Page 25 of Keep Me Still
Elyse is our RA and she’s been filling Corin’s head with this type of vital knowledge since we moved in. Not a day goes by that my roommate doesn’t dump some Elyse-infused wisdom on me.
“And don’t be early to class or write down everything the professors say.” She points a finger at me. “Oh, and don’t dress up or wear a lot of makeup either.” Corin goes on, and I’m craning my neck but I’ve lost sight of the girl in the window. “Layla, are even you listening to me?”
“Mmhm. Show up late, sit in the back, dress like a slob, don’t take notes. Got it.”
She blows out a frustrated breath. “I’m serious. If it’s obvious we’re freshman, we won’t get invited to any of the good parties. And if we do, it’ll just be by guys who think we’re stupid and going to give it up.”
“I solemnly swear that I will dress for comfort and sit in the back with you. Happily.” I’ll have no trouble blending in like she wants because I’ve done it before. Sat in the back and tried to disappear. I was good at it, too. Or so I thought.
Soon we’ve made it to the front of the line, and I’ve forced myself to stop scanning the place for the girl who I think might be my kindred spirit, if there is such a thing. I order an iced mocha and pay while Corin orders her ginormous caramel macchiato next to me. I make a mental note to remember what she likes for when we’re cramming like maniacs and it’s my turn for a caffeine run.
I smile at her profile, so proud of myself for finally getting here. For clawing my way out of the darkness that shadowed my past and making it to where I always wanted to be. On my own—not a burden on Aunt Kate or Landen or anyone. My life is finally some semblance of normal. Again, the familiar guilty tug pulls because I couldn’t have gotten here without him. Without the one person who hurt me almost as much as the man who murdered my parents.
As we turn to leave, I glance at the now empty chair by the window and wish I’d said something to her. Let her know that someone saw her, noticed that she existed. Mattered. Because that’s what he did for me.
But I don’t have time to regret not speaking for long, because when Corin and I step out of the store, a black truck full of guys drives past. One of them whistles, probably at my supermodel of a roommate, and my world pitches hard right.
“Hey, you okay?” Corin asks, coming closer to me.
I take a deep breath and the panic subsides.Don’t do this. Not now, not here.
“Yeah, I’m good. I probably should’ve eaten more this morning.” Smiling as wide as I can get my face to manage, I force the memory of a boy with a very similar truck out of my head.
“Okay. Holy shit, those guys were hot,” Corin announces, changing the subject as she practically skips ahead of me on our way to the stadium. “I love college already.”
“Maybe you should have gotten decaf,” I answer, willing my mouth to keep grinning as I try to shake off my memories of that truck. Maybe I should just tell her everything so I don’t have to exhaust myself forcing smiles and reminding my lungs to breathe every time something like this happens. Or maybe I should grow up already and stop letting every single thing on Earth remind me of the boy who broke my heart.
Part of me just wants to tell her everything, get it all out. My condition, what my last test results indicated, and even abouthim. But another part of me still can’t trust another person with my heart for fear they’ll shatter it all over hell like he did.
Dormsfor athletes are nicer than the ones for regular freshmen. Thank fuck because if I had to cram in some tiny closet with a dude I barely knew, well, one of us probably wouldn’t make it out alive.
As I carry my crap in, I notice that I’m in one of two adjoining quad rooms that share a bathroom. Four shower stalls, sinks, and toilets are all that separate me and my roommates from four other guys on the university soccer team. Could probably throw a hell of a party in there, get some serious steamed-up action going in those showers with whatever girls are willing. Not that I’ve felt much like partying this past year.
I already know most of these guys from summer workouts so we don’t waste time with introductions. We just pick out our beds and unload our shit. Lucas Taite and a few older guys from the team tell us the best places to party on and around campus as we finish up.
“We’re getting introduced at freshmen orientation in a few hours so you fuckers need to get a move on,” Ben Blackburn sneers. He’s from Scotland so it comes out more like “fookers.” He’s the fullback and the biggest dude on the team. But he’s only an inch or two taller than me. Not that I’m comparing. He’s also a complete dumbass and how the hell he’s made it to his junior year of college is beyond me.
“And don’t forget, ladies, you have to clean the field house and spit-shine the locker rooms,” he adds, probably because he gets off on hassling the eight of us who are freshmen. For now I’m letting it go because I don’t want to get kicked off the team. It’d give my dad a hard-on if I fuck this up.Soccer is a pussy sport,he informed me each time I chose to play it instead of football. I grit my teeth and dump my comforter and sheets onto my bed so we can head to the field house.
“Chill, man,” Skylar Martin says under his breath as he does the same. “It’s just for a year, and then we’ll be the ones giving the orders.” He says something else but I don’t hear it. Because what he just said reminds me of a time I’ve shoved, kicked, and fucking wrestled out of my memory.
“It’s just for a year or two, Landen,” my mom would say each time we moved. Right, a year or two. Long enough to make a few friends so it would hurt like hell when we had to leave again, but not long enough to ever be missed. Same shit, different town. Not that my stupid little kid feelings mattered compared to the Colonel’s oh-so-important highly classified position. I learned the hard way what complaining about moving so much got me. Stitches. A cast. Compliments of dear old dad. By the time I entered high school, I learned to keep my mouth shut. I also learned not to bother forming any kind of attachments to anyone. And I was doing a pretty damn good job. Until we moved to Hope Springs. Until I mether.
“O’Brien, you good to drive?” Skylar asks as we load into my truck. He’s watching me with a weird look in his eyes. As if I weren’t one hundred percent there. Shit, I must’ve been spacing out again.
“Yeah. I am. It’s not like we’d all fit in your P.O.S. anyways.” Once we’re all in, I back out into the street and head towards the field house to clean up before orientation. Skylar, Austin, and Michael are crammed into the extended cab of my truck while the guys rooming in the quad attached to ours are piled in the back. Not sure if that’s legal in California, not sure I give a fuck either.
“Dude. It kind of smells like a girl in here. You hiding a chick in the floorboard?” Skylar asks, looking around, probably for an air freshener or something.
Fuck me. I knew I should’ve gotten rid of it. There’s a bottle of lotion in the center console that belonged to her. Because I’m slightly addicted to the sweet peaches and cream scent of Layla Flaherty. It lives on. Just like the image of her perfect face that’s seared into my mind.
I nod to the console and he laughs. “Nice. Jerkin’ lotion in the truck. I hear ya, buddy.”
“Belonged to a girl I dated,” I practically grunt at Skylar, praying he’ll shut the hell up about it.
“Was she hot? Cause I’m getting a semi just from the smell.”
I go to punch him lightly, but if his flinch is any indication, I failed. I don’t like him talking about her. Just the thought of him—or anyone—thinking about Layla like that, with a half hard dick, is enough to make me see red.
