More Than Jamie Baker (Jamie Baker #2) (2 page)

“Seriously, Becky, what are you so afraid of?”

“Mike,” she breathed.

I had to hold back a groan. I understood this was hard for her, but I’m not exactly known for my patience. “Did we not just go through all this like five seconds ago?”

“No!” Becky insisted. She tugged on my arm and pointed across the street. “It’s Mike!”

She was right. Mike Driscoll was entering the crosswalk, heading right toward us.

I didn’t need supersight to see the way he stumbled, and I definitely didn’t need heightened senses to smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores. The guy was wasted.

He reached the street corner at the same time we did and blinked twice when he recognized us. “Well, well, well,” he slurred. “If it isn’t the Prom Queen and her best friend, the Ice Queen.”

Just so you’re aware, I may have been dating the Prom King, but I was not the one given a crown at the school dance. Becky’s the Prom Queen. My royalty status comes from my tendency to be cold-hearted, aloof, and temperamental.

Not that I enjoyed being a social outcast in high school, but I hadn’t had control of my powers yet. In order not to kill or be killed, I was forced to exile myself. My classmates translated my behavior into the nickname Ice Queen.

But thanks to Ryan I have control now, so I’m totally turning over a new leaf. Which I proved when I didn’t automatically hit Mike or zap him to death. I didn’t even sneer. Much. “What are you doing here?”

“I
was
trying to go to my econ lecture,” Mike said, “but apparently the school has a No Learning While Drunk policy, so now I am on my way to my dorm to sleep it off.”

Becky gasped in dread. “You
go
here?”

I have to admit I found this news highly disturbing as well. “I thought you were going to Connecticut?”

Mike tried to shrug. It threw off his impaired equilibrium enough to make him stumble back a step. “Blew out my knee over the summer. Lost my scholarship. Bye-bye, UConn. Hello, ‘Suckramento’ State.”

For a split second, Mike’s face crumpled with pure regret before he plastered his trademark hard smirk back on it. The devastation, along with the public drunkenness, was almost enough to make me feel some sort of pity.

Almost.

Apparently Becky wasn’t as conflicted as I was. She folded her arms tightly across her chest and gave Mike a glare that could destroy a person’s soul. I know, because she used to glare at me like that. It was nice not to be on the receiving end of it now.

Mike attempted to sober up. “Beck.”

I don’t know what pissed me off the most: the soft tone of his voice, the use of her nickname, or the fact that he reached his hand out to her. I reacted on instinct. A fistful of his shirt and a sweep of his feet, and I had him on the ground before he got within an inch of her.

“Whoa,” came an unfamiliar male voice from over my shoulder.

I didn’t bother to see who was behind me since my eyes were glued to my target, but I heard Becky’s explanation. “We took self-defense classes this summer.”

“Must have had quite the instructor,” the stranger muttered.

I heard Becky’s nervous laugh at the same time that Mike groaned. “Geez, Baker. Take it easy!”

If he could still talk, I was being too nice. I applied the tiniest bit of pressure to his chest—enough to make him feel discomfort despite the numbing effect of all the alcohol in his system.

Okay, so some old habits die hard. My temper wasn’t perfect yet. But at least I hadn’t done any permanent damage. Even though I
really
wanted to.

“Uh, should I call the police or something?” the stranger, who was starting to get on my nerves, asked.

I answered the stranger’s question but never took my eyes off of Mike. “We don’t need the police, do we Mike?”

I smiled down at him, but I’m not sure he appreciated the gesture. We’d been in this position before, Mike and I. Judging from the way his eyes widened, he recalled that moment as perfectly as I did.

“What did I promise you if you so much as touched her again?”

I believe I’d sworn to end him if he ever laid another finger on Becky. Maybe not in those exact words, but that was definitely the sentiment of our last face to face.

I felt a hand come down on my shoulder and Becky whispered, “It’s okay, Jamie. I’m all right. I can handle this.”

I glanced up at Becky, then grudgingly let go of Mike. Our little spectacle had drawn a small crowd, so when I got to my feet I tugged Becky’s hand and said, “Come on, let’s just go.”

Becky nodded and hit the crosswalk button on the streetlight. As we waited for the signal to change, a guy tapped me on the shoulder and flashed a devastating smile. It was the guy Becky and I had been talking about before we’d seen Mike. He was around the same height as me and a little scrawny. His look screamed
computer nerd
, but he was still sort of adorable with a mop of dark-brown wavy hair and rich chocolate-brown eyes that were hooded with enviously long lashes. Not to mention he had a set of dimples the size of craters.

“I was ready to step in on your behalf,” he said, chuckling, “but clearly you didn’t need the help.”

“Clearly.” I had to choke back a laugh. Him? Assist us with a drunk, unruly linebacker like Mike Driscoll? It would have been like watching a six-week-old kitten going up against a full-grown pit bull.

The guy flashed a dimpled smile and thrust his hand at me. “Teodoro Vivenzio,” he announced proudly.

Now I did laugh. “Tay-oh-what? You want to run that one by me again?”

“Teodoro Vivenzio. It’s Italian.”

The light finally changed, and I was torn between wanting to make Becky talk to this guy and getting her away from Mike as quickly as possible. I glanced at Becky and she nodded toward the street. She wanted to bolt. That was fine, but she wasn’t getting out of this meet and greet that easily.

“Walk with us, Italy,” I said to Mr. Adorkable. “We’re going to the football game. Becky here is a cheerleader for the team.”

“You don’t say,” our new friend said. His sarcasm rivaled my own, but he happily stepped off the curb with us.

Before we could get anywhere, Mike grabbed Becky’s arm and pulled her back onto the sidewalk. I think it was the first time he’d touched her since that night. I was ready to lay him out, but Becky shook her head at me. She was shaken up and doing her best to be brave.

“Becky, wait,” Mike pleaded. “Will you just talk to me? Please?”

His “please” did nothing to calm Becky’s anger. She yanked her arm out of his grip and in a trembling voice said, “You and I have nothing to talk about.”

“We used to be friends.” Mike’s face took on that pitiful quality again, and he reached out as if to grab her hand.

Becky’s pulse exploded, but through her panic she reacted exactly as they taught us in self-defense class. She grabbed Mike’s outstretched hand and twisted his arm back at a highly painful angle.

“Ow!” Mike hollered. For some reason he glared at me. “Damn, Baker. What did you do to her?”

“Me?” I scoffed.

“What did
Jamie
do?” Becky shouted. The adrenaline pumping through her system had quelled her fear enough to unleash a year’s worth of suppressed anger. “
Jamie
didn’t do anything!
Jamie
is not the reason I have nightmares! You’re the one who made me this way!”

Mike frowned. “We were both drunk that night. We got carried away, but don’t you think you’re blowing things out of proportion? It’s been a year!” He’d raised his voice to a frustrated shout. He sounded surprisingly desperate as he begged her forgiveness. “Can’t you get over it and let me apologize?”

“Get over it?” Becky screamed. “You
raped
me!”

For a moment, the entire world paused as if the universe itself were gasping for breath.

Mike flinched as if Becky had slapped him. She’d never used that word out loud before—at least not outside of her shrink’s office. Not even to me.

“You can keep denying it all you want,” Becky screamed, “but we both know that’s what happened! It’s not something you just ‘get over’!”

Angry tears poured down her face and her entire body shook. This confrontation was hard for her, but it was also necessary. I just wished, for her sake, it could have happened in a more private setting than a busy street corner in front of half the student population of Sacramento State University.

“Becky,” I whispered, and gestured with my eyes at the crowd of people.

She took a deep breath and then glared at Mike. “Stay away from me.”

She gave him a shove and then flung herself into my arms, burying her face in my shoulder.

We’d missed our chance to cross the street, so I pressed the button again. I nearly smashed the stupid thing, pounding it over and over again as if that would make the light change sooner.

Mike watched Becky with a pained expression. He opened his mouth to say more, but I stopped him with my best Ice Queen glare—the scary kind that could make the air around me crackle with energy if I wasn’t careful.

Mike’s sorrow turned to disgust. “If you don’t want my apology, fine. You guys aren’t worth it anyway.”

Mike whirled around to walk away from us, and in his highly inebriated state he stumbled off the curb. When he walked into the oncoming traffic, it was as if things went into slow motion.

Technically, time didn’t slow down. My reflexes sped up. That’s the thing with superspeed; it’s not just my body that’s fast. My brain can process information so quickly that it feels like the world around me has slowed down, when in reality I’m just taking it all in faster than I normally do.

The point is, Mike stumbled into the road and I could have pulled him back to safety before the SUV slamming futilely on its brakes plowed into him. I had time to recite the Gettysburg Address and still save him, but instead I froze.

In that moment, my mind drifted to the dozens of eyes watching the scene unfold with me. I remembered the last time I’d intervened with fate. The series of events that had caused flashed in my mind. They were memories I’d rather forget, events I couldn’t repeat at any cost.

Bam!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: sometimes superhearing can really suck. I may have been able to avoid the visual of the accident by closing my eyes, but there was no way to block out the sound.

My sensitive ears took in every single gasp and scream along with all the tire squealing and glass shattering. I heard a number of different bones crunching and the heavy thud of flesh hitting pavement. I even heard the sound of blood splattering.

Of all of that, though, the sound that was going to stay with me for the rest of my life was the single moan that escaped Mike’s lips before he went unconscious. It was the sound of pure pain—pain that I had caused. Okay, maybe I hadn’t caused it, but I had let it happen. I clenched my hands into fists, closed my eyes, and told myself my feet were cemented to the sidewalk.

I didn’t save Mike Driscoll, and I didn’t do it
on purpose
. I stood there and let it happen.

Mike was still alive
—for now. His heart was beating, but it was frighteningly slow. Still, unstable as it was, it was music to my ears. It was the only thing I could focus on—the only thing that mattered.

I don’t know how long I stood there concentrating on the sound of Mike’s heartbeat, but suddenly there were paramedics in my face asking me if I was all right. I wasn’t sure when they’d shown up or how they’d gotten me sitting on the curb with a blanket around my shoulders—or why I needed a blanket around my shoulders—but I didn’t snap out of my daze until after Mike had been carted off to the hospital and was far enough away that I could no longer hear him.

Becky and I had to give our statements to the police, which we did while the paramedics poked and prodded at me, making sure that I wasn’t going to die of shock. By the time we were allowed to leave the scene of the accident, Becky had missed enough of her first game that we both decided to skip it and just go back to our room. We were sure Becky’s cheer coach would understand.