I waited for my father to say something—anything—but he locked himself in his bedroom and didn’t come out for two days. When he did, he wouldn’t look at me.
Two weeks later, the envelope came from Duquette. Not Harvard, but the next-best school on my list, number sixteen in the country. When I showed it to him, the light came back, and he broke his silence.
Good job, Jessica.
After that, it didn’t matter that I didn’t win a scholarship, that Duquette offered me no financial aid. There wasn’t a universe in which I would have made a different choice.
I couldn’t find the words to describe this to Coop, even if I wanted to. So instead I said, “You wouldn’t understand.”
He was quiet for a beat, then repeated in a low voice, “I wouldn’t understand…”
I looked out the window. Below us was the central thoroughfare, a promenade that ran the entire length of campus—Frankie liked to run it every morning before football practice. Beyond that, a rolling expanse of treetops, broken by the elegant spires of teaching halls and dormitories.
“Jess.”
When I turned, I found Coop leaning so close our knees almost touched. I inched back. My heartbeat notched higher. And I realized: It was just the two of us. In a private room.
“I understand everything about you. I know you’re obsessed with making Kappa the top sorority because the Chi Os rejected you. I know you’re obsessed with Mint and the Phi Delts because everyone else is, and it’s a status symbol. I know you sneak Adderall to study all night even though econ makes you want to kill yourself. And now I know you charge thousands of dollars to a credit card you can’t afford just to fit in.”
I jumped to my feet. “Stop it, Coop. Shut up.”
He got to his feet, too, taking a step toward me. When I pulled back, he grinned, a glint in his eyes.
“I understand,” he said slowly, drawing the words out, “that you’d do anything to win. You’re kind of a sociopath.”
I froze. “That is the single worst thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Slowly, his grin faded. But his eyes held mine, waiting.
What was happening to me? Where was the outpouring of anger, the indignation? Why did I feel not a blaze of rage but a sparking warmth, blooming somewhere deep, somewhere intimate and dangerous?
“I don’t understand”—my voice was rising, almost yelling—“why I’m not furious right now. Why don’t I want to hit you?”
“Because,” Coop said, “you know I’m right. And you know it means I see you.”
As soon as he said it, I knew it was true—not the sociopath part, but him seeing me. He always had. Ever since the first day.
Something wild unleashed inside me. Without pausing to think, I closed the distance between us and dragged Coop’s mouth to mine. I kissed him hard, desperate to pull him under with me, wherever I was going. His full lips parted instantly, his fingers pushing through my hair, gripping me tighter. I kissed him hungrily, and he kissed back like a starved man, fisting his hands in my shirt, lifting the hem to press his palms against my stomach, running them over my ribs, his touch rough, as if desperate for each next square inch.
Abruptly he broke away, chest heaving.
“Are you sure?” His voice was husky, taut with worry. Like I held something precious in my hands, something he’d waited for, and there was a chance I’d take it away.
“Yes,” I said, barely finishing the word before he was kissing me again, pushing me against the full-length window, my back flush against the cold glass; then the wall, his body a pressure I craved. He pressed his thumbs to the hollows of my cheekbones, fitting his hands against the seams of my face, and tilted my head back. He dragged his lips up my neck to my jaw to my mouth.
I groaned against his lips. I’d never messed up this hard on purpose. I’d never wanted anyone so badly in my life.
“You’re my best friend’s girlfriend.” Coop lowered his head to kiss behind my ear. Delicious heat twisted between my legs. “Mint. The golden boy.”
“Stop,” I said, tipping my head further, urging him higher.
“I’m not like him.”
I shivered, and he captured my mouth. His was warm and tasted faintly herbal. “I’m not an Eagle Scout. I’ll do things you hate.”
Coop. The boy who always said things that were too close to the truth, the one who made me uncomfortable, who looked at me too long, too closely. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m giving you an out.” Coop ran his hands down my body, until he reached the place between my legs. He cupped me there, and I arched into the wall.
“I’ve wanted you since the first day I saw you, walking to class in your pleated skirt. I’ve spent three years thinking about this. Three years, not allowed to touch you, or breathe a word.”
He unzipped my jeans and pushed his hand inside, stroking me through my panties, the heat of his hand too good, too much. I gasped.
“I’m telling you upfront. I need more. I need you over and over. So this is your out. Take it. Otherwise you’re mine, the way it should have been.”
He dropped to his knees on the wooden floor and slid my panties down. A rush of cool air, goose bumps, and then his mouth was on me, hot and stoking, so good it was damning.
It’s just my body, I thought. Just my body, not me; just a moment, not forever. He can have it. Coop plunged his tongue. I cried softly and rose on my tiptoes, tangling my fingers in his thick, dark hair.
I didn’t take the out.
The next day when I came back from class, I found ten thousand dollars stuffed into two envelopes, resting on my desk.
Chapter 9
Now
I went to the one place Coop couldn’t touch me, or press for the truth—back to the party, straight into the circle of our friends. I burst into the tent, feeling him hot on my heels, and sliced through the crowd, heart racing, until I stumbled into Caro.
She spun, smiling brilliantly. “Oh good, Coop brought you back!”
Angling my head, I could see Coop behind me out of the corner of my eye. His sweater brushed my arm. The compressed weight of unspoken words made me swallow thickly. He was so close I could smell him—woodsy, herbal. The same as always.
I dug my nails into my arm, a spark of pain to keep my knees steady.
“I’m glad you’re back in time,” Caro continued, waving at someone. “Eric was hoping to catch all of us.”
I froze, nails still daggering my arm. Someone stepped into the center of the circle.
It couldn’t be. The man in front of me was only distantly related to the boy I remembered. His hair was long and lank, his old knobby-kneed skinniness replaced by a thick hardness, stretching the sweater he wore. It was professorial, with elbow patches, and I knew it instantly for a costume. He had dark, haunted circles under his eyes. But still, it was Eric.
Eric Shelby. Heather’s brother.
I felt Coop shift, and then he was standing by my side, arms crossed. “What are you doing here? You’re not Class of ’09.”
“Coop.” Caro looked aghast. “I told you Eric works here now. Don’t be rude.” To Caro, rudeness was a cardinal sin.
“He’s living the dream.” Mint said it good-naturedly, the cool kid graciously making room for someone lesser. But I could see the tightness in his jaw. “He got to graduate but never leave.”
“I work in the Alumni Office.” Eric smiled, and I sucked in a breath. Gone was the eager, nerdy freshman, wide-eyed and nervous to meet his sister’s friends. His smile was a sharp-toothed promise. I could feel it.
He turned, and we locked eyes. “I like being surrounded by memories. Don’t you?”
Caro’s eyes darted between us. “I was just telling Jess this whole weekend was your doing.” Her voice was falsely cheerful. “You’re the mastermind behind Homecoming.”
>
“I was thinking,” Eric said. “You’re all here in one place, celebrating ten years. It’s Heather’s ten-year anniversary, too, if you think about it. Why not take the opportunity to remember her?”
Frankie shifted uncomfortably and looked to Mint for guidance. Courtney searched past us to where the Chi Os had regrouped, longing in her eyes.
No—this was wrong. The night wasn’t supposed to be about Heather; it was supposed to be about us. My evolution. My triumph.
“What did you have in mind?” Coop asked.
“I thought we could go to her memorial and pay our respects.” Eric looked at Coop, daring him to say no. “Seeing as she couldn’t make it to the party.”
Caro winced and stepped closer to Coop, who put his arm around her shoulders.
I looked around, catching my friends’ eyes. Frankie. Mint. Even Courtney. No one wanted to go. We all wanted Eric to go away, to stop haunting us, reminding us of the black shroud that hung over our friend group. Finally, Mint swallowed and decided, as usual, to be the leader.
“I guess it’s the least we can do,” he said.
No, no, no. If things were unraveling before, now they threatened to go down in flames.
“I guess,” Frankie echoed.
“Okay, but let’s be fast.” Courtney ducked her head and whispered to Mint as if the rest of us couldn’t hear. “I have other friends, you know.”
“I think this is a great idea,” Caro said gamely, giving Eric a sympathetic look. She couldn’t tell there was something wrong. Why couldn’t Caro ever read people, for fuck’s sake?
The second I thought it, I flushed with guilt. Caro’s ignorance, lest I forget, was the only thing keeping us friends.
Eric gestured with a flourish to the lawn outside the tent. “After you.”
In tense silence, we walked as a group, carving a path through the dark trees, away from the light and people. Campus was unusually quiet.
I shivered. “Where is everyone?”
Eric waved. “Oh, you know. They’re all at the frats, diving headfirst into vats of swill and making bad decisions. You remember what it’s like.”
Frankie turned down the path to the right, the one that led to the tree Mr. and Dr. Shelby had planted in Heather’s memory. It was right next to East House, her favorite place on campus, where she’d met us: the best friends she’d ever have.
“Wrong way,” Eric said, cutting to the left.
“I think I know the way to East House,” Frankie scoffed.
“We’re not going to East House.” Eric smiled that sharp-toothed smile again. “We’re going to a place I’ve come to think of as a more meaningful memorial site.”
He started down the path.
What the fuck? I turned to Mint. “Do something.”
“Like what?” Mint said, at the same time Courtney hissed, “Don’t tell him what to do.”
I rolled my eyes.
Frankie watched Eric. “I think we have to follow him. He’s Heather’s brother.”
“Frankie’s right,” Caro said. “Even if he has something weird in mind, we have to put up with it. It’s only a small part of the night. We lost a friend, but he lost way more.”
Every instinct screamed at me to turn on my heels and race back to the tent, or my hotel. Back to safety. But Caro started trailing after Eric, then Frankie, and Mint and Courtney followed. Finally even Coop left me. I forced the panic down and raced to catch up.
We followed Eric into the heart of Greek row, shooting questioning glances at each other, until we came to a stop in front of the Phi Delt house. The imposing, thick-columned mansion was empty, windows dark. The sight was surreal—it was Homecoming weekend, the biggest party of the year. The Phi Delt house should have been exploding with music and people. It certainly was when Mint was social chair, then president.
Mint spun to Eric. “Why is it empty?”
“The Alumni Office decided the Phi Delts and their dates would be more comfortable spending Homecoming weekend in the Chancellor’s Estate. Given their high standing on campus and the exemplary amount of money Phi Delt alumni donate to Duquette every year, it seemed a fitting honor.”
“You cleared the frat house,” Frankie said, his voice a mix of awe and fear.
“Come on,” Eric said. “You don’t need an invitation, right? This is your old stomping grounds. Your dominion, your castle. What do the kids say—where the magic happens?”
“Eric, you’re three years younger than us,” Coop said. “Knock it off.”
Eric laughed and practically ran up the porch steps, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
“This is creepy,” Courtney muttered.
“What do you think, Jess?” Frankie slung his heavy arm over my shoulders. “Want to go back to the old fratter?”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” I said. And with that, we stepped into the dark foyer after Eric.
“Almost there,” he called. We followed him to the farthest corner of the house, where a dingy door stood. He shouldered it open.
“The basement?” Mint asked, puzzled.
Courtney doubled back. “I don’t want to go down there.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Mint kissed her temple. “We’ll just pay our respects to Heather—”
“And Eric,” I mumbled. “Guy looks like the walking dead.”
“And Eric,” Mint repeated, smiling at me over Courtney’s head. “Then we’ll go right back to the party.”
I took a deep breath and went first, following Eric down the flight of stairs.
The Phi Delt basement. It was a legendary place. If the stories were true, this was where secret hazing rituals took place, the ones that had to happen in a windowless room, far from prying eyes. It was also where the inner circle came to drink and escape the masses dancing on the floor above. The number of hours I’d spent in here with Heather, Caro, Courtney, Frankie, and Jack were too many to count. The only person who’d never been allowed in was Coop.
“No way,” Coop said as our eyes adjusted to the dim light. The room was spare, only a set of sagging couches pushed up against one wall, an empty keg rolled on its side in the corner. “This isn’t the Phi Delt basement. This is a set from Law & Order SVU.”
“We’re all here,” Eric said. “Finally, after ten years.”
There was old graffiti covering the walls; one wall had a child-sized hole in it. The place really was a shithole. Why had it been so cool to drink here, the invitation so coveted?
“Eric, man, should we, uh, pay our respects?” Mint loosened his collar as he scanned the basement. Was he remembering all the hours we’d spent in here together, the corners we’d kissed in when no one was looking, or everyone was too drunk to care? Losing time, losing everything…
“Ten long years since the Class of 2009 graduated and moved on from Duquette. What in the world have you been up to?” Eric looked at us innocently, and my brain screamed trap. “Wait, don’t tell me. I already know. You got married, engaged, became professional athletes and business leaders and lawyers. You turned out so successful—everything everyone always expected from you.”
“Some of us became social media celebrities,” Courtney added, apparently not too scared to plug herself.
“You want to know what I’ve done for the last ten years? After the cops gave up on my sister’s case, and let the person who murdered her walk around with the rest of us, free and clear?”
A pall settled over the basement. Eric was like a train barreling full speed in our direction, and none of us could move.
“I’ve spent every day of the last ten years investigating my sister’s murder. Following leads the police didn’t have, rumors passed around by students, things no one realized were connected.” He looked at us, feverish. “The cops missed so much.”
“Eric, man, come on.�
�� Frankie shifted from foot to foot. “We’re all really sorry about what happened to Heather, but isn’t it time to put it behind us? This isn’t healthy.”
“My sister,” Eric whispered, “was stabbed seventeen times when she was sleeping in bed. Who the fuck cares about healthy? I care about justice.”
We stood in shocked silence. I pushed back the panic, the guilt—the feeling I was on the precipice of something dark and evil, about to topple over.
“You want to know why I call this her real memorial site?” Eric asked. “Because it’s the last place Heather was seen alive. I like to come here and picture her happy. Oblivious to what was coming.”
I shivered. I hadn’t known she’d come here. It made sense, though. The night she was killed was the night of the Sweetheart Ball, and Heather, as Jack’s girlfriend, was in the running for Phi Delt Sweetheart…
Caro’s voice was small. “I thought the last time she was seen alive, witnesses saw her screaming at Jack in Bishop?”
Eric nodded. “Molly Duvall and Chris Holywell. Both witnessed Heather and Jack in what they described as a knock-down, drag-out fight in the lobby of Bishop Hall.” He spoke as if he’d memorized the police report. “At approximately 6:32 p.m. on the night of February 14th. But no, that wasn’t the last time she was seen alive. Who am I kidding? Plenty of you know the truth, that Heather was spotted later that night in the Phi Delt house—right here, in this very room. Pregaming the Sweetheart Ball with a group of brothers and one Ms. Courtney Kennedy.”
I turned to Courtney in surprise.
“Courtney Minter,” she corrected.
“Yeah, well, you were Kennedy back then. Witnesses report seeing Heather right here, but at some point before the party started, she left. No one saw her leave or knows why. The next morning, Jack found her body.”
The room was deathly quiet. I tried to catch my friends’ eyes, but no one would look at me.
“Why are you saying this to us?” Courtney’s chest was heaving. “We all know Jack killed her. Heather told me to my face, right here in this room, that things were over between them. They’d had a horrible fight. The weapon was found in his room, for Christ’s sake, under his bed. He tried to look innocent, telling the cops he just found her like that. He’s a psycho. Look where he came from! All his life in a freaking religious cult, and he finally snapped. It’s the police’s fault they couldn’t nail him. If you’re going to put all your energy into something, why don’t you fix that?”
In My Dreams I Hold a Knife Page 9