Page 8 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
He answers the same way, a surly teenage boy, fierce and vulnerable at once. “You made me care. You made me want, when I needed to leave. You made me feel, when I would have preferred to die. You brought me back to life.”
And I condemned him to torture. That’s what happened when he sacrificed himself so that I could stay safe. Two children with so few choices. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry. I got my revenge, after all.”
My blood runs cold, almost subzero at the words. There’s only one person left in my sad little family. One person he could hurt. “Did you hurt him?”
“By giving him a job when he couldn’t hold one down? By paying him enough that his daughter could escape the city, could go to a fancy college instead of becoming a corner-store whore? Yes, I’ve been horrible to him. A monster.”
“Then why isn’t he answering his phone?”
In the pause I can picture him in a three-piece suit, reclining in one of his ridiculously expensive leather chairs. Some amber liquid in a crystal-cut glass. “Don’t come back,” he says, his voice grim. “You made it out of here. Let that be enough.”
A soft click ends the connection, leaving me bereft.
And more worried than before.
Something is happening in Tanglewood, something bad enough for my father not to call, something horrible enough that even Damon Scott has warned me away. I look up at the infinite stars, but they’re dimmer than before. The whole world muted. It wasn’t a new life that I found so far from home. It was a long dream, and now I’m painfully awake.
Chapter Five
I go to class the same way, trying to pretend nothing is wrong. And it’s not that hard, because I’ve gone numb. The worn wood of the desks doesn’t register beneath my hands. The chatter of other students around me can’t make its way through thick cotton.
Calculating projective spaces in my Algebraic Topology class doesn’t hold my attention. I write down random numbers, draw random lines and spheres. My mind is filled with nothingness, as bleak and oppressive as the Tanglewood sky. Don’t come back, Damon told me, but it feels like I’m already there. In mind if not in body.
I don’t have an advisory session scheduled with Dr. Stanhope today, but I have to pass by his office after class. Usually I’d head to the commons for lunch, maybe meet up with Avery for a cup of coffee after. Instead I find myself knocking on his door.
“Come in,” he says in that absent way of his, but even that doesn’t bring me comfort today.
He glances up from his work, then gives me a double take. Do I look that bad? The concerned line between his brows says yes. “Sit down, Penny.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he guides me gently to the sofa. His touch is confident, firm, the kind I can rely on, and right now I’m desperate for someone to hold me.
Even if he’s not the man I’m dreaming about.
From my seat on the old plaid couch I study Dr. Stanhope as if for the first time. Soft brown eyes and a strong jaw. He has the kind of hair that’s deep mahogany, that would turn to golden if he spent more time in the sun. It’s cut short, I’m sure because that requires the least amount of thought on his part.
His shirt is a rumpled white, probably one of ten exactly like it hanging in his closet. Black slacks and brown loafers, which don’t quite match but somehow fit this man.
“Something’s wrong,” he says softly, a gentle nudge.
I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure it’s right for me to talk about this with you.”
My professor. My mentor. And what else? The man who wants me. A faint smile touches his lips, as if he’s thinking the same thing. “I can be your friend.”
“I thought you wanted to be something else.”
“Lovers are friends,” he says softly.
Not the way Damon Scott does it. “I’m worried about my dad.”
Brown eyes sharpen, the same as when he’s faced with a new puzzle. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Each word drags from me, my long-held privacy creating friction on the way out. How can I bare my soul to Dr. Stanhope, to anyone? Then again it’s not my soul that’s being exposed. Only my sordid past. “But he didn’t call me like he usually does. And he’s not answering his phone.”
“Do you have someone else you could call?”
Someone else. Other family. Friends. Isn’t that what normal people have?
I could call Brennan but I haven’t spoken to him for three years. We broke up unceremoniously when I left for Smith College, both of us understanding that I had chosen a life outside Tanglewood—and that it could never include him.
“We don’t know that many people,” I admit slowly. “I called the diner where I used to work. My friend Jessica works there. At least, she used to. I called this morning. She’s gone.”
