Savage

by Krista Holt

  “I’ll handle it,” Nic growls at the caller. “I said I’d be there.”

  I lean back on the couch, resting my legs across his lap.

  “I understand.” He brushes his finger against my knee. “Yeah.”

  “Stop. That tickles,” I whisper, flinging a hand toward him.

  He dodges it easily.

  “I’ll take care of it.” His hand stills on my leg, but his fingers keep moving, brushing against my skin. “That’s all, I have to go.” He ends the call, dropping the phone onto the couch before resuming his torture. “I didn’t know you were ticklish here.”

  “I guess we don’t know everything about each other.” I give him a pointed look. “Can I trust you with that information?”

  He runs his finger across my knee. “I don’t know if you can. It’s very tempting.”

  I steel my body, trying my best not to squirm.

  “You are very tempting.” His hand drifts down my leg, nearing my foot.

  “No farther, Nic.”

  His eyes light mischievously as he traces the bottom of my foot, defying me. “Are you ticklish here, too?”

  “Stop,” I squeal, sitting up.

  He lets out a deep laugh as I scramble away from him.

  “You can’t be trusted!” I shove his shoulder.

  He grins, looping his arm around me. “I’m sorry, that was too irresistible to pass up. Come here, I’ll behave.” A smile still plays on his lips, making his words completely unbelievable.

  “Yeah, right. I don’t believe you. Besides, I need to go.”

  He tugs me toward him anyway, brushing my hair out of my face. “You can just stay here.”

  “You know why I can’t.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He groans. “Let me get my keys, and we’ll go.”

  At the door, he watches me slide into my heels. His face contemplative, like he doesn’t want to miss something.

  My brow creases. “Are you sure you’re all right? You seem . . .”

  “I seem, what?”

  “Upset? I guess.”

  “I never like it when you leave.”

  “Oh,” I say softly. That’s sweet.

  “We should go. I really don’t want you getting written up for entering your dorm late.” He smirks. “At least not again.”

  We arrive at the dorm, and I search for the electronic fob that lets me into the building in the depths of my handbag. Fishing it out, I turn, intent on giving him a quick kiss and ducking inside before curfew, but his stoic expression falters.

  His hand runs down his jaw, muscles clenched as he swallows hard. “What’s wrong?” I move closer to him, arching up on the tips of my toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Talk to me.”

  He pulls me to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around me. Softly, he kisses my cheek as his hand slides up my back. I drop everything in my hands, holding onto him.

  “Nic?”

  “It’s nothing . . . I think I’m just tired.” He clears his throat. “The week’s caught up to me. It’s been busy for both of us, and you did mention earlier that I am not getting any younger.”

  “You’re sure that’s it?”

  His lips press against my forehead. “Yes, really. I don’t want to worry you. I’ll be fine once I get some sleep.” He tilts my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. “Yours, Reagan. I’m all yours.” His stare boldly roams over my face. “Say it to me.”

  “I don’t understand . . .”

  “Just say it, sweetheart,” he says, his lips hovering over mine. “Please.” Every breath he exhales brushes against my skin. His hand runs down my back, and then up toward my neck as he waits.

  “I still don’t understand.”

  His lips brush against mine. “You are so damn stubborn.” I close my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest. “I just need to know. I need the words. I need to know you’re in this as deeply as I am. Now, tell me.”

  “Fine.” I give him what he wants. “You’re mine, Nic. Just as I’m yours. Okay?”

  He kisses me hard, like I’ve released him, unburdened him. For whatever reason, he needs this from me, and I want to give it. I rest my hands on his chest as he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against mine.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “Whatever is going on, we’ll figure it out. But, it’s late, and you need some sleep.” I bend down to pick up my things. He crouches beside me, helping me stuff everything back into my purse before we rise. “Promise me we’ll talk tomorrow?”

  He meets my gaze, and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re so damn beautiful.” He kisses me again and then steps back. “Do you have your keys?”

  I show them in my hand. “Call me tomorrow?”

  Placing my fob over the pad, I wait until it beeps to grab the door handle. He takes it from me, holding the door open. “Goodnight, Nic.” I rest my hand on his forearm, squeezing gently.

  He leans down and takes another kiss from me before skimming his thumb over my bottom lip. “Goodbye, Reagan.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The morning passes without a word from Nic.

  I do everything I can think of to avoid calling him. I cart a couple loads of laundry to the coin-operated machines downstairs, straighten my half of the dorm room, and clean our bathroom, before settling in the middle of the my bed, coffee in hand, to watch Becca pack for summer break.

  “How was your dinner last night?” she asks, sorting through her dresser drawer in search of a pair of socks.

  I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. “It was . . . I don’t know . . . weird?”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know, really. Everything was fine, and then he got another mystery phone call. He wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but after he took it, everything went sideways. He kept asking me intense questions, like if I was happy or not. I actually thought he was breaking up with me.”

  “No.” Becca pauses her packing.

  “Yes. We ended up getting into a fight, at a very pricey restaurant, and leaving early. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “And then what happened? Did he fess up later?”

  “Sadly, no.” I take another sip of my coffee. “We went back to his place and talked. He asked me if trust him.”

  “Why would he ask that?”

  “No clue. I thought we’d straighten things out today, but he hasn’t called yet.”

  “So, call him. Make him tell you.”

  “Really, Becca?” I raise an eyebrow. “Make him tell me?”

  She snorts. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I forgot who we were talking about. Nic, the super vault, gives nothing away.”

  “Exactly. I have no idea how long-distance is going to work if he never tells me anything.”

  “Who knows?” She tosses two pairs of high heels onto her bed before walking into our shared bathroom. “Maybe it’ll help his communication skills.”

  “With any luck.” I sigh. “But enough about me, what are your plans for the summer?”

  She reappears with her arms full of makeup and shower products. “Just time at home, I think. My dad was talking about a trip to Tulum, though, so I don’t know.” She shoves the last of her items into her wheelie bag and zips it closed. “You’re not going to mope around here waiting for him to call, are you?”

  “No. I won’t. Promise.”

  “Good. Well, I’m off!” She can’t hide her excitement as she hugs me. “Let me know what happens with him. Every little thing, Reagan, I mean it. My little sisters will be driving me crazy by week two. I’ll need a distraction from the endless my boy band is better than your boy band debate they always get into when I’m home.”

  “I’ll keep you in my very grown-up drama loop, I swear.”

  “Bye.” She waves, and then her blonde head disappears out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  Dusk creeps over the campus, and I still haven’t heard from him. I scroll through the contacts in my phone, deciding to call him.

  It rings, a
nd keeps ringing until an automated recording plays. “This voicemail box has not been set up. No greeting has been recorded, please call back later.”

  I hang up with a groan. I’ve bugged him for months, ever since he got that phone, to set up a voicemail, but he hasn’t. With nothing left to do, I decide to leave my room. I need to get out, get some fresh air, and maybe get some food.

  He’ll call.

  * * *

  He didn’t call.

  For three days, he didn’t call. He’s ignoring my phone calls, too. Every single one of them is put through to his non-existent voicemail. I’m officially panicking.

  He wouldn’t do this on purpose. He knows I’d worry. And I am worrying, going out of my mind with worry. I’m thinking about calling the police if I don’t talk to him in the next twenty-four hours.

  In a last ditch effort, I drive over to his apartment, chastising myself on the way. I should have gone sooner. Something is off; I know it. I knew it that last night at dinner. I should have listened to my instincts. They tried to tell me he was hiding something.

  I pull into an empty parking space in front of his place and get out of my junky old beater. My mind runs over the speech I’ve prepared. The one I am going to shout at him for driving me crazy the last few days. It starts with, “You, jerk . . .”

  Using my key, I open the front door and step inside. I’m expecting him to be there, ready with an explanation. Maybe he got busy packing or visiting with friends. Something, anything that would explain his silence over the past days, but nothing greets me.

  The apartment is bare.

  My keys drop out of my hand, hitting the hardwood floor with a thud. Everything is gone. Picture frames are missing from the walls. The cabinets are empty. Not even a single piece of junk mail is left behind. I don’t know what to think. My mind is blank like the walls around me.

  “Nic,” I shout, “are you here?” My words echo coldly around the empty space.

  I walk from room to room, searching for any sign of him. He isn’t here, though. He’s gone. It’s like he never existed. Not a single thing of his can be found. There’s not even a lingering scent of his cologne, just a whiff of industrial cleaner greets my nose.

  I think I’m in shock. I should be swept away in emotions. Anger. Rage. Sorrow. But I don’t feel anything. I’m numb. Why would he do this? How could he do this? How do you pick up every aspect of your life and disappear into thin air?

  I don’t have the answers. He’s not here to give them to me. But, as I stare at the blank walls, one thing does become clear—he wanted to leave. He just couldn’t say it to my face. But this? This sends a message. It was intentional. Purposeful. Cruel, even. Wherever he is, he doesn’t want to be found. And I can take a hint.

  Still, the harshness of it is so foreign to the man I thought I knew. Compared to the man who told me he loved me. I’m a fool. I’m officially the gullible girl who fell for his pretty words, who believed him.

  Was anything he said even true?

  The proof is in front of me. No. Suddenly every loving word that spilled from his lips turns toxic in my memory. Tears well up in my eyes, and I wipe them away quickly.

  With shaking fingers, I slide his key from my ring and set it on the counter. My fingers shake as I let go of the metal. It’s like I’m closing the door on us even though he’s already gone.

  I hurry back to my car, and as soon as the door closes behind me, my tears begin to fall. Hot and heavy, marking the front of my shirt. I don’t even bother with the pretense of wiping them away.

  They come in waves, each bigger than that last. Sob after sob wracks my body, squeezing the air from my lungs. Everything hurts. I swear my heart is breaking. What the hell did that last night even mean? What were we?

  Deep down, I think I already knew.

  It was all a lie.

  * * *

  I let myself have three days. Three days to mourn him, cry over him, and generally despise my stupidity.

  My phone is full of missed calls, a few from my mother, several from Becca, and one from Simmons. None of which I’m planning on returning anytime soon. I can’t even speak. My throat is raw from crying.

  In my empty bathroom, I turn on the shower and desperately try to wash the last few days away. Remove them from my memory. I scrub and I scour, but the pain is still there. Lurking for any opportunity to rear its ugly head.

  The water runs cold before I shut it off. I wrap a towel around me and wipe the condensation off of the mirror. It’s only been three days, but I don’t recognize the face staring back at me. It’s worn out, and red-eyed. My dark hair looks almost black as water drips from the ends. Blue eyes that normally hold a sparkle are dull and bloodshot.

  “Enough. He doesn’t get any more of my time.” But even as I say it, it lacks conviction. I’m still a gaping wound, still vulnerable and exposed. Still wishing he’d come back. Still knowing I’d take him back if he did.

  He charmed me into lowering my guard so completely that this blow is devastating. And I hate myself for being vulnerable. It was stupid and it cost me precious time and distracted me from what’s important. The Plan. School. Job. Moving to D.C.

  He can’t keep distracting me. I need to focus on why I’m here, what I’m doing with my life. My stupid heart will mend in time. Maybe even sooner if I pretend like it never happened, like he never happened.

  Putting in extra effort, I dry and curl my hair, even taking a few extra minutes to swipe on some mascara and lipstick. After pulling on some jeans and a navy sweater, I’m finally presentable enough to leave the dorm.

  When I return a few hours later there is some color in my cheeks, but I still feel empty and cast aside. As I walk by the check-in desk, the volunteer sitting behind it calls after me.

  “Are you Room 253?”

  “Um . . . yeah,” I croak. “Did something get dropped off?”

  “Yes, you got a delivery. Sign here, and I’ll go get it.”

  I sign and she comes back with a small, off-white envelope. My name is on the front with no return address. I tear it open and pull the ivory stationary out, recognizing the handwriting instantly. Nic.

  Reagan,

  As I’m sure you already know, I’ve left.

  Time was of the essence. I’m sorry.

  Trust me.

  –Nic

  My hand shakes as I read his note again. And again. The tears come back with a vengeance. Trust him? TRUST HIM! After everything he did, he expects me to not only trust him, but to believe a single word he wrote.

  Inside my dorm room, I toss the letter onto my bed and dig through my purse for my phone, wondering if he’ll pick up this time.

  He doesn’t. After six rings, the automated recording kicks on again. But instead of the greeting from before, another plays. “The number you are currently trying to reach is not in service. Please hang up and try again.” I dial again, but the same message repeats itself.

  Something breaks inside of me. I’m done, for real this time. I still don’t understand why he did this, but I may never get an explanation. I have to move on, for my sanity if nothing else.

  My hands scramble through the top drawer of Becca’s dresser, searching for the lighter from her failed misadventure with smoking. Finding it, I stumble to the bathroom with his note and the lighter in my hand.

  It takes a second for the heavyweight paper to catch fire, but when it does, it goes quickly. Small flames burst into bigger ones until they eat up every inch, curling his words into a black, ashy mess at the bottom of my shower.

  I turn the water on and wash the remains down the drain, watching as the last inky stream of water disappears.

  If only I could remove his words from my mind that easily.

  CHAPTER 5

  One Year Later. Graduation Day.

  “Hi, honey.” My mom pulls me into a warm hug.

  “Hi, Mom.” I squeeze her tightly. I can’t believe she’s really here. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to
get away from her weekend job, one of the two full-time positions she’s held down ever since my father left us.

  I was ten when I woke up one morning to find him gone. My mother was crying at the breakfast table, holding a note. Some mysterious missive that told us he was leaving; it didn’t say why, just that he wasn’t coming back. And as much as I try not to dwell on the how or why, and tell myself it’s his loss, sometimes when I’m alone, I wonder if there was a reason. Was it because of me?

  “Honey?” My mom presses her hand to my forehead, knocking my graduation cap back. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Just distracted. Did you get to see me walk across?”

  “I did.” Her eyes sparkle with pride. “I got here just in time.”

  “I’m so glad.” I squeeze her hand. “Do you have to go back soon?”

  “I do, sorry. I’m on the schedule for tonight.”

  “It’s okay.” I force a smile. “Can you stay for lunch?”

  “If it’s quick.”

  “Good.” I pull off my cap and gown, tossing them onto the stripped bed. Our dorm room is all packed up, with the exception of my suitcase. I just need to drop off our keys at the housing department, but I can do that after lunch. “Let’s go.”

  We walk to a sandwich shop not too far from campus in the June heat. It’s cheap, and the food is good. We order and head for an empty table.

  “So, honey, are you ready for your big move?” My mom sits down beside me.

  “I am. It’ll be nice to be somewhere new. A place with no memories.” No memories of Nic.

  I won’t lie; the summer after he left was tough. I’d been able to find a brief internship with a local representative, but there were still too many hours in the day to think about him.

  It was a blessing when school began again. I’d thrown myself into my classes, using them to save my sanity, and as the months passed, I thought about him less and less. He never called, never texted. I never received another note.

  When Becca had returned in the fall, I told her the whole story and since then, she had refused to say his name, simply referring to him as ‘the Italian.’ Over time, I did the same. It all seemed like a bad dream.