And they’re still making out. Unbelievable.
My pulse is drumming in my ears so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised to find steam blowing out of them. I stand next to the car, struggling to breathe. Debate whether to knock or just open the door.
I open it. “What are you doing?”
Dad pulls away, wipes his mouth. Not an ounce of shame on his face.
The woman at least covers her mouth, her eyes filled with horror.
“I said, what are you doing?” Spittle flies from my mouth.
“What are you doing?” Dad glares at me.
“Don’t turn this on me! You’re making out with some floozy in our driveway! What the hell, Dad?”
His eyes narrow, he leans partially out of the car. “Listen to me well, Malia. You’re going to go inside, and you’re going to forget you ever saw this.”
“Fat chance.” I put my hands on my hips.
His brows furrow. “I don’t think you heard me, you stupid little brat! Go inside and forget about this. Just focus on your worthless psychology courses.”
I shake my head. “You told Mom—”
“Get inside!” He leaps to his feet and strikes me across the face. “You’ll get in the house right now if you know what’s good for you!”
My hand immediately goes to my hot cheek. “How dare you!”
“Me? You’re the one who’s out of line! Get inside before your consequences get worse than they already are!”
I look around him to the woman. “Do you know he’s a married man? Do you enjoy destroying families?”
He grabs my arm, squeezing hard, and shoves me toward the house. His brows are furrowed, his expression wrinkled. “I am not joking! Get inside now, or you will regret it.”
I try to yank my arm away, but he won’t let go. “How can you do this to Mom? To us?”
“Because this has nothing to do with any of you!” Spit lands on my face. “And given the responsibility of Belen has fallen on me lately, I deserve a little fun. Not that I owe you an explanation. Maybe if you were around more, helping with him I wouldn’t have to—”
“Do not put this on me, you coward! Your son is your responsibility, not mine. I love him and I’ll help, but you’re his parent! I have school and work.”
Dad squeezes harder, and I try not to gasp in pain. He leans closer to me. “This isn’t up for debate. You aren’t telling anyone about this. You’re going straight to your room and getting into bed. Then tomorrow, you’ll greet me with a warm smile and not let Mom or your brothers think anything’s wrong. If they suspect a thing, you’re going to regret it severely.”
“You—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” He shoves me against the garage, my head hits. “Get inside. Now.” And with that, he turns around and marches back to his car.
My pulse drums in my ears, and I struggle to breathe. My face is throbbing where he struck me and my arm is warm from his grip. I watch in disbelief as he gets back into the car and peels out of the driveway with the woman inside. Before driving away, he motions for me to go inside.
He waits, the car idling in the road.
I flip him an angry gesture before storming toward the door. My mind races, making it nearly impossible for me to grab my keys and unlock the door. Somehow, I manage. Once inside, I lean against the door and catch a breath.
“Hello?” I call, not that I expect anyone to answer. Holden is still pissed at me, which is fine because the feeling is mutual, and Belen is either sleeping or gaming with his headphones on.
I lock up and walk through the lower level, finding it quiet. In the kitchen, I find some alcohol and pour myself some. Then after two glasses, I call it quits. I don’t want to become one of those people who gets drunk alone. That’s when the real problems begin, and I already have enough of those. I don’t need to make my life worse.
I stumble up the stairs, obviously having drunk more than necessary but not enough to make me forget what I just saw. I check the bedrooms. Holden’s is empty, and Belen is glued to his computer, headphones on. I don’t bother saying anything. Too big of a chance he’ll have a meltdown if he’s interrupted during a game, and I really don’t have it in me to calm him down right now.
My mind is still reeling from everything, despite my pathetic attempt at trying to forget. I trudge into my room and grab some pajamas, then head for the shower. I take a long, hot one before climbing into bed.
I grab my phone and check my likes and comments. More have come in, but I just don’t care anymore. Nothing seems to matter. And to make it all worse, one of my exes left a comment saying my picture was clearly photoshopped.
I delete his comment, but I’m still infuriated by it. By him. What’s he doing on my friends list still? The jerk cheated on me, only dating me to advance in the restaurant. For all the good that did him. He got fired after I told my parents about the other woman.
My head pounds just thinking about it. He cheated, half my other boyfriends did as well, and my dad is a serial cheater. He was probably even seeing people on the side when he and Mom were in counseling and was supposedly working on the marriage.
Do all men cheat? Is there one who doesn’t? I try to think of someone. There were a few boyfriends that I don’t think stepped out on me, but that’s probably because they never got caught. From the looks of it, there are two types of guys—those who get caught cheating and those who cover it up better.
My phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Linc.
I toss my device onto the floor. I can’t deal with any more guys right now. I’m starting to like him, but I’d be stupid to let that continue. Basically, I’d just be inviting him to do what every other man does.
And I’m not going to be cheated on again. I’ll live the rest of my life single before succumbing to a life like Mom’s.
Chapter Nine
Lincoln
I roll over in bed and ignore my alarm. For a moment, I think I’m back home until I remember I’m in my apartment. I’m wearing the earplugs Rogan gave me. And they worked beautifully. I slept soundly last night despite whatever noise my roomies undoubtedly made.
A pillow smacks me in the face. Muffled, faraway words sound.
I feel around the headboard for my phone and hit snooze, close my eyes. But then I remember Malia’s in my first class. Picturing her gorgeous smile is all I need to sit up and take out my earplugs.
It was such a surprise to see her outside my parents’ house over the weekend, but I loved seeing her meet Rogan and Kenna.
I can’t wait to see her in class and tell her the ideas I came up with for our project. Now I’m finally pulling my weight. I might’ve even thought up more ideas than her. We’ll see. She probably came up with more since I last saw her.
I get ready in record time and actually make it to class early. The class before ours is still in session—and I never knew there was an earlier one in that lecture hall. Once it clears, I make my way over to where Malia was sitting last time and take one of the seats next to it.
My heart races a little thinking of seeing her again. My breath hitches each time someone walks in and I think it’s her. But so far, none of them is. As the room fills, people ask if the seat is taken, so I put my bag on the seat to claim her spot.
Then the professor strolls in and sets her things down.
I glance at the time then at the door again. Still no sign of Malia. Less than a minute before class starts.
A girl slides into the room and glares at me when I put my hand on the bag, indicating she can’t sit there. I never realized this was such a full class, that the seats were so scarce.
The professor places a stack of papers on the table and clears her throat. “Time to begin. I hope you’ve all read over the email and had a chance to swap ideas with your partner. Who has read the email?”
Pretty much all the hands around the room go up.
“Who printed it out and took notes?”
About half the hands lower.
> The professor’s expression turns serious and she glances around the room. “You need to memorize those directions. I should be able to ask you what the second line of the fifth paragraph is, and each one of you should be able to repeat to me verbatim. Read it, memorize it, highlight, write notes all over the page. Got it? This project is that important. You bomb this, you fail the course. End of discussion. This is an upper level course, and you’d better treat it like one.”
I swallow, then glance around for Malia again. Hopefully, nothing’s wrong. What if her brother ended up in the hospital, or jail, or worse? Something could really be wrong. Or maybe she just slept in. That would make more sense, and the simpler answer is usually the right one. Isn’t it?
The professor is talking about the life-or-death importance of the project again. I try to focus, but I can’t help but worry about Malia. I want to send her a quick text, but now I’m sitting so close to the front, I won’t be able to.
I should’ve sat in my usual spot, close to the back. It’s easy to get away with just about anything back there with a class this size, such a popular elective. Everyone’s interested in studying unusual human behavior.
All the other students are taking notes, so I dig through my bag for my tablet. It isn't there. I must’ve forgotten to stick it in there in my haste to see Malia. So much for that. I manage to find some loose paper and a pen, so I take notes on that, all the while keeping my attention focused on the door from the corner of my eye.
After about fifteen minutes, the professor tells us to get together with our partner to discuss the project and the uber-important email directions.
Everyone else pairs off all over the lecture hall. I look around, knowing I stand out sitting by myself.
I pull out my phone and send Malia a quick text asking where she is. Then I realize she hasn’t responded to anything since Saturday. My stomach knots. What if something is really wrong?
“Where’s your partner, Jones?” asks the professor.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
She lifts a brow. “Maybe you ought to pick a more reliable partner.”
“Malia already had your email memorized last week. We’re starting off ahead.”
The professor purses her lips. “You’d better hope so. Your grade depends on this.”
She’s referring to my last quiz.
I nod. “We’re good, thanks. Already gotten together a couple times. I think she might be helping her family.”
“Make sure she knows that attendance is part of the grade.”
“I’ll remind her.”
The professor makes a tsk noise as she walks away.
I send Malia another text before reading over the class email again, looking for anything I might’ve missed in my earlier readings. It’s a complicated assignment, but I wouldn’t expect otherwise from the course. We’ll just have to make sure we don’t miss a single detail—and there are a lot of them. If we do print it out on paper, it’ll probably take close to five pages.
Why do these college professors always expect our lives to revolve around their one class? Don’t they know we have other courses? Not to mention jobs and friends?
A notification comes in on my phone. Malia sent a simple text. She’s on her way.
Only twenty minutes left in the class. I hope she’s close.
I reply to let her know it’s all good. No reason for her to feel bad. Knowing her, she was probably dealing with her family. I love that she’s so dedicated to them. Makes me think of my family. Before I moved to college and made the space between us grow larger than the Grand Canyon.
The classroom door opens with just fifteen minutes left. Malia slips in and makes her way over to me. Her hair hangs in her face, making it impossible to make eye contact and smile at her. She’s also wearing all black instead of the usual colors and patterns I’ve seen her in before.
She slides into the seat next to me, her hair still blocking her face. “Did I miss anything important?”
“We’re supposed to print out the email and memorize it.”
“Done.”
“Wait, seriously?”
Malia nods, still not looking at me.
“Okay, well in that case, we’re supposed to discuss our project.”
“We’ve already done that too.”
“I came up with some ideas over the weekend.”
“Perfect. What are they?”
“Would you mind looking at me?”
She turns to me, but her hair still covers her face.
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“I can’t even see you.” I move around, trying to make my point. “Is this a fashion statement?”
“No. What are your ideas?”
My stomach knots. Did I do something to push her away? I go over our last interaction in detail, but nothing comes to mind. She had been thrilled about meeting Kenna and Rogan. She had practically skipped away. Or did I say something wrong in a text? She never responded to the one I sent Saturday night. I hadn’t thought much of that until now.
“Well?” she says.
“I’d tell you, but to be honest, I’m more concerned about you. Something is clearly wrong.”
She sighs. “Family drama. Let’s focus on the project. It’s over half our grade.”
I consider what to say. “Sure, but just know that if you want to talk, I’m here. You can call or text or whatever. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
Before I can tell her my first idea, the professor claps her hands. “I hope you’ve had some good discussion.” She glances over at Malia. “I’m so glad you could join us, Miss Devereaux.”
She groans, nods slightly.
The professor gives us more instructions and ideas, reinforcing how important this assignment is to not only our grade but humanity as a whole.
When the class ends, Malia races out before I can say a single word.
My heart sinks. Where did I go wrong, and how can I make it better? At least we have this project forcing us to spend time together. I can think up something between now and meeting her in the library later.
Chapter Ten
Malia
I slump into the chair, not looking at my friends or my salad. My hair falls in my face, and I don’t bother to move it out of the way. Just like I’ve been doing all day.
“What’s wrong?” Jaiden scoots his chair closer.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I can see his exaggerated pout through my hair. “Even to us? Your besties?”
“Yeah, what gives?” Raven sets down her green drink. “You didn't answer my texts yesterday. Were you too busy hanging out with celebs?”
“No.” I sigh. “That was for like three minutes on Saturday.”
Samara scoots so close her chair bumps mine and she puts her hand on my back. “What happened?”
“Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We won’t judge,” she promises. “You have all our secrets. If anyone ever found out about that time I dated the sumo wrestler, I’d die of humiliation. But I trust you three not to tell a soul.”
I draw in a long, deep breath and take a bite of my salad. It’s suddenly far more interesting than a minute ago.
The three of them exchange glances before turning their attention back to me.
“You want to know what I think?” Jaiden asks.
“Not really.” I shove more salad into my mouth.
“Ouch.” He rubs his chest over his heart. “I choose to ignore that. This calls for an intervention.”
I look up at him, some hair falling from my eyes. “No.”
He nods, the corners of his mouth twitching, then looks at Samara and Raven. “Don’t you think so, girls?”
I shake my head. “I’m not the one who needs an intervention.”
“Are you saying I do?�
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“No.” I pull my hair completely back from my face. I used foundation and cover-up, but the handprint on my cheek still shows. “My dad hit me again.”
Jaiden’s mouth falls open, and he exchanges wide-eyed glances with the other two.
“What happened?” Samara rubs circles on my back.
I draw in a deep breath. “What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ don’t you people get?”
“We’re your best friends,” Raven says. “We can’t let something like this slide.”
“Yeah, seriously.” Jaiden scowls. “I have half a mind to report that bastard.”
“No!”
He gives me an exaggerated look. “He needs to suffer some consequences! The man always gets away with it. And it’s wrong, I tell you.”
“He doesn’t do it often. Drop it.”
Jaiden’s eyes narrow. “He shouldn’t do it at all!”
“I know.”
“Then call it in.”
I shake my head. “There are other things going on.”
“Like what?” Raven asks.
I close my eyes for a moment, gather my strength to say the words. “He’s cheating again.”
Jaiden calls my dad a name.
Samara pulls some more hair from my face. “But what does that have to do with him hitting you?”
“I confronted him about it. Him and that blonde homewrecker.”
Raven tilts her head. “Let me get this straight. You saw them together—”
“Making out in his car, in our driveway.”
“What?” Jaiden exclaims. “The man has no shame!”
I shake my head. “None.”
“And you confronted them there?” Samara asks.
“Yep. He hit me, grabbed me, threatened me, and shoved me against the garage.”
The three of them exchange worried glances.
“I’m fine.” I shove more salad in my mouth.
Jaiden scoots just as close to me as Samara. “You need to get out of that house.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” he demands. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that! Come stay with me. I’ll take the couch. You can have my room.”
When You Start to Miss Me: A Romantic Suspense (Wildflower Romance Book 3) Page 6