Page 79 of It's You
Jack’s nostrils had flared with this information. He couldn’t help but hope that her comfort in the woods was an unconscious manifestation of her connection to him. It made his heart thump louder in his ears, and he rubbed his eyes, worried that his feelings were getting so intense that his eyes would start to burn.
“Oh no. I think my contact shifted,” he said, eyes down, still rubbing.
“Can I help?” Cassie put her hand on his shoulder, and he stepped back from her. He needed to get away.
“No, ma’am. I’ll just go wash it out. Great running into you, Mrs. Turner.”
“Oh, you, uh, you…too, Lloyd. I’ll tell Darcy…” He heard her voice over his shoulder as he practically sprinted out of the store, dropping the basket in a pile by the door.
His truck was parked in the back of the parking lot, and he jumped in, turning over the engine. Catching his eyes in the rearview mirror, he saw he was right. They burned yellow. But it didn’t matter now that he was alone. He knew where she was. Boston. Harvard. Botany. He could find her. He pointed his truck south and started driving.
He bleached his hair blond,just in case, and dressed in a Boston College hoodie, pulled low, before finding a seat on a bench outside the Botanical Museum at Harvard, where he sat waiting for two days. The second day, he saw her. Well, in all honesty, he smelled her first.
Her scent had changed the slightest bit from eight years ago. It was less girl, more woman, and infinitely more distracting to fully matured Jack. He’d been sitting on the bench cracking peanut shells open with his teeth when the wind had changed, drawing his attention to the walkway coming from the academic buildings.
Darcy.
Darcy Turner.
Mine.
His eyes felt drugged and heavy watching her walk toward the museum. She was alone and walked quickly, her flip-flops thwacking the pavement with each step she took. Her hair was still straight and long, still strawberry-blonde, the color of cantaloupe melon. She wore denim cutoff shorts, which showed off her long, tanned legs, and a moss green, scooped-neck T-shirt that hugged her prominent breasts, which had filled outas she matured. He stared at the shadowed, tan valley between them, clenching his eyes shut against the waves of lust that were starting to overwhelm him, then quickly opened them, not wanting to miss a moment when she was in his sight. As she entered the building, he checked out her waist, which was small, and her hips and backside, which were womanly and rounded. As the door closed behind her, he let out the breath he’d been holding.
His body was rigid with need, his erection bigger and harder than he could ever remember. Every muscle coiled with the need to spring after her, touch her, taste her, mate with her, make up for the long, lonely years without her. He swallowed the lump in his throat painfully, bending his head and resting his elbows on his knees. He’d seen her. The plan was to see her and go directly home. But now that he’d seen her, he needed to see more. Even if he couldn’t touch her. Even if he couldn’t speak to her. He had to see more.
People came and went from the museum as the afternoon wore on until the door opened again, and Jack looked up to see Darcy exiting the building. He sat up straighter on the bench, watching as she turned her neck to smile at someone behind her, and his heart leaped to see her lips tilt up in a smile. He drank in the sight of her standing in the afternoon sun and felt his body involuntarily start to stand, pulled toward her by a force stronger than him. But Jack’s heart soon took a dive, crashing onto the pavement at his feet, when the object of her smile followed her out of the building and put his arm around her waist. The interloper pressed his lips to Darcy’s, smiling at her, and Jack threw up in his mouth, turning away from them in loathing.
While he had worried about her safety and general happiness, one thing had never occurred to him, and seeing it now soured his stomach and made him feel faint.
His woman had a boyfriend.
Out of breathfrom the speed of his run, Jack stopped running for a minute, looking around to orient himself. He’d run clean across six miles of preserve, deep in thought. He was coming up on Dooley Meadow, then Beaver Pond, and then he’d come out in the field behind the Second Congregational Church. He slowed his pace, his fingers fanning out over the high grasses as Darcy liked to do, and he turned his thoughts back to Boston.
Jack walked by the bench where they’d sat together playing quid pro quo and made his way out of the woods, finding himself on the field behind the church. He looked up at the white steeple, brightly lit by a spotlight on the ground, and felt the old anger toward the institution that had forced his people from their lands so long ago. He took a deep breath, turning onto Main Street, remembering the soft light that would filter out of the window from her apartment in Boston.
He had eventually gottenhimself under control enough to follow her and the man home. He recognized the man from his year at Carlisle High School. Phillip Proctor, of the nefarious Proctors, whose ancestors had forced the Beauloups and other Roug families from their land. He clenched his jaw, hatingPhillip, even hating Darcy, a little. He braced himself to watch Phillip follow Darcy into her apartment, but was relieved when they kissed goodbye at her doorstep while Jack squatted across the street, pretending to tie his shoe.
“Can’t I come in, gorgeous? Philly wants to come out and play,” he’d whined, touching her cheek with his bony, patrician fingers. Jack wished he could break those fingers one by one.Snap. Snap. Snap.As for Philly? There were dark things Jack would like to do to “Philly.”
“Phillip,” she’d said, smiling gently, pulling back from him to find her keys. “I have to write up my notes, and I have a big paper due tomorrow. You’d be a distraction.”
Jack didn’t like the implications of this and looked down again as his eyes started to burn.
“You’re no fun,” Phillip pleaded, tracing her lips with another finger. “All work and no play…”
“Means Darcy graduates!” she finished with a chuckle. She winked at him and hurried into her building, pulling the door shut behind her and leaving Phillip panting after her on the stoop.
That’s my girl,thought Jack. He looked up at her address. He’d be back later. He had other business for now.
Phillip stood in front of her building for a moment, as though he couldn’t decide what to do next. Then he pulled out his flip-top cell phone and started dialing. Jack crossed the street to follow a few feet behind him. He watched as Phillip glanced back at Darcy’s building one last time before speaking.
“Michelle? Phillip Proctor. Yeah, from Saturday night. Uh-huh. Are you as hot as I remember?” Phillip chuckled. “Scorching, huh? So I was wondering what you’re doing now? Is that right? All alone…I could fix that if you wanted some company?” Phillip chuckled again. “Okay, gorgeous. See you in ten? You bet.” He flipped the phone shut and hailed a cab.
Jack had seen and heard all he needed to know. It would have been one thing if Phillip were a highly principled, caring, attentive boyfriend who put Darcy’s needs and wants before his own. Oh, sure. Jack still would have hated Phillip’s guts, but he also would have grudgingly respected his place in Darcy’s life while he was unable to claim her.
But Phillip—and Philly, for that matter—was cheating on Darcy. Cheating on the sweetest, smartest, sexiest, most amazing woman in the world. Jack’s blood boiled, and he darted into an alleyway as his claws protracted from the blinding fury in his heart.
Phillip was going to pay.
