In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(73)

Frankie, as naked as Heather, turned to face us with a huge, devilish grin—pausing for a second to wink—then jumped into the ocean back-first, landing with an audible smack.

My mouth dropped open. Frankie.

“He wasn’t lying!” Jack yelled, jumping in after him. “It’s a whale of a tale!”

Still clutching my bare chest, I doubled over, breathless with laughter. And then Coop was beside me at the shoreline, his eyes cast out over the ocean. He turned to me, smiling. There it was, the look that shut out the world. This time, I didn’t look away, and something shifted between us. The short distance from his body to mine—the small bit of air and sand—was no longer inert but alive. I was aware of his body, so close to mine, within touching distance. His gaze felt like a physical thing, a finger stroking my arm, raising the fine hairs there.

Coop’s bare shoulders sloped with muscle. His Adam’s apple bobbed beneath the cut-diamond lines of his jaw. His dark hair lifted in the wind. I reached out to touch it, smooth it on instinct, and he sucked in a breath.

I drew my hand back. “What?”

His eyes, so serious. “I’m memorizing your face in this light.”

As I opened my mouth to speak, Mint barreled toward us out of nowhere, scooping me in his arms and lifting me high over his shoulder. I screamed with surprise, heart pumping adrenaline as he rushed to the ocean. The last thing I saw was Coop standing alone on the shore, lit with soft, golden dusk, all sharp eyes and enigmatic smile. The perfect figure drawing.

And then we plunged into the sea.

Under the surface, in the cold, in the salt, swallowed by waves, I pressed my eyes shut, letting myself sink. And in that moment a wild wishing came over me. I wanted to stay here, submerged forever. Above the surface, all the days of my life were waiting like a promise. There was nothing but a blank slate, and anything goes, and what if. My life could mean anything, I could become anyone, as long as I didn’t break surface, as long as I stayed here, suspended, in this beautiful, infinite now.





Chapter 35


Now

Coop’s voice tugged me back from the window like he had me on a string, my body responding before my mind fully realized it.

“What are you doing here?” I stumbled backwards. “How did you know where I was?”

He stood framed by the doorway, breathing hard, his hair sweaty and disheveled. He looked like he’d sprinted across the entire campus. He’d lost his sweater somehow; I imagined him tearing it off as he ran. Now he wore only a black T-shirt, the sleeves torn, threads hanging over his biceps. He clutched something in his right hand.

“Get away from there.” Coop slid over the wall of couches and lunged, pulling me back from the shattered window. He turned me so his back faced the open sky, his chest a shield, fingers gripping my shoulders. His heart drummed. I closed my eyes and memorized the pressure of his body, his scent—woodsy and wild, citrus and earth.

“How did you know?” I repeated.

I felt Coop’s chin drop on my head. “This was my place. When things were bad, you always found me.”

It was true. Back then, I’d always stumbled into him. A strange coincidence, except it wasn’t; it was a gravitational pull. Now, as he held me at the top of Blackwell Tower, it was like we were right back in junior year, back to a normal day. This moment—this precious bubble of time—was a gift, however long it lasted.

Coop pulled away from me, holding me at arm’s length. “Please tell me you weren’t doing what it looked like.”

And the moment was over.

I looked past him, out the window. Even now, at my lowest, I still couldn’t say it. Not to him.

His voice sharpened. “How could you?”

I jerked to face him, the fear swelling, and the words burst from me. “Because I killed her, Coop. I killed Heather.”

There—I’d confessed. And to the last damn person I would have chosen, the person who once stood in this very room and called me a sociopath. Well, he’d been right. Now we’d come full circle, and he could see every inch of the ugly truth for himself.

I tensed, waiting for him to shove me away.

Coop took a deep, steadying breath—and, to my surprise, put his hands on either side of my face, cupping my jaw. The tenderness wrenched my heart. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

The words spilled free after ten years of waiting. “All I know is I found out Heather won the fellowship and I hated her so much. I lost all sense. I took my Adderall and Courtney’s diet pills and chased them with whiskey. I got so messed up that I cut up those photographs. The last thing I remember is I had some plan to take revenge on Heather, make things right. Then I blacked out. And there’s nothing until the next morning, when I woke up covered in blood.”

Strangely, Coop didn’t blink. “That’s it?”

I forced the words out. “Coop, I wanted her to die. I remember thinking it. Picturing it.”

“You don’t remember coming to my apartment?”

I took a step back, and his hands fell from my face. “Your apartment?”

He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Strange—his fingers were covered in dirt. “You showed up at my door that night, wasted and covered in blood, then barreled your way inside. You kept saying you needed a safe place.”