Page 11 of Limbo

I sigh. “It’s fine. I should check in on Connor anyway.”

He drops me off at my house and promises to come back for me later. Not soon enough though.

Two steps into the kitchen—

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Graham can’t even bother to open his eyes to bitch at me from his recliner in the living room, so I pass the doorway without answering him. More often than not, I never respond, and he never notices. I open the door to Connor’s room where he’s feeding Cate. Precisely what a ten-year-old should be doing on his bedroom floor—spooning strawberry yogurt into a one-year-old’s mouth.

“Hi,” he says, not losing focus on the task at hand.

“Where’s Lauren?”

He shrugs. “She left after lunch.”

In other words, no one other than him has paid any attention to the baby for the past few hours.

“Here.” I push the dark hair out of his eyes. “Go play.”

“I’m fine, Cal.”

I swipe the spoon from his hand. “I didn’t ask how you were, Con. I said, go play.”

My command receives a lopsided grin before he snatches up his basketball and dashes out the door.

“Slow the fuck down,” Graham yells at him.

I roll my eyes, picking up Cate and the yogurt container. A mess of a smile meets me as she giggles. Her brilliant blue eyes and brunette hair are a perfect match to mine. And our mother’s. Anytime someone points out how much I look like Lauren, I want to run to the nearest pair of scissors and start cutting. I think it’s a cruel joke, how much I resemble her, considering my worst nightmare is being anything like the woman.

Once I finish feeding Cate, I give her a bath, not seeing any other way to get her clean. She then hangs out on the kitchen floor while I make supper for Connor and me. Even if Lauren stumbles through the door, she won’t be in any condition to care for her children.

I shout at Connor to come inside and haul Cate to the living room. I leave her on a still-asleep Graham’s lap. “Watch her while I take a shower.”

He sits up, annoyed. “Where’s the slut?”

I walk away, not answering, not caring.

When I’m halfway to the dorms, a car drives past. The sloppy-drunk passenger yells something incoherent out the window. I pull out my phone.Great.After midnight.

It finally sinks in how stupid I am to be walking alone at night. Especially since I don’t actually have any pepper spray.

Before I worry much, faint footsteps resume behind me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of looking back, but part of me relaxes, knowing Jordan is still following. When he catches up again, rather than run him off, I ignore him. He lets me, staying quiet, his steps in time with mine.

Several blocks later, I check for cars out of the corner of my eye and realize the guy isn’t wearing a coat. Goddamn it. Why can’t he ever wear weather-appropriate clothing? I yank off my gloves and hold them out in his direction. Irritated or not, I’m still not willing to let him die of hypothermia. He takes them without a word.

Like at the party, I can feel his gaze on me. Sure enough, he stares. I roll my eyes, returning my attention straight ahead where it stays for the rest of our walk.

As we reach my building, I turn up the sidewalk. For a second, he keeps going straight but veers back and follows me all the way inside to my suite door on the second floor.

This is why you never feed a stray—or clothe one in my case. They expect it to keep happening, and eventually, you feel responsible for them not freezing to death, so you let them in the house. Exactly what I do when I unlock the door and leave it open for him.

From the couch, Cam’s and Jess’s eyes bug out, and their mouths fall open at the sight of him entering behind me. I never bring guys to the dorm. Another rule apparently arbitrary when dealing with Jordan Waters. If I maintained any plans to sleep with him, it would bother me more, but he destroyed any chance of that happening.

I gesture back at him, not slowing down for more formal introductions. “Jess, Cam, this is Jordan.”

While they gawk, I hang up my coat. Then my shadow accompanies me to my room. He stops inside the doorway, eyes scanning. They hover on my bed for a second before climbing the wall to my countdown calendar.

One hundred sixty-eight days until nineteen.

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