{18+ COMPLETED • COLLEGE ROMANCE}
When a college freshman with a learning disability and a reputation collides with a straight-A, straight-laced girl in the dorm kitchen one night, he sees the darkest parts of himself reflected in her. But the two o...
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B R E N
The rain had begun to pour, splashing against my Camry's windshield that night as I'd waited for word from Nessa. At least I was able to open my windows and stick my fists out, letting the rain wash the blood away from my knuckles.
It was hard to say if I'd broken any bones since everything in me seemed to hurt. But I didn't think so.
After Nessa texted that Madie was awake, I had pulled out of the hospital parking lot and headed back to campus. It only took me a few minutes to pack a few bags of my stuff, but then I sat there, staring at the door for hours. Beau wasn't around. I'd wondered if Nessa had talked to him.
I hadn't been able to bring myself to leave that night. As much as I wanted to get away, I couldn't drive out of the city with Madie in the condition that she was.
So I waited until the next afternoon when Nessa texted that Madie was up and asking to see me.
And then I hit the highway.
I was terrified of how much I cared for that girl. But there was traumatization, too. Madie came so close to the parts of my past that I'd tried to bury so deep. Coming to college was supposed to be my chance at starting over, and here I was, reliving things that were supposed to stay as memories.
I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be what Madie needed me to be. Because what scared me the most was that I would fail her.
Just like I'd failed my mom.
Honestly, Madie was better off without me now. She had Nessa and Beau, and her parents were on their way to Oakland to be with her. They would report Quinton, and he would go to jail. And hopefully, I wouldn't end up there beside him with assault charges.
I'd texted Caroline that I was on my way, and she was waiting by the front door when I arrived. The look on her face said it all, but she didn't utter a single word. She took my bags from my hands, her eyes lingering on my swollen knuckles. Then she set the luggage aside and made me sit down at the kitchen table to eat lasagna.
That was just the kind of woman that Caroline was. A select few people in this world would volunteer to foster a teenage boy with dead parents, but Caroline seemed to be someone made for the job. I wasn't even her foster kid anymore. I'd aged out of the system. Technically, I was alone. But Caroline had made sure I never felt that way.
She didn't bother me for days. Even when I did reckless things like selling my Camry to buy a '75 Mustang convertible. I sat in her garage tinkering with it for hours, letting my vinyls play on repeat. The same songs, over and over. There were equal parts comfort and pain in those melodies. And I couldn't decide between the two.
After a week, she found me.
I'd just finished patching up a screen on one of her front windows. I knew this house would need work when I came back. One of her pesky kittens had somehow made a massive hole with its tiny claws. Now that kitten—Hugo—was sitting in my lap as I perched on the front steps, smoking a cigarette.
