The Scammer(72)

His eyes flicker away, arms tightening. “I didn’t want to tell anyone. Talking about it . . . is re-traumatizing. It happened two years ago, and in a small town like this, you never forget it. No one lets you forget. I’m always ‘the boy whose girlfriend got murdered in his front yard.’ Or ‘the boy whose rich parents let a Black family raise him.’”

“I know, says ‘the girl whose brother killed himself in his dorm room.’”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “But at Frazier, I thought I could just start over. Leave the past behind me.”

“And never date again? You know that’s not realistic.”

He rubs a hand back and forth over his thigh.

“Remember when we talked about the five stages of grief? Sometimes I think I’m stuck in the bargaining phase. Like, if I stay alone, then maybe no one will ever get hurt again being with me and maybe I can finally forgive myself.”

I shake my head. “That’s not how it works.”

“I know,” he admits with a shrug. “But never kept me from trying.”

That he does. He always tries. This moment seems too perfect for me to touch with my fears. I don’t want it to. But I want to feel safe and loved. I want Nick but I’m afraid of losing him. I’ve lost so much already. The girls. Kevin. Can I chance losing Nick too?

“You think you could try another way . . . with me?”

He stares for a moment. Then without warning, he cups my cheek. An electric shock pulses through my body, the hairs on my arm skyrocketing and muscles below my stomach I didn’t even know existed tightening. I meet his gaze forgetting how to breathe as the pad of his thumb rubs my collarbone.

He smiles. “I would like that . . . very much.”



* * *




Nick is a good kisser.

We kissed on the Jet Ski, on the dock, against the back door, on the kitchen counter, by the stair banister. There’s a desperation in his kiss, a ravenous hunger. Before I know what we are doing, we’re kissing our way down the hallway, toward his room . . . toward his bed.

We stop in the middle of his room and I break away, just to catch my breath. But in that short second, his body locks stiff. He stares out his window and, in an instant, his eyes grow wide, pupils dilated, as if he was watching it happen all over again. He spins away with a stumble, holding the door frame to keep from falling. I step into the hall, into his line of sight, and rub his arms, consoling him.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight. I’ve never seen him so pale and shaken. He tries to breathe through the panic, wheezing up air.

“What . . . happened?”

White-knuckling the door, he looks down at me, and I can see he’s questioning himself but pushes through.

“Ashley and I had been friends since kindergarten. I always had a little crush on her. She didn’t pay me the time of day. During our freshman year, she met this senior at our rival school. Eric. He was intense. Used to rough her up bad. I didn’t know until one day, after school, I caught him slapping her.

“I convinced her to just leave him. To break up with him. And she did. But he didn’t take it well. I said, he’ll get the hint. He didn’t. Stalked her at school, at work, even fucked up my car. Anita said that I should go to the police but . . . I didn’t want to be some rich white kid reporting a Black guy. He just turned eighteen. An adult.

“One night, she was in her car, and he was following her. She called me and I told her to just come to my house. I was in my room when she pulled up, and as soon as she got out of the car, he shot her. The sound was so . . .” He shudders. “I thought he was just being a dick. But that look in his eye . . . I’ll never forget it. I should have taken it seriously. I should have told her to drive straight to the police station, not to my house. If she did, maybe she would still be alive. My parents reminded me of that after the funeral.”

I realize I’ve been holding a hand to my mouth, riveted. So much about him makes sense now. I inch closer and hold his face between my palms.

“Nick. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill her.”

He takes a deep breath. “So that’s it. That’s my story. You know everything now. And now you know . . . why I can’t do this.”

I blink. “What?”

“I don’t think I can do this, Jordyn. I can’t go through something like that again. It almost killed me.”

“But you just . . . you said . . . and today.” I huff, with a stomp. “You can’t keep on changing your mind like this. It isn’t fair!”

Even as I say it, I know it’s an unrealistic expectation to put on him. But how could he expect me to react any other way?

Nick’s hands clench, his face a war of emotions. “Don’t you know how freaked out I am, having feelings for you? I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Don’t you think I want to be with you?”

“You can if you really wanted,” I snap.

He stabs at his chest. “What’d you want me to do? Just get over it? It’s not that simple.”

Hearing the words I said to Jack just a few weeks ago is like a splash of freezing cold water to the face.

I sigh, shoulders sagging. “I know. Believe me, no one knows you don’t just get over it more than me.”