Fighting Fate (Granton University #1)(3)

Paige gulped and glanced surreptitiously behind her, surprised to see hundreds of other students had arrived while she’d been dazing off. They filled nearly every seat.

When no one stood from the sea of blurred bodies to leave, she slowly swiveled back around to face the professor.

Dr. Presni—as her class schedule labeled him—was a short, stout man with an irritable disposition, thick eyebrows, and a bad comb-over. Without introducing himself, he announced he would take roll call today, but after that, attendance was entirely up to the student.

“Marissa Abbott,” he began, starting down his list.

“Here,” the return call echoed from the back of the room.

The scratch of a check mark followed as Presni noted her presence. And so it began all the way through the alphabet. With her Z surname, Paige figured she had a while to wait before he called on her. She relaxed, tuning out, and studied the front of the room. A white board and stark, blank walls stared back. Yeesh, maybe she shouldn’t have sat in the front row. She felt self-conscious. Singled out. She eyed the exit just to her left. It looked so welcoming.

“Rupert Waltrip…Alison Wutke…”

Paige refocused on the teacher’s droning voice—really dry, droning voice. It was going to be hard to concentrate on his lectures with a voice like his, all arid and—

“Logan Xander.”

Logan Xander?

Paige stopped breathing. Icicles crystalized on her brain, freezing her motionless.

That name.

Oh, God. That name.

Why would the professor say that name? Of all the names in the world, why—

“Here.” A voice answered, claiming ownership of that horrendous name. He sat too close behind her and a tad to her right.

She couldn’t help herself. Paige whipped around to look. She had to know.

There he sat.

Three rows back. Two seats over.

Logan Xander.

It had been three years since she’d last seen him. He fixed his dirty-blond hair shorter these days, shaved to a buzz cut. And his face had aged, the planes and angles sharper and more defined. Matured. But there was no way she’d ever forget what he looked like.

He must’ve caught her abrupt reaction to his name, because he glanced her way. Their gazes caught and held, and all the air in the room stalled, leaving her suffocated.

Dying.

A great, crushing tremble clutched her, wracking a painful shudder up her spine. Immediate tears throbbed behind her eyes. She blinked repeatedly, but her retinas remained scorching dry, giving her no relief from the horror she was beholding.

A bewildered frown wove through the center of Logan Xander’s brow as he stared back, obviously not recognizing her.

She clenched her teeth and fisted her hands. She wanted to strike out, physically, verbally, any way possible, to make him remember the way she remembered. How dare he forget her when she would know his face—his name—for the rest of her life!

At the front of the room, the professor called, “Paige Zukowski?”

Finally, Xander reacted. His eyes flared wide and his face drained of color as he glanced at the professor, then back to her. His mouth dropped open, forming a great big dreaded O.

Fear and rage and pain overwhelmed her.

A whimper sobbed from her throat. Humiliated for letting her distress echo into the room, she spun away, fumbling as she grabbed her things off her desk, snapping her laptop shut as she swung out her arm and swiped it into her bag.

People were staring, gasps of surprise coming from her left and right, everywhere behind her. She didn’t care. She had to escape.

Run!

A pen fell from her bag, but pausing to retrieve it seemed preposterous. It became collateral damage.

She tripped trying to stand too quickly, her legs tangling in the confining desk/chair combo. The professor lifted his head from his roll call and gaped at her over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses, his bushy brows and mustache twitching with confusion.

She didn’t bother to explain herself. Couldn’t speak if she’d wanted to.

Springing toward the door, she shoved it open and wheezed for air when she reached the hall. She didn’t pause or slow down until she was outside and two blocks from the building containing Logan Vance Xander. All the while, she kept glancing over her shoulder, worried he might’ve followed.

He hadn’t, thank God.

Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? But, seriously. What was he doing here? How could he step foot onto the grounds of Trace’s dream school?

How dare he?

It wasn’t right, shouldn’t be acceptable. He’d destroyed Paige three years ago, annihilated her entire family. He didn’t deserve a second chance—a college degree—when Trace had nothing but a headstone and silly epitaph.

Tears streamed down her cheeks with a hot vengeance. She sprinted all the way back to her dorm room, her book bag repeatedly clouting her in the spine, spurring her onward. Grateful to find her roommate gone when she got inside, she huddled in her bed and wept hard, her body shuddering with the shock of discovering a murderer attended the same university as she.

And not just any murderer.

Her brother’s murderer.





Chapter Two


LOGAN GAWKED AFTER THE GIRL as she disappeared from the doorway, the breeze from her passing still causing papers on the front row desks to flutter and dance.