’s no chance of romance.

“Don’t you have a date with Liam?” I ask.

“We went out last night for dinner, and I’ll see him after the movie.”

I eye the wigs in Jordan’s hand. I recognize the one I borrowed from Shannon. “I get why I need the wig, but why you two?”

They exchange looks, and Emma sighs. “Ever since the video of Marcus surfaced, and you’ve gone into hiding, the media’s been getting on my case, asking about you and Marcus and Trent—as has everyone else. I’m sick of it.”

That’s when I get it. Tonight isn’t only about my going out and having a good time. Emma needs it, too.

“And what about you?” I take the black wig from Jordan.

She picks up the long blond wig and waves it. “I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like to be blond.”

I narrow my eyes. “You sure we’re not going dancing?”

“Positive,” she says.

Even though we’re only going to dinner and a movie, that doesn’t stop us from dressing up. I can’t help it. Maybe it’s my alter ego, Nikki, speaking, but I want to wear something other than jeans and a hoodie. I slip on my black sweater dress and thick tights. Emma helps me with my makeup to give me the same smoldering look as before.

By the time we’re finished, I’m beginning to think that maybe we should hit Nightshade for a night of dancing and forgetting. Except that’s where Marcus and I first kissed. Not the best place to go if I want to forget him.

After the movie, we return to Jordan’s car. While the other two check their voice mail, I turn my phone back on and discover someone left a message. I don’t recognize the number. My heart sinks lower and slams into my stomach. But what did I expect? That Marcus would give up his future for me? Not when he’s worked so hard to get this far. Not when he’s worked so hard to give himself a new life.

I listen to the message, needing the temporary distraction.

“Hi, Amber. It’s Lily Cummings. I got your letter and would love to talk to you. Please call me when you have the chance.” I save the message and hang up. Emma’s still talking on her phone, her back to me. Jordan finishes her call.

“So, are we going back to the dorm now?” I ask.

“Nope,” Jordan says, slipping her phone back into her purse. “We’ve got one more stop to make first.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Marcus

“Where’re we going?” I ask Chase as he drives along the wintry streets.

“Nightshade,” he says matter-of-factly. “If you’re gonna beat yourself up over everything, then we might as well have fun at the same time.”

I’d much rather go home, but since it’s obvious Chase wants to go clubbing, and he’s driving, there’s not much I can do. I’m just glad he didn’t permanently turn his back on me after I lied to Amber that I had moved on with other girls. He didn’t come back to the apartment for three days. It took him that long to get over what I had done.

He might have gotten over it, but I haven’t forgiven myself for how much I hurt her.

Fortunately, the bartender who didn’t card me last time, the one Amber is positive has a thing for me, is working and has no issues serving me and Chase beers without checking our I.Ds. I give him a big tip, even though I’m sure he’ll take it the wrong way. I don’t care, as long as this isn’t the last beer for the night.

I turn and spot the place where I first kissed Amber. The memory of the kiss and not having her in my arms is a knee to the gut. I gulp back my beer, attempting to numb the memory. When I realize that’s not possible, I tell Chase to give me a second and return to the bar.

“I’ll have a double Jack Daniels straight.”

The bartender gives me an understanding smile. “Tough day, huh?”

Tough day, week, month, year. “Possibly.”

He pours the drink. “For what it’s worth, you looked hot in the video.”

“Yeah, um, well, thanks. I guess.”

He laughs as I pay for the drink. “I’m not hitting on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. For starters, I’m not into things getting rough, not like you obviously are. And two, it’s obvious you’re as straight as they come.” He turns to the two girls approaching the bar and flips on his flirting charm.

Relieved he knows where I stand and isn’t put off by that, I grab my glass and beer bottle and join Chase at a table with two guys from our engineering classes.

“Hey, if it isn’t the porn star,” Max says in a tone implying more awe than anything else. He’s stocky and doesn’t look like he gets any action.

Much like his friend, Pete, a skinny, zit-faced guy who turns a brilliant shade of red whenever a girl talks to him in class. “Dude, you’re so lucky.”

“How so?” I mutter.

“Now that you’re famous, girls won’t be able to keep themselves out of your pants.”

“Great, if that’s what I wanted. But it isn’t.” I’ve already had that. It’s overrated compared to being with someone who loves you and gets you.

“Really?” Max says. “Last year you went through half the girls on campus, getting it on with them. The hot girls that is.” He looks to Pete for confirmation. Pete nods.

“That was last year. I have a girlfriend now.” Had a girlfriend. As her mom pointed out when the video went viral, Amber’s better off without me, a comment I’d rather not share with these guys. “And I didn’t make the video.”

“Looked like you.”

“Only some of it was me.”

“So, what? The rest was a body double?” The way Pete says it, you’d think he was talking to a Hollywood director.

“Pretty much.” At least that’s the theory Chase and I have going. It’s too convenient that the girl happened to have footage of a guy who looked like me when the picture is slightly blurry. The question is, why did she do it?

I told the cops that it wasn’t me in all the frames, but I’m not sure they believed me. And even if they do, it’s too late for me and Amber. The public has condemned us for things we never did.

“Okay, guys,” Chase says, “let it go. We didn’t come here to talk about it. We came here for some fun.” He scans the area then spins out of his chair to stand. “And it starts now.”

He joins two girls standing near the dance floor. They’re pretty, and last year I’d have been over there in an instant and talked my way into one of their beds. Now they just remind me how much I miss Amber, even though she looks nothing like them.

Chase talks to the short brunette. She giggles and follows him onto the dance floor. It doesn’t take long before she’s all over him, trying to keep up with his moves. I have no idea when my best friend started resembling a dancer from a MTV video. Too bad the girl doesn’t. She’s definitely not Jordan. Now that girl can dance.

The brunette’s friend watches them for a few minutes before glancing in my direction. She’s pretty, blond, with a tight bod and large breasts squeezed into her tank top. I swear I hear the guys nearby pant at the way she moves her hips as she sashays in this direction.

I look away and down the rest of my Daniels.

“Oh, shit! She’s coming over,” Pete says.

“Down boy,” Max replies. “She’s not coming over to see you. She’s coming to see
him
.”

I study my empty glass. The beer and the Daniels wasn’t enough to stir up a buzz. Just as I’m contemplating getting a refill on both and getting seriously shit-faced, a warm fingertip traces across the bottom half of my tattoo. The rest is hidden under the sleeve of my T-shirt.

“I love hearing the story behind why someone selects a specific design over another,” she says, in the tone art lovers use when discussing a painting. The tension in my muscles releases slightly.

“There’s a story, but it’s not one I’m willing to share.”

“Too bad. I’m Sharon, by the way.”

“Marcus.”

“You wanna dance?”

I shake my head. “I’m not much in the mood for dancing.” I glance at Chase and the girl he’s dancing with. She’s all over him, as in, “I want this to go much further than a dance. I want to have your babies.” He’s smiling, but it’s clear to only me that he’s not smiling
at
her. His body might be on the dance floor but his mind is elsewhere.

Sharon’s fingers skim their way down my arm. “I can get you in the mood.” Gone is the art-lover tone, easily replaced with the I-want-to-screw-your-brains-out one.

I subtly inch my arm away. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“He has a girlfriend.” Pete’s face reddens and he becomes interested in the table, rubbing his finger over a water stain.

I don’t bother to correct him, since I was the one who told him the lie to begin with. Plus, he’s given me an out.

“You do?” She doesn’t seem surprised or disappointed or even resigned. “I’m guessing since it’s Valentine’s Day and you’re here looking all moody with an empty glass and beer bottle, you’re having girlfriend issues.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Or maybe I’m looking all moody with an empty glass and beer bottle ’cause she’s not here and I wish she were.”

“If you’re not having girlfriend issues, then why isn’t she here?”

“She’s with her sick grandmother.” Or more likely, Amber’s in her dorm, hiding from all the staring and whispering because of something stupid I did last year as a way to deal with my brother’s death.

I stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, as you’ve pointed out, I have an empty glass and beer bottle—” I pick them up “—and I plan to rectify that.” I’d tell her if she wants so badly to dance, she should ask Pete or Max. But since both are good guys, I don’t want to risk her shooting them down.

Heading to the bar, I glimpse Chase struggling to remove the arms of Sharon’s friend from around his neck. It’s not a slow song, but she’s determined to kiss him. I buy him a beer, plus one for myself and another Daniels.

Sharon’s not at the table when I return, but both Pete and Max are. They eye the drinks in my hands as I place the beers on the table. I move one over to Chase’s spot so they realize the drinks aren’t all mine.

“You must really miss your girlfriend,” Pete says, nodding at the beer.

I chug back the Daniels before answering. “I do.”

“So why aren’t you with her?”

“I already explained why. She’s with her sick grandmother.”

He shakes his head. “If that’s true, you wouldn’t have been moody for the last few weeks. Everyone on campus knows about the video, which means so does your girlfriend. And I’m guessing your video is damaging the case against the sick shithead who kidnapped her.”

The corner of my lips curls up. Not by much though. “Are you sure you’re an engineering student and not a would-be lawyer?”

“And you’re avoiding the question, which means I’m right.” The taste of victory tints his tone.

Pete, Max and I are busy talking when Chase returns soon after, minus the girl, his hair damp with sweat. The guys excuse themselves to get more drinks.

Without saying a word, Chase grabs the beer bottle I bought him while he was dancing and lifts it to his mouth. “Thanks, man, I needed that,” he says once he’s finished drinking.

“You should just kiss her. Then she’ll know what she’s missing out on.”

“Except I wasn’t into her. I mean she—”

“I’m talking about Jordan.” I finish off my Daniels.

“Yeah, well, I’m not too interested in having her boyfriend smash my head in.”

“Hey, it’s just a thought. But it sure beats dancing with girls you wish were Jordan.”

“Says the guy whose love life is all screwed up.” He toasts me with his bottle.

I wince. “And maybe it’s because my love life
is
all fucked up that I can give advice.”

I expect Chase to give me a hard time or something. I don’t expect him to say, “Oh, shit,” while looking over my shoulder. I turn to see what the problem is.

Tammara is near the dance floor with a few of her friends. The roaming spotlights ignite the fiery color of her hair. Her green eyes burrow into me, stripping me naked in a way that will never happen for real. Those days are long gone.

Without saying anything to her friends, she walks over.

“You want another drink?” Chase asks. He doesn’t wait for a reply. He heads for the bar. I haven’t told him what Tammara did to me and Amber. If I had, he wouldn’t be putting distance between himself and his least favorite person. He’d stay to protect my virtue.

Tammara slides up to me, holding a fruity drink, and sits in Chase’s seat. Without saying a word, she studies the dance floor. The tension between us vibrates like the loud beat of the bass.

I toss back some beer, relieved Chase is getting me another one. I’ll need it. “What do you want, Tammara?”

“I never realized you were into the kinky stuff,” she says, still watching the dance floor.

“Don’t believe everything you see or hear.”

Her gaze snaps back to me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that. I had nothing to do with the video.”

“So you’re telling me you have an identical twin who’s a porn star?” Her cutting tone suggests she believes that possibility as much as I do, even though at some level I wish it were true. It would make things a lot simpler. “He can’t be too impressed that you’re getting all the credit.”

“There is no twin.”
Unless there’s something Mom hasn’t told me
,
but I doubt it.
“Only a slightly blurry video shot in a dimly light room, with parts that were definitely me. But most of it wasn’t.”

“You’re saying it’s fake?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Too bad no one believes me.”

“Including your girlfriend.” There’s no delight or scorn or mocking in her voice. More like sympathy.

I shrug. I have no idea why I’m telling Tammara this, other than the alcohol buzz is finally kicking in and my thoughts aren’t all that interested in shutting up. Even to the woman who caused Amber and me so much trouble.

“Is it true what the police said about your stepfather?” she asks. “That he molested you and your brother?”

I startle at the question. The news mentioned it a few times after Frank was arrested for shooting me, but it was dropped shortly after when the cops couldn’t prove anything. Neither my name nor Ryan’s was mentioned at any point. And since Frank has a different last name than us, the media had no issue reporting it. I’m surprised Tammara figured it out.

“Yeah, it’s true.”

“That’s why you were upset when I lied about my sister’s fiancé and about...about what happened after that?” She doesn’t have to say it. She’s referring to the roofie she slipped me to get photos of her kissing me, so Amber would think Tammara and I were back together.

“I would have been upset either way.”

“I can see why you love Amber. You understand each other.” She stands and hugs me. Despite my natural instinct to pull away from any woman who isn’t Amber, I hug Tammara back. “I hope things work out for you both.” She gives me a sad smile and leaves, passing Chase as she makes her way back to her friends. Neither acknowledges the other.

Grinning, Chase puts a glass down in front of me.

“What’s this?” I ask, eyeing the clear liquid.

“I believe it’s commonly known as water.”

I frown. “I thought you were getting me a drink.”

He chuckles. “The last I heard people actually drink this stuff.”

“But I wanted a beer.” Great, now I’m a pouting two-year-old.

“I figured you’ll thank me tomorrow when you’re not suffering from a shitty hangover.”

He’s probably right.

“Anyway,” he adds, “I’m ready to bail.”

That makes two of us. I weave after him through the dense crowd of sweaty, drunk bodies and out into the cold. The slap of the icy wind against my face sobers me up a little.

I expected Chase to drive us home. He doesn’t. He drives to a hotel and pulls up to the entrance. “Here—” he passes me a key card “—go upstairs to room three-seventy-seven.”

I open my mouth to ask what the hell’s going on.

“Just go,” he says, grinning. “You’ll understand when you get there.”

I do as I’m told and take the elevator to the third floor. As I walk to the room, I spot a girl with chin-length black hair and purple streaks sliding her key card into the slot a few doors ahead of me.

“Kitten?”