Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men, #1)(39)

“No one will ever love you the way I do, Reese’s Pieces. And if you won’t let me have you now, I’ll just make sure we’re together for all eternity.”

I had no idea if he’d planned a murder/suicide or what. But I didn’t want to find out. I was also not too clear how I did it, but somehow one of my hands grappled behind me until I found the doorknob. Just as he began to press the knife into my flesh, I opened the door and spun away.

He sliced me the deepest on the back left side. And if I hadn’t been wearing my hair up in a ponytail, he probably would’ve whacked off my beautiful brunette locks too.

My mother contracting food poisoning from the restaurant saved my life. Dad had rushed her home early. They came through the back door to find me screaming and hurtling myself toward them with my psycho stalking ex-boyfriend charging after me, his bloody knife raised and ready to plunge again.

And here was where I had to pause and take a breath, remind myself I was fine. I was okay. All that was over.

Whew.

Well, mostly over. Jeremy’s rich daddy bailed him out of jail the very night he committed his crime, so he didn’t spend any time behind bars, hence me changing my name and fleeing halfway across the country. But my parents felt confident he would be charged guilty during his trial—if his father finally stopped finding ways to delay it—and then he’d go to prison for a long, long time. It wouldn’t even matter that he’d find out my new name when I testified against him, because afterward, he’d be locked away for good.

Then, everything really would be okay. I could go back to my birth name. And it’d all be over.

If I didn’t have such a unique—sure, we’ll call it unique—personality, my time with Jeremy might’ve left me an unbalanced, frightened mess. I still have moments of fear. I still experience some of that submissive compliance he tried to brainwash into me—though rarely, thank God. And I’ve grown a little more judgmental around new people.

My parents tried to talk me into seeing a therapist, but I think I handled everything okay. I dealt with it. I survived and I actually kind of felt as if I was flourishing here in Waterford. I still missed Ellamore. It would always be home.

But I was doing okay. And the lunches I had shared with Mason on campus everyday were a big part of that. He had a way of making me feel normal and yet exhilarated all in the same breath. He accepted me for what I was, and he actually seemed to like my unique personality.

He got me.

That was why, despite the three years of hell I’d lived through under Jeremy Walden’s thumb, the two weeks following Eva’s party were the most miserable days of my life.

After our near kiss, Mason suddenly dropped off the grid, avoiding me altogether. He no longer sought me out at lunch, even though I made sure to always sit at our table. On the nights I watched Sarah, he was gone before I showed up at his house, and he stayed away long after I left.

I tried not to wonder what he was doing every night he worked late, or which woman he was servicing, or how much she made him touch her, or why he kept living that stupid, freaking lifestyle. But it drove me crazy, thinking about it.

Things had changed between us. Our friendship had shattered. And he knew it too; otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed away.

I was so tempted to slip into his bedroom and leave a letter on his bed, just to tell him how much I missed him and how I could still be his friend; we could get past that stupid, almost kiss. I wanted to study with him at lunch again, watch him steal a portion of whatever I was eating, tease him about whatever topic we were discussing, and just…be in his company.

But leaving him a note felt too Jeremy-ish. So I never once even opened the door to his bedroom, not even to peek inside.

And in return, a part of my soul ached on a daily basis. A chunk of me felt missing.

I needed Mason back in my life.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN




I guess it was bound to happen eventually, but I still wasn’t prepared when it did.

Thirteen days after Eva’s Labor Day party—a.k.a. the night Mason Lowe almost kissed me mouth to mouth and thereafter totally abandoned me—Sarah had her first seizure. Well, her first one around me, anyway.

Yeah, I totally freaked.

One second, I was assisting my little buddy in the bathtub, making her giggle over the corniest knock-knock jokes on the planet. The next she was lurching from her bathing chair, her entire body convulsing. It was a miracle I caught her slippery, wet torso before she took a serious nosedive.

“Sarah?” I screamed. “Oh, God. What’s wrong? What’s wrong, baby?”

She couldn’t answer me. I had to clutch her tight so she didn’t shake right out of my arms. It took me a bit to work through the panic and realize what was happening. But it didn’t reassure me in the least once I did.

A seizure.

But, oh, holy shit. A freaking seizure.

My mind went blank; I couldn’t remember one thing Dawn had told me about seizures except there was nothing to do to stop them. Oh, and I had to make sure she didn’t hurt herself in the middle of one.

Since the bathroom seemed too confined and suddenly hella dangerous, I half carried, half dragged her into the hallway.

Laying her contorted body on the carpet, I knelt beside her and stroked her shoulder once before dashing into the bathroom to grab all the towels I could see.