Yeah. That tracks.
I check my watch. 3:47.
Shit.
I have thirteen minutes to make it across campus to the park and to the most important meeting of my life. It’s my first real shot with Tiff, and I’m about to blow it because Professor Williams thinks her class is the only thing that matters.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. The fifth time in an hour. I pull it out as I jog across the quad, narrowly avoiding a dog-walker, a skateboarder, and a group of students stretched across the lawn.
Every obstacle feels like it’s purposely trying to block me from my destiny, reminding me that I might not be enough here.
Father:Your accounts have been frozen. Your cards will stop working by end of business today. This is your last chance to come to your senses.
Great. Fucking great. Another vibration.
Asher: Dude, you need to call me ASAP.
I shove the phone back in my pocket, my pace quickening. I'd known this was coming, and had been waiting for it since I hit submit on that transfer application and my mom called me, but the reality still hits like a sucker punch.
I'm broke. Or at least I will be, soon enough.
The money I’ve managed to hide away will last me about six months, less if I’m stuck in a hotel for longer, but none of that matters right now. What matters is getting to that park, on time, looking like I have my shit together for once in my sorry life.
Zach Evans' face leers at me from every goddamn corner. He's on posters, banners, even a fucking cardboard cutout in the campus bookstore window I rush past, and in every single photo, he's grinning at me, taunting me over the mess I've gotten myself into.
“Look who's begging for attention now, dime dick.”
It's all I hear when I see his photo, and I'm surprised I haven't seen him yet. I don't hate the guy. Not really. Sure, I was a monumental asshole to him in high school, and to Honey, for that matter, but I hated myself more. Finding out I was adopted wasn’t the thing that killed me the most. It was the way it was hidden. The way I was never supposed to know, and my father just expected me to bounce back from it.
Do I regret the way I behaved in high school? Don't we all? But regret doesn't change anything. Doesn't change the fact I cheated on the one person who actually seemed to like me. Doesn't change the fact that Zach Evans probably wanted me dead before I got his cousin pregnant. Who knows what the hell he wants to do to me now that I've willingly walked into her life again.
Another text vibrates in my pocket. I don't need to look to know it's either my father threatening to disown me or Asher trying to talk sense into me. Neither is going to work. Not when I'm this close.
I cut across the grass, taking a shortcut through the humanities building, when a hulking figure steps directly into my path, blocking the sunlight like a human eclipse.
“Nicks? What the fuck?!”
Zach Evans stands frozen ten feet away, looking like he's seen a ghost, or worse…me. Time stops as our eyes lock. His jaw clenches so hard I can practically hear his teeth grinding from here as his hands ball into fists at his sides.
For a split second, I consider running, but I'm through with that. I'm done hiding behind my name and letting other people feel the pain and consequences of my actions. I'm manning up for once.
“Evans,” I say with the unfortunate need to clear my throat at the end. “Been a while.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He takes a step forward.
I give him a tight smile. “Wow, Scholarship Kid, your vocabulary has vastly reduced since coming to college. I guess that's what happens when you go to a place like St. Michael's.”
His teeth grind as his hands clench at his sides. Admittedly, in high school, Zach and I were much more evenly matched in size and stature. Now? Well, even I can admit that Evans has clearly been eating a lot of protein. The guy is stacked, and as much as I shouldn’t say anything to poke the bear, I just can't help myself.
It's the kind of relationship we have.
“I'm going to ask you one more time. What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is tight, and his face is red.
I take the executive decision to step back, because while I wouldn’t call my face perfect, I happen to like it the way it looks now, post-nose-job, courtesy of one of our delightful little high school interactions.
I glance at my watch. 3:52. Shit.
“Look, Evans, I'd love to catch up, but I'm running late for something important.”