West (A Roam Series Novella) (2 page)

When Roam complained about the cold chair on her legs, even through her stockings, Morgan took off her scarf and spread it over the chair for her sister to sit.

After a while, as the priest began speaking, Roam began to cry.

I hadn’t been this close to her in decades. Every time I found her,
she was a woman, and every time I loved her, she died. I let her die.

I killed her.

She mopped up her tears with the arm of her scratchy coat, and I silently demanded that someone, anyone, give her a tissue. Finally, I pulled the small convenience packet of Kleenex out of my coat, tapping the shoulder of the woman in front of me.

“Please give these to the child,” I whispered, gesturing
to Roam.

The woman nodded, moving to Roam and Morgan with the packet of tissues. Roam accepted them gratefully, resting her head on Morgan’s shoulder as she dried her tears.

As the casket was lowered into the frosted earth, I walked to my car.

***

Seven Years Later

Fucking kids.

I strode through the parking lot of Madison High School, knowing the exact moment the three boys spotted me from behind the stadium bleachers. Not even cigarettes, like the good old days. Definitely pot.

“Really?
On the first day of school?” I glared at them, and one of them looked ready to piss his pants. No more than fifteen or sixteen years old.

“It’s not ours,” he fumbled, and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re all suspended. It goes on your records, and so you continue to buy and smoke this, because, who the hell cares now? You’re not getting that scholarship; you’re not getting into the college you wanted, so you may as well continue the nosedive. You get some girl pregnant, you marry her, and congratulations- there’s your life.”

They stared at me, open mouthed, slack jawed. Finally, one of them spoke. “You’re going to report it?”

“No, you privileged little shit, I’m not. Get rid of it, and don’t bring it back to my school.”

He nodded eagerly, and the three of them took off.

Hot. The thick humidity was stifling, and I began to regret wearing a tie. The dress code for instructors at Harvard was very different for teachers at the public high school, but I had decided at the last minute that morning that the tie would command authority, and set me apart from the other teachers.

And
match my eyes.

Granted, I wanted her to notice me. I wanted her to be intrigued rather than be struck with the immediate
desire that Julie and Annie and the rest of them had felt. I knew the dreams were a large part of the lust, and I wasn’t going to touch her until after I’d explained the prophecy. Convinced her of the prophecy.

Seventeen
years
old
. She was so damn young.

“Good morning, West,” the English teacher, Mrs. Gardener, quickened her pace to keep up with me. I smiled politely, nodding once.

“Hi, Karen.”

“Are you ready for these kids?” She asked, continuously lifting her eyes to me. I glanced at her wedding ring, and then back to her petite face.

“They will be different from college students, I’m sure,” I answered, conversational, trying to make my way up the stairs without her following.

“Definitely. Make sure you address the cell phones right off. Otherwise, they’ll be on them constantly.”

I nodded again, giving her a tiny wave as the bell rang. My eyes scanned the halls, but most of the students were already in their classrooms, save for a few lingering
at their lockers.

She was in my first per
iod AP History class. That told me she was intelligent enough to handle the advanced workload. Though intelligence and maturity weren’t always synonymous, I hoped she was at least open-minded.

Very open-minded.

Taking a deep breath, I rushed into the classroom, closing the door behind me and moving right to the thermostat on the wall. “Welcome to Senior AP World History. My name is Mr. Perry, and I’ll be your teacher for exactly 182 days. I like it about sixty-eight degrees in here, so please dress appropriately.”

I turned to face the class.

My eyes found hers first.

Jade, the color I’d seen lifetime after lifetime, falling into,
loving, making love to. I’d expected it to be difficult when I first saw her, but I hadn’t expected the instant, overwhelming need.

Jesus Christ.

Her hair, so long and the color of smooth mahogany, fell over her shoulders in thick waves. Her face was soft…
young
… and heart shaped, and her chin jutted out just a little more than it should. Her brown and beige argyle shirt only drew out the creamy color of her skin, and the blush on her cheeks sent my heart racing.

Here she was.

The last time. The last chance to save this world, the final time I would ever touch her.

Tall, thin, high cheek bones, small chest,
flat tummy, thin shoulders, long, sleek neck…

Her throat.

I looked away and focused on the other students, cursing myself.
She’s a kid. A seventeen year old kid. You have a plan, stick to the plan, teach her, convince her.

Find the doors.

When she scrambled to keep her heavy book from falling to the floor, I snapped my eyes back to her desk.

“
Sorry,” she managed, flushing beautifully.

“Miss Camden, are you okay?” I squatted, gathering her
pencils. This close, the scent of her ignited some memory deep inside my strange, immortal mind, and I narrowed my eyes.

Vanilla and roses.

“I’m fine,” she could barely speak, and I realized she was holding her breath. “Thank you.”

I knew from the medical records I’d stolen that she had been to specialists when she was a child. She was constantly fainting, and I’d panicked, knowing this was my last chance with her. When the final diagnosis was anxiety, and that she was simply holding her breath as a way to deal with stress, I was shaken.

Julie
.

God, she was startling. Natural, striking, the kind of beauty she could only have been born with. No makeup, nothing false.
Just her.

Just Roam.
Just the little girl I’d seen on the front of the local newspaper eleven years ago.

“Fine?”
I smirked, repeating her words.

And when I realized I wanted her
full lips on mine, I froze.
Fight it.
Stick to the plan.
I burst to my feet, launching into a tirade at the kids.

My
punishing words silenced the giggling class, and I tore into them for laughing at her. Then, I laid down the law about cell phones. And since I’d memorized the students and matched their names to class photos, I knew it was Michelle Crane who was texting in her lap.

When
I called her out and banned crotch texting, Roam began twisting her fingers together, a furious flush brightening her cheeks. Yeah,
crotch
probably wasn’t the best word, but I needed to get to these kids- on their level.

“And last but not least… this is history class.
Timelines. Events. Dates.  Don’t bore me with your opinions; I won’t bore you with mine. Just facts.”

What did these kids know about anything, let alone history? I’d gotten into too many heated debates with college level students, and the last thing I wanted to hear was some bored teenager giving me their opinions on the Civil War.

Especially when I’d been there myself.

To my surprise, her hand shot into the air. I smiled. I’d lit a fuse, I could tell by the stain in her cheeks. “Yes, Miss Camden?”

“Just to be clear; are you opposed to us
voicing
our opinions on history, or forming them all together?”

I stared at her.
Annie’s blush, Julie’s haughty mouth, Isa’s arched eyebrow. Definitely Amina’s confidence.

I wanted to put my hands on her.
I wanted to bury myself inside of her.
I wanted to hear her say that she loved me again, to whisper it in my ear, to kiss me the way she had kissed me a thousand times.

And at that moment, I knew I’d just made the biggest mistake of my existence.

Clearing my throat, I struggled for control.

“Miss Camden, I’m sure you’ll have more than a few opinions once we get started. I’d love to hear each and every one of them. But- please make an appointment with me. I will not let one student monopolize another student’s time.” I smiled. “As
I said, I am restricted to only 182 days- something tells me
you’ll
need a little more time.”

Her smile
bowled me over. “I feel like you know me very well.”

Jesus Christ.

I’m screwed.

“Well, I make it a point to know who I’m teaching.”

I tore my eyes away from her and explained that we would introduce ourselves. I began, and sure enough, some punk named Brandon asked why I was teaching there with a PhD.

“I have my reasons,” I answered, ignoring him. “Roam, since you’re right up front, you can go next.”

Bright red, she began. “Sure. My name is Roam Camden. I plan to attend Yale and major in history. I enjoy reading…,” she remembered to breathe, “…swimming… watching movies… and spending time with my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.
Of course. Why wouldn’t she? Why hadn’t I considered this scenario? She was gorgeous, obviously smart, and had me considering doing things to her that were highly inappropriate- and illegal.

“Good luck to you, Roam.” I managed.
Her name- ask about her name!
“Do you mind if I ask you where your name came from?”

She was caught off guard.
“My name?”

“Roam. Spelled like ‘to travel.’”

Squirming uncomfortably, she met my eyes. I silently enjoyed her discomfort- the heat in her face made her even prettier. “The
B52’s
song. Roam. My mom was a fan.”

I
smiled.

I smiled at her,
at the universe, and at the fate that had me searching for her over and over again…

F
ollowing her through each and every lifetime.

She was different.
Familiar
. Every cell in my body reacted to her. My blood roared in my ears, my heartbeat thundered in my chest, and my need for her was greater than it had ever been.

I couldn’t think of Laurel, or Annie, or any other woman I’d ever loved.

All I could feel was Roam.

I nodded slowly, a grin tugging at my lips.
“Ah yes. Great song.”

She nodded, and the introductions continued, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

Something told me that I’d never be able to again, not for the rest of our lives.

Raleigh, North Carolina

October
1954

Annie

“
Annie, that’s too heavy, darlin’,” he chastised, stepping in front of her. I watched him push out his chest before bending to move the large piece of wood from the pile of debris. “What are you fishing for in here?”

“My necklace,” she responded, reaching for what appeared to be a damaged, sodden jewelry box.

“Hurricane fuckin Hazel. Must be damn near millions of dollars worth of damage in Raleigh alone.”

“
Don’t curse, Jimmy, please,” she protested. He snorted, running a hand through his thick, greasy hair before turning toward another pile of rubble. He moved behind what once was a house.

I waited until he was well out of earshot before approaching her. She barely noticed as I squatted across from her. The heat pooled with the moisture in the air, and I took a moment to wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my sleeve. “Need some
help, angel?”

She lifted her eyes
to mine.

I smiled, tipping my fedora once.
“Devastating storm. I’m in the area to help with the clean-up. What can I do?”

She blinked, her wide, green eyes sparkling in the sunshine. It was hard to believe that only four days ago, the hurricane had roared through Raleigh at
over 120 miles per hour. Downed trees paralleled the streets, and the small bungalows that had once stood on Cavanaugh Street now littered the roads in piles of wreckage.

“Annie… Annie
Donat,” she held her hand out to mine, her lips curving into an awed O.

All I had to do was touch her, and she was offering
me her hand.

I swallowed, tipping my hat a
gain and gesturing to my hands. “I’ve been working, ma’m, and wouldn’t want to dirty your pretty hands,” I grinned, and she blushed, lowering her eyes. Her honey-blonde, slightly wavy hair picked up hints of strawberry in the sunlight. She blew a strand that was stuck to her cheek, and a smile inched over her pink lips.