Next Stop Love, #1

by Rachel Stockbridge

  She made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh and wrapped her arms around his neck, arching up into him. She was desperate to hold onto him. Keep him near her. Keep him safe.

  She didn’t know how long they kissed before they came up for air again. She could have kept on kissing him for a long time yet. Julian’s lips brushed hers once more before he pulled back to look at her, his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” Beatrice felt herself smile too as she gazed at him. God, she’d missed his smile. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I should have just broken up with Greyson sooner—”

  “Shh, shh,” Julian said, kissing her temple as he held her. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not,” Beatrice said, squeezing her eyes shut. “This is all my fault. You never would have run into him at all if I’d just broken it off with him last month.”

  Julian let out a heavy breath, one careful hand stroking her hair. “It’s not your fault, Bee. I’d much rather he made me his scapegoat than you. I’ve dealt with him before.”

  “Yeah, and he nearly got you killed,” Beatrice said, taking his face in both her hands and meeting his eyes. “That’s not happening again. Okay? Not if there’s one single thing I can do to stop it.”

  Julian’s mouth quirked up in the smallest hint of a smile as he bent to kiss her again. He kissed her until she almost forgot the flicker of pain behind his eyes with that smile.

  Twenty-One

  Julian sat in the back of an empty classroom in the art center the next morning. He’d wanted to get in a couple hours’ work on his portfolio before his shift started. His sketchbook and several half-finished pieces were spread out on the table in front of him, but he’d barely touched them since he got in. He had his face planted on the desk with his arms over his head.

  He felt like a complete ass. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. It was like his brain had switched off when he laid eyes on Beatrice last night. He’d been operating on instinct and wishful thinking alone.

  Sometimes he was amazed by how stupid he could be. Just because a girl you were hopelessly in love with said she didn’t want you to let her go didn’t mean it was a good time to jam your tongue down her throat. Stay with me wasn’t code for I love you, too.

  She was obviously shaken from a breakup which happened less than an hour before their kiss. She seemed emotionally distraught, probably vulnerable. What she needed was the support of people who would help her get through the crap with Greyson. Not Julian dropping in, yelling at her, and then pulling that knight-in-shining-armor bullshit.

  If anything, it just proved what a worthless excuse for a human being Julian was. Beatrice was this . . . beautiful, joyful ray of light. She didn’t even swear, for God’s sake. Julian was a black hole of bad choices and disappointment. No amount of pretending was going to change that.

  The last thing he wanted was to snuff out all her joy and light. Though he was afraid he’d already started. She’d been a lifeline for him, with her plans and her dogged optimism. She’d made his life better, but he could only make hers worse.

  He should have at least told Beatrice about how Greyson had threatened him last night. But he just . . . couldn’t. He hadn’t wanted to freak her out when she was already so upset and guilt-ridden. He didn’t want Beatrice thinking he blamed her for Greyson being Greyson. And then—God help him—he just hadn’t wanted to stop kissing her.

  He wanted to pretend everything was fine, dammit. That Greyson was full of shit, and neither Julian nor Beatrice would have to deal with him again. That Beatrice’s plans to keep them both surrounded by people until Greyson cooled off would work. That Julian and Beatrice could be together without everything falling apart. That he could hold onto her light without tainting it with his own clinging darkness. He wanted to pretend there was no reason to worry, no reason to listen to the loop in the back of his head telling him this is exactly how it started last time.

  “Julian?”

  He lifted his head, not bothering to make himself look busy.

  Mr. Fisk stood in the doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. Smiling, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How’s it coming?” The smile faltered. “Are you doing okay?”

  “Fine,” Julian lied. “Why?”

  Mr. Fisk pointed vaguely towards his own face. “You look a little dinged up.”

  “Stupid accident.” Julian stood and gathered up the papers in front of him.

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Fisk said, his focus shifting to the scrapes on Julian’s knuckles.

  No. I got in a fight with my psychotic former step-brother because he thought I was trying to steal his girlfriend. And then I went and kissed her. Because I’m a selfish idiot.

  He shut his sketchbook with a snap. “I’m sure.”

  * * *

  The wind whipped at Beatrice’s coat and hair as she walked up the quiet side-street where Greenwich Village Center for the Arts was located. Dark clouds had been building all afternoon, smothering the last few hours of daylight. Now, as twilight faded, the light of the city reflected off their low, rolling forms. Beatrice couldn’t even make out the hazy indication of the moon beyond their bulk.

  Meeting Julian after work hadn’t been part of the plan. But Beatrice didn’t really care. She hadn’t spoken to Julian since last night, and it was stressing her out. If she could just talk to him in person, she would feel better.

  She’d been wound too tight all day. She kept dropping things, and forgetting what she was supposed to be doing, and jumping out of her skin at every little noise. She’d been such a wreck at lunch that Sasha insisted they spend the break in her dorm with takeout instead of doing their usual cram-in-the-food-court thing.

  It was amazing Kinsey and Sasha weren’t fed up with Beatrice’s frazzled nerves by the end of the day. It was almost worse that she hadn’t heard anything from Greyson. No texts, no calls, no showing up unannounced. She felt like she was bracing for an inevitable battle. The longer she waited, the more she worked herself into knots.

  Maybe if Beatrice had slept better, she would’ve been able to at least pretend to act normal. She couldn’t close her eyes last night without reliving the scariest parts of her argument with Greyson. She kept having to remind herself she was safe in her room by sitting up and turning on the light.

  When she’d tried to think about something else, she just ended up fretting over whether she’d somehow pushed Julian into kissing her. Nothing he’d said had explicitly expressed any romantic interest in her. She’d been wearing a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, for crying out loud. And stupid rain boots. Who’d want to kiss that? He was probably being nice because she was a mess and practically begging him to kiss her. He was just too kind to rebuff her when she looked so pathetic.

  She’d drifted off only a few hours before her alarm went off, curled up under a crocheted afghan and a fleece blanket at the foot of her bed with her light on, like she used to do when she was little and had nightmares.

  She woke up shivering, exhausted, and disoriented. And with no chance to talk to Julian again. They’d agreed, before he left, that it probably wasn’t a good idea to take the same train to the city. What if Greyson tried to meet Beatrice when they got into Grand Central? Greyson already thought something was going on between her and Julian. If he found out there really was, it would make everything that much worse.

  So Julian had taken his early train again. Without her. And Beatrice asked Sasha to pick her up from Grand Central Terminal. Just in case.

  She hadn’t told Sasha or Kinsey about Julian appearing on her doorstep last night. At first, because it seemed easier to explain in person than over text. But Beatrice found it was hard to talk about in person, too. Her friends were supportive of her breakup with Greyson, but that didn’t mean they’d be on board with her getting together with Julian the same night.

  Beatrice herself was fed
up with her frazzled nerves by the time her last class let out, fifteen minutes early. She couldn’t wait around for Kinsey to be free, panicking about what she was going to do if Greyson cornered her again during the single fifteen minutes she didn’t have either of her friends nearby. And she couldn’t stand not being able to talk to Julian anymore.

  The art center was only a few blocks away, she reasoned. Even if Greyson had meant to corner her after English Lit, she’d be more likely to avoid him successfully by getting off campus than waiting around for Kinsey to meet her.

  Not that she thought any of that through before she was leaving Washington Square Park behind. It didn’t even occur to her to text anyone about the change of plans until she was waiting for the Sixth Avenue crosswalk. Sasha and Kinsey got a lie about wanting to head straight home. Julian got a short text informing him she was coming to meet him—mostly to make sure he didn’t take off for Grand Central before she got there. She wanted to see him, and she didn’t want anyone to talk her out of it.

  A cold raindrop landed on her cheek when she spotted the art center—a stout brick building halfway down the block, welcoming light shining out of the windows, with a colorful hanging sign above the door. Cars were parked all along one side of the street, but there wasn’t much traffic going through. A woman with a small dog was letting herself into an apartment building across the street. The only other pedestrians were those scurrying past on the busier thoroughfares on either end of the block.

  Turning up her collar against the weather, Beatrice quickened her pace. She could wait in the lobby for Julian, where there would be no rain or icy wind cutting through the thin wool of her coat.

  She was maybe a couple dozen yards away when Julian came out of the art center, looking over his shoulder as he said something to someone still inside.

  She let out a breath that she felt like she’d been holding since she left him at her front door last night. All that fretting from being insecure about a kiss flew off her shoulders with a gust of wind. He didn’t look like someone who thought she was being too needy, or who wanted to push her away at the next opportunity. He just looked like Julian.

  “Hey!” she called, waving to get his attention.

  A worried frown drew his eyebrows together as he jogged down the front steps onto the sidewalk. He opened his mouth like he was going to call back to her—probably to lecture her for sneaking off by herself—but as he neared the corner of the building, his attention snapped to the narrow alley next to the art center.

  It all happened in the space of a few seconds. Julian backed up, toward the street, one hand going up in a gesture that was somewhere between placation and defense, his mouth forming words Beatrice couldn’t hear from this distance. Figures in dark clothing darted out from the alley. Julian turned on his heel to run, but they grabbed him. There was a shout, and a struggle, and they disappeared into the alley, leaving the street in silence.

  It didn’t seem real. One second Julian was standing there, and the next he was . . . gone. That kind of thing didn’t happen. Not here. Not to Julian.

  Not again.

  Her feet started moving before her brain fully processed what people were supposed to do when this impossible thing did happen. All she knew, deep in her gut, was that she needed to get to Julian. Now. She dropped her bag and broke into a sprint as rain came sheeting down with an all-encompassing hiss.

  “Julian!” she cried, skidding into the alley too fast. Her shoulder slammed against the art center’s wall.

  The alley was dark and hazy with rain. A streetlight behind Beatrice reflected off the raindrops and slick alley floor, giving just enough light to see. Three men in dark coats and hoods had Julian backed up against a wall behind a dumpster. He was fighting all three at once, but didn’t have enough room to move. Two vicious blows to his stomach and he was on the ground, trying to protect himself from the onslaught of kicks and stomps.

  Fury shot through her, pushing out the shock and fear. “Hey!”

  She darted forward, seized the scruff of the nearest man with both hands, and yanked him back as hard as she could. “Get off him!”

  The guy swung around and grabbed her arm, jerking her close. “Stay out of this, bitch,” he spat in her face.

  Beatrice flinched. She knew him. She’d only seen him once, but having an argument with a rough-looking stranger in a library study room wasn’t an experience she was going to forget anytime soon.

  It didn’t seem to be something Vito did often, either. He did a double-take, his eyes darkening. “I know you,” he snarled.

  Crap. Beatrice didn’t stop to make proper introductions. Planting her feet, she slammed the heel of her free hand into his nose. The crunch of bone made her stomach turn, but she ignored it. She could freak out later. Right now, she just wanted to get Julian and run.

  Cursing, Vito released her, clutching his nose. “Bitch.”

  Beatrice shoved the smaller, scrappier of the last two men off Julian, into his friend, and grabbed Julian’s sleeve, hauling him to his feet. He was bleeding from a gash near his eye, and one of his arms circled around his ribs.

  “Bee,” Julian began, gripping her arm. “Get out of here.”

  The look in his eyes frightened her. She would’ve understood if he was scared, or angry, or in shock. She could’ve handled that. But he looked like a man who’d accepted he’d lost. He looked like he’d already given up.

  She redoubled her grip on him. “Not without you.”

  “Wrong answer.” Arms seized her waist and hauled her up and back, tearing her away from Julian.

  No, no, no, no—

  Beatrice dragged in a lungful of air and shrieked, the sound ripping at her throat as she kicked out. The heel of her boot connected with something hard. The guy grunted and threw her to the ground.

  Jolts of pain screamed up her elbow and knee where they struck the pavement. She scrambled to her feet—better to be upright and limping than cowering on the ground.

  “You chose the wrong fight to get involved with, princess,” Muscles said, making a fist with one hand.

  Beatrice’s throat went dry. The stupidity of what she’d just done hit her, far too late. Her phone was still in her bag where she’d dropped it on the sidewalk. She was unarmed and outnumbered, she didn’t have a plan, or anything she could swing at the attackers that would cause them any harm. The litter in the alley was useless—strips of cardboard, an empty beer can—or too far away to grab. She pressed her back against the wall, racking her brain for some kind of solution that would get both herself and Julian out of this alley alive. “Please—”

  “Stop!” Julian shouted, throwing himself between Muscles and Beatrice. “Just stop. She doesn’t have anything to do with—”

  Muscles threw a punch at Julian’s face. Julian blocked it and jabbed him lightning-fast in the stomach, then knocked his legs out from under him. Beatrice clapped her hands over her mouth.

  “Leave her alone!” Julian rounded on Vito as Muscles, groaning, rolled to his feet. “I’m the one you have beef with. Don’t drag her into this.”

  “Julian,” Beatrice breathed, shutting her eyes and gripping the back of his coat. Puddle water was seeping into her sleeve and the knees of her jeans. Her hair was plastered to her face. She didn’t know how to get them both out of this. She wasn’t big, or strong. She wasn’t even brave. All she had going for her was her stubborn, stupid resolve that she wasn’t going to let them die here.

  “You were plenty willing to drag her into this back in that library,” Vito said, swiping his sleeve across his bloody face. It didn’t so much wipe the blood away as smear it around.

  “You leave her the fuck alone,” Julian growled, taking a step toward Vito with his hands curled into fists at his sides.

  “What’s the matter?” Vito asked, cocking his head and smirking. He flicked his wrist, and a knife appeared in his hand like a deadly magic trick. “Suddenly too noble to let the little cunt fight your battles for you?
”

  Julian started toward Vito. “You fucking—”

  “No,” Beatrice begged, dragging him back. She was sure Vito wouldn’t hesitate to use that knife, and all Julian had were his fists. “Julian—”

  Vito made a motion to the other two. “Hold them.”

  “No,” Beatrice said, as Muscles and Scrappy bore down on them. Her fingers ached from gripping Julian’s coat, but she held on still tighter. “No.”

  “Fuck,” Julian swore under his breath, dropping into a fighting stance. But both men came at them fast. Beatrice couldn’t hang onto Julian and drag herself out of Scrappy’s grip at the same time. Julian was torn away from her in a matter of seconds. Muscles pushed him face-first against the wall, twisting his arm behind his back.

  “No!” Beatrice cried, lunging for him.

  Scrappy caught her from behind and dragged her deeper into the alley. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning them under her chin.

  “STOP IT!” she screamed, fighting to get free. Scrappy was using his height to force her to hunch over, and he wouldn’t put his stupid face close enough for her to throw her head back into his nose. She let out a wordless shriek, half panic, half frustration.

  “Shut her up,” Vito snapped, striding towards Julian. “I’ll deal with her next.”

  Scrappy adjusted his grip on Beatrice, covering her mouth and nose with his forearm. She could barely breathe, and the air that filtered through his damp sleeve was sharp and acrid. She tried to wriggle free, but it only made him tighten his grip.

  “Let her go, you son of a bitch!” Julian shouted, struggling to throw Muscles off him. “She never did anything to you!”

  “Too late for that now.” Vito pointed the blade at Julian’s face. “You should never have tried to screw me, my friend.”

  No. She was not going to stand here and watch Julian get murdered. In sheer desperation, she bit down on Scrappy’s arm as hard as she could.

  Scrappy swore and released her. Beatrice stumbled, one palm smacking the ground before she recovered, and slammed into Vito. They tumbled into the grimy water draining down the center of the pavement in a heap. People were shouting, but she couldn’t parse what they were saying.