The Secret: A Friends To Lovers Romance (North Woods University Book 3)

by J. L. Beck

  We start watching the movie, neither one of us saying anything else until the doorbell rings about thirty minutes into the movie, causing me to jump about three inches off the couch.

  “It’s just the pizza guy,” Clark says as he gets up and pulls out his wallet before heading for the stairs. Five minutes later he returns carrying two pizza boxes and two soda cans.

  “I was going to ask you what you wanted to drink, but then I figured you wouldn’t care, so I brought you a Sprite.” He passes the soda to me and sets the pizza boxes down between us.

  “Thank you, Sprite is perfect.” Of course he isn’t wrong, I would have been fine with whatever he’d brought me.

  “Why are you so scared all the time?” His question catches me off guard. Not that I didn’t expect him to ask eventually. I just never expected it to be so soon. I’ve been asked the same question many times before and I always give the same answer, because the truth, the real reason is a lot darker, scarier, and something no one wants to hear.

  “I just have really bad anxiety and I scare easy, that’s all,” I expel the familiar words, knowing before I even finish saying them that Clark is not going to be satisfied with that answer. He might not ask me for more today, but something tells me that he won’t let this go. He’s not the type to overlook something, he’s a digger, and the last thing I want is him digging up all my secrets.

  I don’t understand why but he wants to know me, all of me and that scares me. It scares me so very much, because the secrets I’m keeping, the things that live inside me are dark. No one has ever asked to hear about my past or wanted to dissect my secrets. Clark’s everything that I’m not, popular, a jock, funny, and flirtatious.

  What does he want with me?

  “You don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you?” His response pushes against the walls I’ve built around myself, the walls that keep everything inside. I shrug as he flips the pizza boxes open. I grab a slice of the sausage, realizing then just how hungry I am. When was the last time I ate? I can’t even remember.

  “One thing you’ll come to learn about me, Em, is that I don’t bullshit.” Em? So now he’s got a nickname for me.

  “I’m not lying.” At least not fully.

  Clark’s hazel eyes narrow, and I swear he can see right through me, see deep inside me. Underneath all my layers.

  “I’ll let it go for now because I don’t want to push you, but I think something happened. Something bad happened to you and you are scared of it happening again.”

  My throat tightens at his words, causing me to damn near choke on the bite of pizza I took. I can feel the familiar sting of tears in my eyes, but I blink them away. I can’t let him know how much it means to hear him say what he just said.

  It’s taken him five minutes to figure me out when people I’ve known my entire life still haven’t. Instead of confirming or denying what he’s said I take another bite of pizza, and then another. I’m nearly finished with the first slice when I realize Clark is already on his third piece. He ends up eating six pieces while I’m full after two. The greasy goodness settling heavily in my belly. I wash it down with a sip of Sprite and then yawn, the day’s events finally catching up with me.

  When I’m done with my soda as well, I scoot back in the corner of the sectional and make myself comfortable, pulling my legs up and leaning my head against the back of the couch.

  I notice my eyes growing heavier toward the end of the movie, but I forced them to stay open. I don’t want to fall asleep down here, but I’m also not ready to go to my room. So I continue fighting sleep, fighting it until I can’t anymore until I lose…

  Tonight is strange since sleep never comes easy to me. I might be able to keep my mind busy during the day, but the nightmares always seem to find me at night. Unable to keep my drooping eyes open a second longer, I succumb to the darkness.

  “It’ll be our little secret…” he whispers against the clammy skin on the back of my neck. The weight of his body pushing me into my pink comforter. My heart sinks heavily into my stomach as I go through the motions of curling in on myself. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shut off my emotions and swallow down the pain that’s searing through my body. It always hurts when he does this. It hurts so bad. Tears sting my eyes, but I hold them in.

  When I cry, it’s worse…so much worse, and I just want it to be over, to end.

  “Fuck, Emmy girl…” he grunts, and all I can smell is expensive whiskey and smoke. The two smells mingle together and clog my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Like vines of ivy, his hands come around and wrap around my throat.

  I’m drowning… suffocating… and no one cares, no one will ever know…

  I wake with a jolt, gasping for air as if it wasn’t just a nightmare I had experienced. It felt so real, like he was here, then again, the events in my dreams were once my reality. A terribly dark nightmare. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you, I chant inside my head. My heart hammers against my aching chest and I quickly scan the unfamiliar room.

  Sweat beads against my forehead, the tiny drops slipping down my face. My breaths come out in pants as I try and slow down the doom threatening to overtake me.

  “It’s okay, Em. You’re okay, it’s just a bad dream.” Clark’s husky voice penetrates through the fog swirling around my head, his tone soothing and warm, wrapping around me like a blanket. It’s only then that I notice he’s hovering above me, his fingertips ghosting against my shoulders, and strangely I yearn for his touch. I want him to touch me, to wrap his arms around me and hold me together.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I whisper as I swipe a strand of hair from my sweaty forehead.

  Even in the dim lighting of the basement, I can see his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Did you just apologize for having a nightmare?”

  “I’m… I should have gone to bed,” I say, ignoring his comment.

  My legs are weak, my knees knocking together when I try to push up off the couch and pass him. I only take one unsure step before Clark takes me into his arms, his strong, firm arms pulling me into his warm chest.

  My body stiffens for about two seconds before I actually relax into his touch. Just like that time at the party, his embrace calms me, soothes the pain and somehow makes everything all better.

  “Whoever they are, whoever did this to you… I’m not them. I’ll never lay a hand on you.” His words slice through my skin, and into my rapidly beating heart. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I hope someday you trust me enough to tell me because I want to know. I want to help you, heal you.”

  I want to help you, heal you.

  Those words are like a beacon of light pulling me from the darkness, but I’m no fool. A man like Clark doesn’t want damaged goods like me. When he finds out the truth, he’ll run, he won’t save me, or heal me.

  “Nothing happened.” I force the words past my dry lips and pull from his embrace even though it pains me to do so. I can’t get comfortable with him. I can’t fall into his touch. I don’t need him, not when everyone I’ve ever needed has turned their backs on me.

  He can’t save me.

  He can’t heal me.

  I’m broken beyond repair.

  ◆◆◆

  When I wake up the next morning, I’m feeling a little better than I did when I went to bed. I didn’t have another nightmare, which is rare but leaves me rested and at ease. I tell myself that, that’s all it is. I feel better because I got a good night’s sleep, but in the back of my mind I know it’s more than that.

  I know it has something to do with the guy sleeping in the room next door to me. The only person who seems to be able to see through me, see through the brick wall I’ve built around myself. The only person who isn’t scared of the dark secrets hiding deep inside of me.

  Crawling from the plush queen-size bed, I walk into the adjoined bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face. Then I get dressed, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and sweatshirt before tiptoeing out of my room and into
the hallway. Peeking inside his room, through the cracked door, I find he’s not there. A heavy brick of disappointment ricochets around in my gut, but before it can settle a noise coming from downstairs reaches my ears.

  The rattling of pots, pans, and glass echoes up the stairs. I follow the sounds knowing instantly that they’re coming from the kitchen. Entering the room, I spot Clark with a frying pan in his hand trying to flip something that looks like a pancake.

  Oh God… this isn’t good.

  Unfortunately, he throws the half-done batter up in the air and fails to catch all the pieces with the pan. Smoke rises from the stovetop as the partial pancake lands on the burner.

  “Shit,” Clark curses.

  “Do you need some help?” I question, slowly walking over to him.

  “Maybe so.” He grins before turning off the stove and throwing the pan in the sink.

  “Do you like toaster strudels, because apparently I’m worse at cooking than I thought.”

  “Toaster strudels are the best.” I grinned back at him, his smile infectious.

  Ten minutes later we sit at the kitchen table across from each other digging into our steaming hot icing covered pastries. Clark’s fork is hovering inches away from his lips when the ding-dong sound of the doorbell chimes through the empty house.

  “What the fuck?” Clark snarls softly while shoving up from his chair. Annoyance written in his angelic features. “Give me a minute, and I’ll be right back. I have to see who the hell that is.” He disappears into the hallway and time seems to tick by slowly well he’s gone. I pick at my food, suddenly losing my appetite.

  My cell phone decides then to chime in my pocket, and I fish it out, the screen lighting up with an incoming text from my father. It’s a normal, obey, and listen or else text, the usual from my oh so loving father. Rolling my eyes, I exit out of the message and tap in the Facebook app. I scroll for a short while, skimming over pictures of people I barely know.

  I only have a few friends on there, really I don’t know why I’m on there at all, none of those people are my real friends anyway. I don’t have any real friends.

  Shoving my phone back into my pocket I sit there a little while longer before I get up. I shouldn’t care whoever it is that has Clark distracted, and I don’t or at least I tell myself that I don’t as I head for the stairs the sound of a feminine voice pierced my ears.

  “Come on, Clark, it’s been too long, you can’t turn me away?” the girl says with a seductiveness that I could never achieve.

  He is ditching you for another girl.

  The confession stings, but is one I can handle. It’s really none of my business, or at least it shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care who he screws, or sees, or any of that. I’m not his gatekeeper and I’m not about to cramp his style either. He can do whatever, and whoever he wants...

  Shaking my head, I try to get rid of all these unwanted thoughts and feelings. I walk up the stairs hoping I can slip past both of them without incident. I’m not ready to meet any of Clark’s friends.

  I make it halfway up the stairs before I hear the clicking of high heel shoes against the hardwood floors at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Who the hell is this? Are you fucking someone else? You better not have given me crabs or some shit like that.”

  “Shut up, Sarah, and get out. We aren’t fucking, we aren’t doing anything,” Clark growls and I’m surprised by the anger in his voice. Without turning around to face them, I continue walking up the stairs slowly, hoping, praying, that this Sarah chick will just leave me alone.

  “Hey, you! Don’t ignore me, turn around and talk to me!” Her voice is pure venom and meant to harm. I wish I was stronger and could just keep going up the stairs without giving in to her demand, but like the weakling I am, I listen to her and turned around to face them.

  Sarah is glaring up at me, her hand propped up on her hip, and her nose wrinkled like she smells something bad. I don’t like the way she’s looking at me, not one bit, and my stomach starts to churn as I wait for the onslaught of mental abuse to take place.

  “Let’s get one thing clear, skank, you are nothing but a one time fuck to Clark. He’ll always come back to me…”

  “Sarah!” Clark yells at her, his face a mask of fury as he grabs her arm and starts pulling her toward the door. Sarah shrieks, but has no choice but to follow.

  “What? It’s not like I’m lying...she’s nothing but a quick lay. You are only nice to her until you get her panties off, everyone who knows you will agree.” Her words are coated with desperation. Little does she know I’m nothing to Clark, nor will I ever be.

  Clark opens the front door with one hand and shoves her out with the other before slamming the door in her face. I can hear the lock clicking into place, and then he turns back around and looks up at me, his expression a mixture of anger and guilt.

  He moves toward me and the need to get away, to escape overwhelms me. I spin around and run up the stairs taking two steps at the time. My chest heaves, my heart pounding against my ribs trying to escape my chest like a trapped bird inside a wired cage. I hear him following me, which only adds to panic rising up inside me.

  I make it to my room just in time, pulling the door shut behind me and turning the lock before Clark catches up to me. On wobbly legs, I walk backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.

  “Em, please open up. Don’t listen to her, she was just being a bitch, it’s what she’s good at.” His muffled voice comes through the door and I cover my ears with my hands for good measure. I don’t want to hear his soothing voice right now. I don’t want to hear anyone right now. I decided then that I was wrong about him, somehow he fooled me into believing that he was different, that he was one of the good guys. I should’ve known better, then again, I’ve never been a good judge of character.

  Chapter Three

  Clark

  I haven’t been this fucking mad in a long time. Never in a million years did I think I would be spending the day trying to coax a girl out of her bedroom, a room that’s inside my house to make matters worse, but here I am. I do everything I can to get her to come out to, at least eat something, but she won’t budge.

  Fucking Sarah, that witch and her stupid mouth really freaked her out. I could kick myself in the fucking ass for even opening the door, or fucking her in the first place.

  For once in my life, I hate myself for being such a manwhore.

  Emerson was just warming up to me, even giving me some small, timid smiles over breakfast. Well, I guess that’s shot to hell.

  Fuck, I need a drink. I don’t think Emerson is going to open this door anytime soon. Not caring that it’s only two o’clock, I walk downstairs into the basement and open the liquor cabinet. An ache forms in my gut, it feels wrong to be drinking right now, but… shoving the thoughts away I pour the tumbler half full of whiskey and bring the glass filled with amber liquid to my lips. Just a sip. One sip. I only mean to take a sip but one sip isn’t enough to sedate me, and once the alcohol flicks against my tongue, and burns its way down my throat I decide to down the whole glass.

  It’s impulsive, bad… and the words remind me of what my father really thinks of me.

  The whiskey settles like a dumbbell in my stomach, familiar warmth expanding throughout my gut and without a doubt, I know this won’t be my last one. Seeing Emerson like this, broken and hurt, it hits too close to home. Memories of my mother flood my mind, images I often drown out with whiskey and a warm body.

  I couldn’t help my mom, but maybe I can help her.

  Maybe I can save Emerson.

  Pouring another glass of whiskey, I let my thoughts drown underneath the amber liquid. I drink and drink, the hours ticking by with nothing more than the whiskey bottle and me.

  By six o'clock I’m three sheets to the wind and Emerson still hasn’t come out of her room. Not even once. She needs to fucking eat. I make a turkey and ham sandwich to the best of my abilities and put it on a plate with some fruit and
a cup of yogurt. No five-star meal, but as I proved this morning, I’m a shitty cook.

  With the food in hand, I knock on her door softly. Trying to sound as sober as possible, I say, “I brought you some food. Please just open the door and take the food. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

  Her steps are so soft I barely hear them through the door. The lock clicks and the doorknob turns. For the first time all day, it feels like I can breathe. Emerson pulls the door open slowly, stopping when there is enough space for me to stick just the plate through. She lifts her hand and takes it, but before she can pull away and shut the door in my face, I make a rash decision. Grabbing hold of the wooden door frame, I pull the door open all the way.

  Emerson lets go of the plate and jumps backward, her beautiful blue eyes turn wild, glittering with fear and even from a few feet away, I can see her hands are trembling.

  She thinks I’m going to hurt her…

  “Please don’t look at me like that…” I slur.

  “Please leave… just… leave me alone,” she pleads and my heart breaks at her words. That’s what my mom used to tell me. She asked me to leave her alone and I listened to her. Maybe if I hadn’t listened to her and listened to my gut instead, she would still be here, alive.

  “I won’t leave you,” I tell her, shaking my head, determination coating my words. “But please don’t look at me like I’m going to hurt you. Please, don’t be scared of me.”

  “You’re drunk,” she points out and that wild look in her eyes overtakes her features now. She continues taking small steps backward, retreating farther into the room, farther away from me. I want her close, in my arms, safe, secure. It’s the strangest, but truest emotion I’ve ever felt before.