Page 39 of The Pact

She said this guy wouldn’t be trouble, yet as I stare at his smug face on my screen, I have a feeling that isn’t true.

14

THEA

The little bell above the shop door dings as I push it open. The Wolfe Creek Bookstore is nestled on the opposite end of town near City Hall. I don’t make it down this way much, so it’s easy to see how I could have missed it.

Also, reading hasn’t been on my list of priorities for a while.

My week is crammed. I’m completely booked for the first time since we opened the studio. I had to shuffle some things around to fit in my parent’s visit next weekend and now I’m in a crunch trying to find a belated Father’s Day gift. Thankfully, my father is a history buff and I know the perfect place to pick up something he might not already have.

Sutton is behind the counter, talking to a middle-aged man. I wave, then take in his pride and joy. Books line the walls without gaps or spaces, towering high above my head. Two oversized chairs sit next to one another in a corner. The sheer volume of books makes the store feel cozy—it’s the perfect sanctuary for my friend.

Past the counter, I see a book lined hallway leading to another room. “I’ll come find you in a minute,” Sutton tells me as I pass him, curious to explore and see how far back the store goes.

There’s a lack of fluorescent harshness that traditional bookstores have. Instead, warm light softly illuminates gold foiled spines. This is the kind of place you go into without expectations of what you’ll find. My finger runs over the books nearest to me, none of the titles familiar.

The hallway spits out into an open room, much larger than I’m expecting.

There’s a staircase with a sign that reads More Books Upstairs.

I ascend, coming to a landing with rows and rows of more books and another set of stairs. This place is incredible.

Walking down the aisles, I find a section that seems to house some non-fiction history books. So there is some organization, likely only clear to Sutton. In madness lies sanity. I remember the quote well from my freshman year, Sutton would recite it constantly—his reason for anything unconventional he did.

Browsing through the titles, I’m not sure where to begin. I know I want something obscure, something that my father won’t already have, yet what that might be is unclear. From the corner of my eye, I see movement. Whoever it is passes quickly.

I give up. Sutton will have to pick one for me. Turning to head back downstairs, I come face to face with him.

Gavin is a foot away. His cologne overpowers me. It’s musky and peppery, making my nose twitch. He’s giving me a playful grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thea, what are the chances?”

My eyes shift beyond him and I listen for footsteps, hoping that Sutton is on his way. Meeting Gavin’s gaze, I reply “Yes, I’m sure this was a coincidence.” My tone is flat. Still, he ignores the obvious sarcasm. “Listen, this is not okay—”

“Thea, please, just hear me out,” he interrupts.

I heave a sigh. “Isn’t that what I did yesterday?”

I can see in his eyes that he’s searching for something, any scraps of hope to hold on to. He won’t find it. Although, right now, there’s no one around and flashes of him grabbing me make me shudder. I may not want to give him hope, but I don’t want to piss him off. It’s why I met him at the restaurant yesterday, somewhere public where he couldn’t hurt me.

“Yes… well… I don’t think you’re giving me a fair chance here.” Gavin actually believes the words coming from his mouth. He thinks he’s entitled to my time. A surge of anger rises from the place where it’s been locked away. My jaw clenches, holding back all the insults I want to hurl at him.

Self-preservation, Thea.

I make to step around Gavin, needing to remove myself from the situation, but his arm shoots out, blocking me from leaving. Meeting his gaze, I can see the determination in his eyes—he’s not letting me go without getting his way. “You need to move,” I warn.

He reaches for me, wrapping his fingers around my wrist before I can pull away. “No. You need to give me another chance. I’m not throwing years of my life down the drain to start all over again.” He clamps down harder, too tight. It’s going to leave a bruise.

I should be terrified. The look on his face and the tenseness of his body tell me he’s unpredictable. For a moment, I wonder how far he’ll go. Would leaving a mark be enough or would he let himself get carried away? I don’t want to find out.

Being polite hasn’t worked. If I don’t fight back now, it’ll only get worse.

The words come out before I can second guess them. “You know what I think, Gavin? I think you’ve come here after a year because you realized that you have nothing to offer any woman. You’ve tried dating, am I right?” He starts to respond. However, it’s a rhetorical question I already know the answer to. “And what you’ve found is that no woman, well, at least the ones that appeal to you, want you. So you decided a few months ago to ‘improve yourself’, hoping to appear better than you are. But in the meantime, you thought you’d come crawling back because I’m the best thing you ever had. Am I right?”

My finger pushes into his chest with my free hand, his face slackens at my assessment of him. “Answer me, Gavin.” Anger flashes over his face and his fingers crush my wrist, making me yelp in pain. I think he might snap the bone. “You’re hurting me,” I push out between gritted teeth.

I’m not sure why I think that’ll make him let me go—it doesn’t. Gavin’s palm connects with my chest as he shoves me back into a bookshelf. My heart hammers against my ribs. He can feel my fear under his touch and I hate that.

Leaning down close enough that our noses touch, he sneers, “You know nothing. You’ve always been the dumb little art slut I took pity on.” The words shouldn’t sting. Somehow they do. I feel my face heat from embarrassment.

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