No.
It can’t be.
He isn’t supposed to contact me, that’s what the agreement said.
The contract.
A shudder rolls through me, but a bitter laugh spills from my lips.
It’s ironic that two days after I finally choose to let another person inside me, when I finally push past all of the pain and self-loathing and emptiness and let myself forget... he texts me.
Timothy Davenport.
Just seeing his name in the chat box sends my heart into a tailspin. Not because I want him still, I don’t... but because our lives are still inextricably linked.
As long as I remember what happened—and I’ll never forget—I’ll never truly be free of Tim.
&n
bsp; Yet, Cole makes me feel free. He makes me feel like it’s okay to have this darkness inside me.
He makes me feel like me again.
Not the tainted version; not the version ostracized for loving the wrong person or making mistakes.
I blink, tears dripping onto the phone screen. Wiping them away, I inhale a thin breath and read the message again.
Hi, how are you?
Four little words that shouldn’t affect me so much. But they do. They reach inside me and grasp my heart in a vise of agony.
I don’t reply.
I can’t.
But the message displays that little green tick that lets him I know I’ve seen it.
Dammit.
And damn him.
It’s been more than two years since I last saw or spoke to Tim. After everything happened, my family all but locked me in my room until it was time to ship me here. He wasn’t allowed to call or visit, and he shouldn’t be texting me now.
My finger hovers over the trash can symbol. I should just do it. I should delete the four little words that hold so much power over me and then block him on social media.
But those four little words don’t only wreck me, they reignite something I thought I’d lost.
Hope.
No, Hadley, this isn’t a reconciliation. It will never be that.
I hit delete and shove my cell in my blazer pocket. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late to practice and then Miss Jones will be on my back, digging where I don’t need her to be digging.
Steeling myself, I dab my eyes one more time before hitching my bag up my shoulder and taking off toward the main cluster of buildings.
There’s a chill in the air, a reminder that the balmy fall days are giving way to the crisper days of winter. I love the sun, the heat on my skin, the sand beneath my toes, but there’s something about winter. The milder, usually wetter days resonate with something inside me.
By the time I reach the girls’ locker room, most of the squad are already changed out of their uniform. Lylah is holding court, a harem of girls hanging on her every word. Her eyes snap to mine and she glowers. “You’re late.”