Page 34 of Kept

When my fingers no longer felt like icicles dangling from my arms, he released me, one hand resting on the gear shift. “Explain what you meant by your mother, Jane.”

I tucked my fingers between my thighs to keep them warm and looked out the window at the rivers of water pouring from the eaves of Bourdillon. So my answer to his texthadbeen on his mind. “She has- had- cancer. It’s in remission, but she’s still so… fragile. I don’t know if she’s going to come back from it entirely.” My tone dropped as I gave voice to my worst fear.

To my embarrassment, a hot tear welled up in the corner of my eye. I wiped it away surreptitiously, hoping that Vincent didn’t notice. He was so cruel and dominant in everything he did that a crying woman in his car would probably just irritate him.

“You take care of her.” He didn’t phrase it like a question, like he already knew the answer. “On top of your studies and library internship.”

I wasn’t going to point out that in-home care was beyond my reach. “Yes.”

He made a soft noise of assent and put the Cadillac in reverse. The silence between us was strangely comfortable, like he drove students home every night.

Of course he probably gave his last Pet rides, the acerbic voice of reason whispered.

“Is that why you chose Bourdillon? For access to the Petersen Cancer Center.” His question broke that comforting silence, but his questions didn’t irritate me the way someone else digging into my business would have.

“For more than that.” We left the glow of Bourdillon’s streetlamps for the dark, winding twist of the forest’s roads. “It was a large part of it, though. I thought as long as she had more time, she’d be able to see me earn a degree from a prestigious university. That was what she wanted, and I wanted her to be somewhere that… if the worst were to pass, she’d have only the best for her care.”

There was a large part of me that was relieved that he didn’t give me the usual “I’m so sorry” platitudes that people said when there was nothing else to say. At first the support was nice, but after a while, when the worry was eating at my gut like a living creature, every condolence started to feel like Mom was already in the grave and people were preemptively mourning.

He didn’t say anything else, and the way home was so much faster in a car, anyways. Less than a minute later the Cadillac rolled up in front of the glow of the cottage.

I grabbed my bag and made to open the door, but Vincent reached out and took my hand again, stopping me mid-motion.

He pulled me across the center console and tilted his head, catching me off guard in a kiss I hadn’t seen coming.

I dropped the bag and the handle, cradling his face in my hands as I kissed him back, stars blossoming behind closed eyelids. I didn’t want to dwell on Mom or that this kiss was utterly forbidden, a one-way ticket to hell and a whole lot of trouble.

All I wanted to do was drown in someone who was so much harder and more stoic than I’d ever be.

I trailed my fingers through the thick beard that scratched my face, drinking up every flick of his tongue, and gasped against his lips when he wound a hand through my hair and pulled me closer.

When we broke away, I was sure I had stars in my eyes. No matter what a bastard he’d been the first time I’d literally run into him, every little bit of hate I thought I could muster for him was melting into something else.

He ran his thumb over my swollen lower lip. “Good night, Pet.”

“Good night, Professor Thayer.” I swallowed, hoping the hammer of my heart wasn’t audible in the close confines of the car.

The Dean caught my fingers before I left. “One more rule, Pet. When we’re alone together, it’s Vincent.”

I managed to keep my smile hidden until I was in the cottage with the door shut behind me, and the sound of tires scraping gravel had faded outside.

Chapter Twelve

Despite the babysteps of progress I’d made with Vincent on Monday, almost a full week passed before I saw any of the Three Demons again.

Rachelle was perfectly happy to fill my quietness with the news that all three of them were attending a conference, that her Victoria’s Slut-cret statue form was already coming along nicely, and that Sean had met a nice girl at the Grind Haus last week.

The last bit of news gave me a bit of relief, but with my owners gone, I felt unnecessarily gloomy. The dichotomy of being torn between anger of knowing I’d been used, and the need I felt for them, was a deeper emotion than I was willing to ponder for long, but it still occupied most of my thoughts against my will.

I threw myself into studying just to pass the time. No texts came, and I wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

Friday morning came with a knock on the door only minutes before my alarm went off. I wrapped a robe around my shoulders and shuffled to the door, dragging a hand through the wild dandelion clock of my hair.

A woman with a smile that was way too bright for six-thirty on a Friday morning stood on my porch, wearing pink scrubs and holding a white tote. “Good morning! Is this the Fawkes residence?”

There was a van parked in the driveway. The gears of my brain were still clogged with sleep, and her smile somehow became even bigger, as though she could transfer some of her energy over to me. “I’m Dana Jones, from the Petersen Center’s in-home services department. Is Elizabeth Fawkes here? We just need to take care of a few things before I get started, but I’ll be stopping by every day…”

She kept talking, but I tuned out the words for a second, completely wide awake.

---