In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

by Ashley Winstead

  “I forgive you,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll move on like it didn’t happen. I swear, I’ll never hold it against you. Please don’t leave me.”

  I was low, I was scraping the floorboards, I was a puddle of muddy water you stepped over to get to the sidewalk, but I didn’t care. Desperation buzzed through me, electric and dangerous. I would scream; I would turn the table over. I would do anything to stop this.

  Mint could read it in my eyes. He shoved back from the table. “Jessica, you’re acting crazy.” He glanced around the restaurant, at the heads bobbing in our direction. “I thought it would be easier here, but it’s not. Come on.” He tried to wrench me up, but I planted myself in my chair, jerking my hands back.

  “Jessica,” he hissed, eyes widening. “Why are you acting like this? It’s pathetic. Get up. Let’s go.”

  No, no, no. If we left, I felt sure it was over. I would lose Mint and myself. I’d already lost so much. I couldn’t lose anything more.

  So I did a horrifying thing. I slid out of my chair to my knees and clasped my hands together. The diners around us hushed, their attention turned to the spectacle of the begging girl.

  “Please,” I cried, my voice thick with tears. “Please take me back. Please don’t leave me. Please love me. I’ll do anything.”

  Down, down, down, I went.

  I would never, for the rest of my life, forget the horror, the depth of disgust in Mint’s eyes, when he finally saw me for who I really was.

  Chapter 17

  Now

  I plunged into the trees after Coop, heels slashing the grass. I knew in my bones something was wrong, so I’d ignored Mint’s incredulous face, brushing past him out of the tent. I forced myself not to think about what I was doing—leaving behind my dream moment, right when everything had fallen into place.

  Away from the light of the party, into the dark heart of campus. I could feel it happening now, the old Duquette promise: We will change you, body and soul. The metamorphosis was supercharged, unfolding as I ran. My feet twisted in my heels, bruised and sliced; my heart pounded, turning inside out. Ten years of armor cracked and fell off with each footstep.

  “Coop!” I called, voice echoing.

  He stopped and spun. I kept running toward him, trying to push away unhelpful thoughts—like how long I’d wanted to do exactly this, how much it would be like a movie, running and throwing myself into his arms. Despite my best efforts, my heart still flooded with warmth.

  He waited for me but was unable to stay still, pacing back and forth. “What are you doing here?”

  “Me? What are you doing?” I tried to steady my breath, but this close to him, there was no chance. Whatever layers of armor had lifted off me had taken my reserve, too. Now I found it almost impossible not to touch him. I lifted a hand as he watched.

  Fuck it. I laid my hand over his chest, his soft black sweater, and he let out a deep breath.

  “Where are you going, Coop?”

  His heart raced under my palm. I curled my fingers.

  There was no escape for me. No matter how hard I’d tried—both in college and after—I couldn’t resist him. Not for long.

  His look stilled me. His eyes were desperate, and sad. “I’m going to find Eric. I have to tell him about the tweak.”

  I shook my head, inching closer. “Heather having drugs in her system must have been a coincidence. You never sold tweak, anyway. You stopped dealing senior year.”

  The truth was plain on his face.

  “Coop,” I said, unsure. “You said you were getting out. That there were some things you wouldn’t do.”

  “I know.” He reached for me, cupping his hands around my shoulders. “Listen. I was getting out for you. I don’t know if I ever said that, because I was an idiot, but it’s the truth.”

  “I knew.” I met his eyes. He was handsome ten years ago—dangerously so—but he made me ache now. I wanted to kiss him. Hit him. I was at war with myself.

  His gaze lowered. “You remember right before Thanksgiving, at my place.”

  It wasn’t a question, because neither of us would ever forget.

  “When I told them no, they said they’d come after me and the people I loved.”

  I searched his face for a clue. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Jess.” Coop took a deep breath and pulled me in so close I could barely focus on what he said next. “They came after me again, on campus, after break. I never told you because you were already so scared, already pushing me away. I panicked and ran to Bishop Hall. I thought they wouldn’t follow me inside a dorm.”

  He barked a laugh. “But they were fucking crazy. They kept coming, and I led them right to your suite. I used your passcode to get inside and slammed the door on them, but they kept banging. They said they were going to kill my people, starting with you.”

  I drew a sharp breath.

  “I led them straight to you, don’t you see? I made a terrible mistake. I was so horrified, I told them I’d do anything. Sell tweak.”

  “You did not.” I gave in to my desire and shoved him back an inch. But he didn’t let go of my shoulders, didn’t look away.

  “It’s worse. Jess, I was supposed to start selling that night—the night of Sweetheart. But I got cold feet. They were calling, looking for me. That’s why I didn’t meet you out like I was supposed to, remember?”

  I didn’t, because I didn’t remember that night at all past a certain point. I knew the memories were buried somewhere, but from the moment I’d woken the next day—an unreasonably warm February 15th—I’d done everything in my power to forget.

  “What I’m trying to say”—Coop’s breath came faster now, his heart back to pounding under my palm—“is that they knew your dorm, and they’d threatened your life, and Heather’s system was flooded with a drug just like tweak.”

  I finally saw where he was going and shook my head, pulling away from him.

  “What if they did it? You know what they were capable of.”

  The memory of a terrible scream—Coop’s—echoed back, and goose bumps prickled my arms. “What if they broke into the dorm, looking for you, and found Heather instead?”

  “That’s insane,” I said. “The cops never said someone broke in.”

  “What if they just knocked on the door? You don’t think Heather, of all people, would answer without thinking? She thought she was impervious.”

  “They wouldn’t kill someone just to teach you a lesson. Do you know what kind of heat that would bring them? They weren’t stupid—they were smart, which is why they were scary.”

  “But the pieces fit together,” Coop insisted. “Especially the tweak. It’s basically a smoking gun. All this time, I’ve been sitting on information that could’ve helped the cops find Heather’s killer.”

  There was resolve in his face, and suddenly I saw exactly how this would go: Coop, the rebel, the outcast, the drug dealer. The poor one from the single-parent family. The unlikeliest of heroes, yet always rising when it was time, only to get cut down in the end. Always.

  I’d even done it to him myself.

  “Please,” I begged. “Don’t go to Eric with this. He’s looking for a villain. He’ll crucify you.”

  Instead of looking at me—my desperation—with disgust, Coop’s face softened. It was a look I knew well. I used to think of it as one of his private faces, an expression he reserved just for me, a secret code for a secret feeling. I’d learned, too late, that it had always been bigger than that.

  “I have to, Jess. If I’m right, Heather died because of me. I have to tell Eric, because it’s the right thing to do. And after that, I’m turning myself in to the police.”

  Chapter 18

  November, senior year

  I lined the vegetables in a neat row on the cutting board—mushrooms, green peppers, olives
, all of Coop’s favorites—and placed his knife next to them. I took a step back and surveyed. Picture-perfect.

  The door to the bedroom swung open and Coop stepped out, running a towel through his hair, wet and curled from the shower. His chest was bare, basketball shorts low on his hips. He looked up and jerked back, eyes wide.

  “Holy shit, Jess.” He put a hand to his chest. “What are you doing here?”

  I held out my arms like Vanna White. “Dinner. I brought pizza ingredients. Remember, you said you’d teach me?”

  His face broke into a warm smile as he tossed his towel on the bathroom floor. I rolled my eyes at his insufferable sloppiness, which only made him grin wider.

  “My girl comes bearing food.” He sauntered across his tiny studio and, ignoring my squeal of surprise, lifted me into his arms. “This is a good day.”

  “You’re dirtying the counter,” I protested as he leaned me up against the countertop and pressed close between my legs.

  “Come here,” he said, tilting my face and kissing me. Somewhere along the way, Coop’s kisses had changed from heated and urgent to tender. Weighty.

  I pushed my hands into his hair, winding the wet curls around my fingers and opening my mouth so he could press inside. When it came to Coop, there was no such thing as too much.

  I was addicted. Like father, like daughter.

  “How long do I have you?” he whispered.

  “All weekend.” I grinned against his mouth.

  “All weekend?”

  “Mint went to the Georgia game. Last-minute decision.”

  Coop spun me in a circle. “A whole weekend.” He set me down. “This is perfect. I got you something.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Coop produced a bottle of red wine from his pantry with a flourish. “Your favorite.”

  “You remembered.” I’d discovered red wine this year, and it was like my entire palate changed overnight. Now, it was the only thing I wanted to drink. It left my lips and teeth stained crimson, like a vampire’s, but I didn’t care. Red wine was classy, sophisticated. A sign I was growing up.

  Good wine was also expensive.

  “You didn’t have to buy it,” I said as he twisted the cork with a small pop. I hated when Coop spent money on me, because I knew where it came from.

  “I wanted to talk to you.” The wine, dark as blood, snaked out of the bottle and down the side of the glass. “About something important.”

  My heartbeat picked up. This couldn’t be good.

  “Here,” he said, handing me the glass. “Cheers.”

  I clinked and downed half the wine, feeling it coat my lips. “So. Something important.”

  Coop took a step closer. It took everything in me to keep my shoulders straight, not lean into him, bury my face in his chest. He smelled like things that came from the earth—wood and citrus and grass.

  Panic gripped me, sudden and fierce. I didn’t want this to be over.

  “Come on,” he said gruffly, picking me up again.

  “Hey!” My feet kicked uselessly. “You’re so manhandley tonight.”

  “Grab the bottle.”

  I rolled my eyes but snagged the wine.

  “And—set—it—down—right—there,” Coop took a few exaggerated steps to his bed and lowered me over his bedside table. The instant I placed the bottle down, he tossed me.

  “Jesus, Coop!” I bounced high on his bed, but he reached for me, pulling me over so I lay against his chest, our legs tangled.

  He rested his head on his hand. “Come home with me for Thanksgiving. Meet my mom.”

  I drew back. “What?”

  “Hear me out.” He raised a finger. “One. My mom really wants to meet you. Two. You could see my teenage bedroom, including all my emo band posters from high school. The blackmail material writes itself. Three. We’d get a whole week together without anyone else. Just you and me in the exotic town of Greenville, South Carolina. And four—I know you don’t want to go home.”

  I didn’t. My dad’s latest stint in recovery had ended in flames when he got high and drove his car straight through the parking lot and into his office lobby. That made three unsuccessful admissions to rehab in three years. Three pointless family days, sitting in a little circle, waiting for my dad to do something—anything—different. Maybe look my mom full in the face without cutting his eyes away; maybe say something to me that wasn’t about school; maybe talk about those times when I was young and he reshaped me with his cruelty. Maybe he could admit to being sad, or lonely, or depressed. Or even mildly disappointed.

  Yeah, yeah, we asked for so much.

  The first stint in rehab, my mom and I had expected the impossible—waited for him to say something that let us know he recognized the pain underneath the fog of the pills. But he didn’t, of course, and after that we’d stopped expecting it.

  And now this. He was finally unemployed, and spiraling. No one knew what to do next.

  “What about Mint?” I asked, pushing thoughts of home aside. “He’s going to think it’s weird if I go home with you.”

  “I was thinking,” Coop said slowly, studying my face. “What if you ended things?”

  My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “We could tell him together. I mean, I’ll do it if you want. We could come clean, and then after a little while…we could be together. For real. In public.”

  My brain was having trouble processing. Coop, scorner of all things traditional, earnest, wanted to be my boyfriend?

  “You want to date?” I asked dubiously.

  He took my face in his hands and looked me in the eyes. How terrifying, to be truly looked at.

  “Coop—” I started, wanting him to turn that gaze away, unsure where this was going. There was a charge building in the air, a feeling: Today, something starts that will never end.

  “Jessica Marie Miller. You have to know by now I love you.”

  I made a sound of surprise.

  He smiled. “I feel like I’ve worn it on my sleeve since the day I met you.”

  “The fortune,” I said, three years too late.

  “Of course. The first week of class, you and I left East House at the same time. You didn’t notice me, but I watched you the entire time we were walking. You were so beautiful. But the thing that really fascinated me was that I could read everything you were thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was so easy to tell what you were feeling. It was right there on your face for everyone to see. Longing when you passed other students, happiness when you saw Blackwell Tower, worry when you got close to Perkins Hall, where your class was. I remember thinking how innocent that was, or brave, how much I wanted to know you.”

  Coop leaned down and kissed my nose. “Now I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

  “I—”

  “I wanted to ask you out, freshman year,” he said in a rush. “You taped the fortune on your door, and I thought there was hope. But then Bid Day, when I walked into my room and you and Mint were on the bed… Mint was my roommate. And you obviously liked him. So I told myself to forget you. But I never could.”

  “You could have,” I said quietly. “You could’ve been with anyone. They all wonder why you don’t date.”

  He shook his head. “Tell them I’ve been out of my mind for you since we were eighteen. There’s no one else for me. I thought I could handle being with you in secret, because at least I’d get part of you. I told you when we started that I wanted more—”

  I could still hear those words: I’m telling you upfront. I need more. I need you over and over. Even remembering them brought heat to my face.

  “But more’s not enough.”

  “What do you want, then?” My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it rattling my rib cage.
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  He looked at me, green eyes serious. “I want everything.”

  The words were like a spell. The weight of what I’d been holding back for a year hit me—meeting in secret, stealing time, wanting him so badly I ached with it, alone in my bed, trying not to think about what it meant that all I thought about was Coop, Coop, Coop. The truth was there, yet I hadn’t let myself look until now. Because I was afraid.

  I knew what could happen if you loved someone with your whole heart.

  “But Mint—” I started.

  “You don’t love Mint,” Coop answered, so confident I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been scared. Coop didn’t understand what it felt like to walk across campus with Mint, arrive at parties holding his hand. The way people looked at me: appraising, envious, wistful. The rush of being valuable. What it meant to me. I did love it.

  “The drugs,” I said instead. It was my ace card, the only thing we ever fought about. Coop insisted it was low-level dealing, mostly pot and molly to college students, just to keep a cheap roof over his head and shield his mom from debt. He refused to sell the hard stuff, which nowadays meant tweak, sometimes heroin. He’d never sell that, he insisted, no matter how pissed it made the people above him. He wouldn’t mess with real addicts.

  I’d never told him about my father.

  “I quit,” Coop said, and waited for my reaction.

  “What—when?”

  “Yesterday. I told them I was out. It’s senior year, so I’ll be gone by May anyway, and I’ve saved up enough money. It’s time.”

  I kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

  Coop turned his head, finding my lips, and kissed me hungrily. Still as urgent as the first day, a starved man.

  “Jess,” he said roughly.

  “What?” It was hard to talk, or breathe, when all I wanted was to kiss him.

  “Say it.” He wrapped his arms around me and crushed me to him, pushing a leg between mine. Warmth bloomed where his leg rubbed me, and spread. I arched into the bed and he kissed me harder, pushing hands through my hair, lowering his body over mine. I ran my fingers over his shoulders, the hard planes of his back, feeling the dip at his waist, pressing him against me, wanting to feel his weight.