Tell Me When (2 page)

Chapter Two

Amber

“Wake up, bitch!”

Someone—my roommate, I think—shakes me. I open my eyes to find a pair of dark ones glaring at me.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Miss Sunshine says. “It’s five fucking o’clock in the fucking morning.”

“Sorry.” I blink, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. I’m safe. In my dorm room. The fire has long since been extinguished, and Paul’s touch can only haunt me in my dreams. The cops, the D.A., my mom, they all promised he can’t hurt me anymore.

If only they could convince my subconscious.

“That’s the third fucking time you’ve woken me up with your fucking nightmares this month.”

Three? That’s all? She’s lucky.

I shove away the memory of the dream and sit up. Even though the darkness prevents Brittany from seeing the scars on my wrists, I grope around the mattress until my fingers brush the soft fleece of Trent’s hoodie. I yank it on, hiding the scars. All of them. Inside and out.

A soft knock at the door distracts Brittany. I scramble out of bed, desperate to escape before she turns me into a lump of ice with her wonderfully warm disposition.

She grunts and opens the door. “What do you want?” she snaps, her voice quiet so as not to wake everyone else, in case I haven’t already.

A tall, dark figure pushes past Brittany. I can’t see her face but I’m sure Jordan’s smiling. We’ve been friends only since the beginning of term when I helped open her mailbox because her arms were overloaded with books, but every time I see her, she’s smiling. Like she doesn’t know how not to smile.

I used to be like that.

The light from the hallway spills into the room. It’s not enough for either girl to see my leg clearly. I grab my sweatpants from the bed and pull them over my sleep shorts before one of them spots the scars.

“Since you’re up, you can come with me to the gym.” Jordan’s voice is a welcome warmth against the chilled air known as Brittany. Not that I can blame her. I’d be cranky too with me as a roommate.

“Okay. Let me get changed.”

Brittany mumbles something about Jordan and I both being screwed-up in the head, which in my case is probably true.

I return from the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail, hidden under the hood of Trent’s dark gray hoodie.

“Okay, let’s go,” I whisper to Jordan, who’s waiting for me outside my door. Her long brown legs appear even longer in her shorts. She’s an inch shorter than me, but as far as I know, she doesn’t play any sports. I haven’t asked because I don’t want her asking me the same question. I want to avoid the topic of why I lost the chance to be recruited in my senior year of high school, like everyone expected.

“You wanna talk about your nightmare?” she asks.

“It’s no big deal. Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t. I was already up texting Garrett before he left for practice.”

We walk toward the Sport and Fitness Center. Every couple of seconds, I peer into the darkness beyond the lit paths. Even with Jordan beside me, I can barely breathe. Someone could be watching me, studying me, stalking me.

The rustle of leaves whispers from the direction of a shadowed bush near the path. I freeze, my body unwilling to obey even my simplest command. A branch moves and the leaves rustle again. My heart careens into my throat.

“What’s wrong?” Jordan asks. I feel her puzzled gaze on me as I search the shadows, unable to speak.

Just as I’m about to back away from the bush, a ginger cat appears from between the foliage. Crouching, I let out a slow breath, and stretch my arm in front of me, letting him know I won’t hurt him.

The cat trots over and I stroke his soft fur. “Hey, boy.”

“You know,” Jordan says. “You really are like Snow White. You call and all the animals flock to you.”

I laugh. “Flock?”

“You know what I mean. Animals love you. At least they love you until you stick them in the butt with a needle.” She shudders. Since I was three years old, all I’ve ever wanted to be is a vet.

“How are you gonna be a physician if you can’t stand the sight of needles and blood?” I press my lips together to keep from smiling at the irony. It’s not the first time I’ve pointed this out.

She shrugs. “Try telling that to my parents. Because they’re surgeons, they think I live for blood and gore.”

As I straighten, the cat rubs against my legs, then wanders off to chase a mouse or whatever else hangs out on campus.

It’s still early, so the gym isn’t busy by the time we arrive, which is why I usually come early, just not this early. I’m not quite the morning person like Jordan. But I’m definitely more of one than Miss Sunshine, my roommate.

I climb on a treadmill next to one marked Out of Order, and program it to go I’m-training-for-the-Olympics fast, even though I’m not training for anything. Jordan takes the one on my other side. We’ve only worked out together a few times, but she knows I’d rather not talk while I run. Not that it’s easy to talk when you’re trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep going. That’s challenging enough without throwing in a side of conversation.

Before my thoughts drift to a terrifying memory I want to leave unexplored, I adjust the pace so that I’m running so fast I can barely think. Jordan gives me a double take. I pretend not to notice and focus on the pounding of my sneakers against the surface.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.

“I’m done.” Jordan’s voice jerks me back to the moment. She slows the speed of her treadmill.

According to the glowing red numbers on my console, we’ve been running thirty minutes. Careful not to trip on the fast-moving belt, I glance around. Most of the treadmills aren’t being used.

I ignore my body’s screams that it’s had enough. “I’m gonna run a little longer.” I tug at the black cotton of my yoga pants clinging to my sweaty legs. Sweat drips down the side of my face and back. What I would give to wear my old Lycra shorts and tank top. The ones that used to turn Trent on whenever I wore them. I push away the thought and pick up my pace to a near sprint.

Jordan walks to the dumbbell rack. I run until my legs feel like mush, which doesn’t take long, and slow the treadmill to a stop. I climb off and walk over to join Jordan.

“You know you’re insane,” she says as I approach.

I let out a short laugh, which sounds a little forced. “Maybe. But I love running. And I love running fast.” If only I could run fast enough to escape my memories. Now that would be something. I select two dumbbells. They’re a lot heavier than what Jordan’s using.

“I heard there’s a party this weekend at a frat house,” Jordan says as I lie back on the padded workout bench. I used to bench-press barbells, but I don’t think Jordan knows anything about spotting. And I don’t want to ask one of the guys to help me and give him the wrong idea.

I push the weights away from my chest. “There’s always a party at some frat house.”

“I know. But I’ve never been to one, so I thought we could go. Have fun. Take a break from studying for once.”

The weights I’m lifting freeze midair. “You’ve seriously never been to a party before?”

“Never.” She makes a face. “My parents believe parties are for those who lack any sort of direction in life. Frat parties, that is. They never had issues with dinner and cocktail parties. Just anything involving a keg and loud music.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” I lower the weights to my chest.

Jordan flashes me her puppy-dog eyes. “Please!”

I shake my head and lift the weights again, gaze focused on the high ceiling, and the strong metal beams straining to keep the roof from caving in. Anything to avoid the pleading in her eyes. The look I haven’t been vaccinated against. “Sorry. Can’t. I need to study for my math test.”

“Maybe you can meet a cute guy who can help you. Maybe a hot math geek.”

I laugh and almost drop the weights on my chest. I’m about to tell her there’s no such thing as a hot math geek, but I choke on the words. “Not interested, thanks.” My arms quiver as I push the final rep.

“What? You’re not interested in finding a guy to cuddle with who can also tutor you in math?” She raises and lowers her eyebrows suggestively.

I want to tell her, “Been there, done that,” but I don’t want to talk about my past, and answering that question will lead to ones I’d rather avoid. I’ve had that guy, and it didn’t end well for either of us.

“I don’t have time to get all cuddly with a guy. Besides, what are you supposed to do while I’m cuddling? Your boyfriend lives in Texas.” I flash her a smile. Point for me.

She looks like she plans to argue, but shakes her head and goes back to lifting weights. Thank God.

I do the same, pushing my body like I did on the treadmill.

A weird feeling prickles me while I do seated biceps curls. Like someone is watching me. I look around and spot the black-haired guy from Your Designs studying me from across the gym. My heart speeds up, and not in a good way.

Jordan returns from the warm-up mats. “You almost finished?”

“I’m done,” I say a little too hastily, but Jordan doesn’t seem to notice. Normally I stretch before I leave, but the way the guy watches me warns me I need to escape. Now.

Chapter Three

Marcus

Careful not to disturb Tammara, I slide out from under her covers and grope for my clothes on the floor. My fingers touch the rough fabric of my jeans at the same moment the bedside light pops on. Crap.

“Don’t leave,” Tammara purrs, wild red curls tumbling down her naked shoulders and back. The sheet fortunately still covers her breasts, hiding one of her best assets. My dick twitches at the memory of my tongue flicking against her nipples last night.

Knowing I don’t have time for an encore, I snatch up my jeans and drop onto the edge of her bed. “I have to.”

She knows my rules, but that doesn’t stop her from crawling over to where I’m sitting. Her large breasts press against my back, the sheet no longer covering them. Goddamn it.

Her arms start to snake around me. I leap out of the way and scramble to pull on my jeans before my dick decides it wants to play some more.

She pouts. “You know, you don’t have to go so early. I’m not one of those other girls. You don’t have to leave in the middle of the night with me.”

I glance at the alarm clock. “It’s five in the morning.” And five fucking hours later than it should be. I should have left last night when I had the chance, but I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. She knows our relationship is purely about the benefits.

“I was thinking,” she continues, “I haven’t been with another guy since we started hooking up, and I know I make you feel good. And you definitely make me feel good. So I thought maybe it’s time we become exclusive.” Her gaze slides down my body and settles on where my dick is—in my jeans.

With my foot, I kick my T-shirt off the floor and catch it, eyes still focused on Tammara and the jungle painting behind her, with the fast-flowing river plummeting over a cliff.

She pouts again. “How come I never get to go to your place?”

“Because you and Chase hate each other.”

She takes a step closer. Never thought I’d say this, but I wish she’d put on some damn clothes. Seeing her naked like this is crushing my self-control. If it weren’t for the direction this conversation is headed, I’d have her back in bed, so we can do what we do best.

“I don’t hate him.”

“You just don’t see eye to eye.” Massive understatement of the year. I know Chase won’t be too disappointed that the friends-with-benefits deal I had going with Tammara is over. The last thing I need or want is a girlfriend, especially one that irritates the hell out of my best friend.

I yank the T-shirt over my head and turn to leave.

“You don’t have to go,” she says, tone seductively smooth, confident. She knows this works on most guys.

I’m not most guys.

“I have an early class.” We both know that’s a lie, but hell if I’m telling her I need to go to the gym. Restlessness gnaws at me, and I only know how to deal with it physically. Since I don’t want to stick around any longer, I need to get physical another way.

The gym isn’t busy when I arrive, with a few guys in the weight area and two girls running on the treadmills. And damn are they hot, especially the blond who was at Your Designs the other day. Even though she’s hidden under her dark clothing, I can tell she’s got a tight bod. She has to, at the speed she’s running. It’s like she’s trying to escape from something. Maybe the same feeling that likes to sink its teeth in me.

I watch her for a minute, mesmerized by her speed, then move so she can see me. But her attention is locked on the treadmill console. She doesn’t even notice me. Since watching her won’t chase away the restless feeling, I head over to the weights and pretty much forget her. When I look up again, she’s with her friend in the weight area. But while her friend lifts wimpy-girl weights, she lifts more serious ones, even though she’s slightly on the skinny side, judging from how her clothes hang off her body. She’s both strong and sexy as hell.

I wait for her to look in my direction. She finally does and I smile.
C’mon
,
babe.
I’ve got time before my first class.

She doesn’t smile back or giggle or do any of those other things girls do when they flirt. She just glares at me like she did the other day. Looks like I’ll have to deal with the restlessness in a less fun way. Especially since her friend’s disappeared and the only other females here look to be in their forties. No thanks.

The girl’s friend returns and they both leave. Neither spares me a second glance. I consider going after them, to see what the blond girl’s problem is, but I hold myself back. Maybe she’s acting that way because our pasts have crossed during some party and she’s pissed because I never called her back. Not that I ask for girls’ numbers. Most just give them to me. And I figure I’m doing them a favor by not calling them back. Calling them back only makes them think there could be something between us beyond them screaming my name when I make them come.

After my final class of the day, I head over to the engineering building where my car is parked. Chase has already left for the day, so I’m on my own.

Forty minutes later, I pull into the familiar parking lot near my old neighborhood, steer around several potholes, and park as far from the other vehicles as possible. I don’t see
their
car, but that doesn’t surprise me. I doubt they ever visit. They didn’t care about him when he was alive. Why would they care now?

The sky is free of clouds, much like the day he died. I wish it had been stormy instead. It’s easier to hate the storm for bringing pain than to blame the sun. But the truth is, neither is at fault for what happened. The fault is all mine.

From the passenger seat, I remove the worn copy of
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
, and stride along the path between the rows of graves.