Page 11 of Bound By Water
Why all the lies and secrecy? Who would think I was a threat? Who is Raven? Nothing makes sense.
“Mind if I join you?” Trent’s deep voice startles me, and I jump.
With dread, I turn my gaze from the parking lot to him and reluctantly agree. “Sure.” Coincidence? Suspicious, I study him, noting the dark circles under his eyes.
He sets his food down and slides into the booth across from me. “I was going to call you. My dad is returning to Washington early. If you want to move our tutoring session to Monday again, that works for me.”
Will Lionel make it back by Sunday? I flash a wobbly smile, trying to make it seem like everything is fine. If he’s following me, I don’t want him to know I suspect him. “Sure, Monday sounds good.” I pause for a second to find something normal to ask. “Why kinesiology?”
He swallows his food and shrugs. “I’m not good enough to get drafted. Kinesiology allows me to stay in sports and work with athletes.” His lips twist in a wry smile. “And no, I’m not interested in politics like my dad.” This last statement is tacked on in a slightly bitter tone.
Sounds like a sensitive subject. “Well, it’s a great field. Your hands-on knowledge of sports and the way athletes move will be invaluable to your clients.” I take a bite of my wrap.
“What about you? Why did you decide to go into physical therapy?”
I swallow and take a sip of my drink. “When I was in high school, I was in a serious car accident.” I shudder and pause for a second to think about the word I’ve said a thousand times before but no longer believe. Accident. Everything I’ve known and done during the last nine years is based on a lie. I glance up at Trent and force myself to continue. “It took months of rehab for me to be able to walk again. My physical therapist, Kyle, was a miracle worker. I want to help others like he helped me.” That part is true, at least.
His gaze moves from my face to my shoulder. “Is the scar on your shoulder from the accident?”
I lift a hand and rub a thumb across my sweater where it resides underneath. “Yes.” I stop. The mark was there when I woke up in the hospital. Doctors couldn’t tell me what caused it. They chalked it up to possibly hitting a tree.
His jaw clenches. “Was anyone else hurt?”
I frown. “In the accident?”
He scrunches up the napkin in his hand and leans forward.
Even though I rarely talk about it, the intensity of his expression is unnerving.
“My parents. They died,” I murmur, not wanting anyone else to hear me.
“Your real parents?” he asks with an intense look.
“Of course, my real parents,” I confirm, confused by his question. It’s not as if I was adopted.
Releasing a long, slow exhale, he looks away for a second. “I understand. My mom died, too. It’s tough to talk about, isn’t it?” When his gaze returns to me, his eyes are blazing, full of anger and loss. The expression in their depths is riveting.
Is that what I’ll look like? Angry? Lost? Is it because he needs answers? His mother committed suicide. It was all over the news. Beautiful model married to senator with an adorable son. She had everything. Yet, she purposely overdosed on painkillers. Why did she kill herself? The speculation had been rampant.
I can’t imagine going through all that in the public eye. “I’m sorry. Losing a parent, or in my case both… it’s an emptiness you carry the rest of your life,” I whisper quietly. “The only thing I can do is remember them and the good times we had. Live my life the best way I can.”
If anything, my words seem to make him angrier.
My stomach churns. Unable to finish my wrap, I roll up the paper around it to save it for dinner. Just in time, too. The bistro starts filling with students hungry for lunch.
Uneasy, my eyes dart from one to the other. “I’ve got to go. See you Monday. Just text me a time.” Scrambling out of the booth, I grab my leftovers and walk away, leaving him to stare after me.
CHAPTER7
WILLA
Lionel’s text appears the next morning. Unable to sleep, I’m already up and drinking coffee when I see the notification pop up on my phone.
LIONEL: Returning Monday. Confirm.
After confirming receipt, I drop the phone on the couch beside me and let out a huge sigh of relief. He’s alive and coming home in two and a half days.
Sunday and Monday. The rest of today. I can do this. Tempted to stay in my safe apartment, I quickly realize I’ll go stir crazy if I don’t get out. Normal routine, right? I force myself to get dressed. The fridge is empty, and that was the last of the coffee.
