Trust Me, Trust Me Not (Gavert City Book 3) Read online

  “Can I do anything?” he asks, and I simultaneously want to hug him and tell him he should run in the opposite direction. The baggage I bring with me isn’t for him.

  “Nope.” I can’t even manage to force myself to sound cheery. I lean back. The clouds in the sky tell a story I don’t understand.

  “This morning...something was bothering you, when I ran into you.”

  I turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

  “Your frown.” He slightly touches the space between my eyebrows. It’s quick, a feather-like touch, but it feels like electricity surged in my body. “You always frown when you’re worried.”

  “Classes...and...” I turn back, staring ahead. “You remember Noah?”

  “Yep, of course.” His voice is steady, unlike my emotions.

  “I’ve been looking for him. When I saw you I was worried about classes, worried about him, and then after you left I got an email. Someone on some forum said they found him dead in Maryland. But I contacted the detective here, Mrs. Martinez, and she said that wasn’t true. But what if it is?” My chest constricts. “What if he’s really dead?”

  He leans forward. “Oh, Lacey.” His arm wraps around my shoulder tentatively. And when I don’t move away, he pulls me a bit closer to him. I inhale his scent, hear his heart, calming myself with its rhythm. “Mrs. Martinez wouldn’t lie to you, you know that. Noah’s somewhere. You’ll find him.”

  I nod against his neck and then pull away.

  “Hey, Hunter,” a girl with dark brown skin and a shirt promoting the upcoming play put on by the theater department—a junior I think—stops in front of us. She has a friendly smile. She looks like she has her life together. “You’re back! There’s a party tonight in your building. Are you going? Malik texted you.”

  Hunter’s smile isn’t his teasing or laughing one. It’s a bit more strained. “I’m not sure.”

  The girl tilts her head. She glances my way and her smile grows. “Your friend’s invited too, of course. You know those parties are just excuses to all get together before the semester gets too stressful.” She extends her hand to me. “I’m Nia. Hunter’s been friends with my boyfriend Malik for a while now. I’ve seen you around. You’re Lacey, right?” She winks at Hunter. “Hunter’s been talking about you.” She frowns and looks at her phone. “I have to hurry. I need to talk to Alisha about rehearsal before class. Everything went okay this morning?”

  Hunter nods and I feel like shit because I didn’t even ask him.

  “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Nia struts away, talking on her phone.

  “She seems nice.”

  “She is.”

  I don’t ask about the party. I’m not going. The parties have been floor-and-building-hopping since the beginning of classes. The frat and sorority row have the big ones on the weekend. Hunter frowns. And I’m not sure if he’s thinking about that night, the one he doesn’t talk about much.

  We all have scars that haven’t completely healed. They’re part of us. Some are more visible than others but even when we do our best to hide them, we still know exactly where they are and what they mean.

  “How was your meeting?” I break the silence, hoping for him that he can cross that worry off his long list. “I heard rumors in our building,” I admit. “My roommate is friends with one of your friends and she said something about academic probation and maybe your position in the fire station college bunk program being at risk. But she also heard something about dropping out of school and another about transferring to the East Coast, so I wasn’t quite sure. And I did ask about you. I thought I’d see you. And I should have answered your text.”

  “The first one is true. I’m not dropping out of school. Some guy told the dean I had been cheating on my papers last year. I could register for classes but they changed my A to an Incomplete and were reviewing my case. I think it went well. I’m not getting an F. And they’re not kicking me out. The guy they were in touch with is no longer answering his emails.” He runs his hand in his hair before turning to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  My heart sinks. This question again. Are you okay? Everyone always asks me this. He’s texted me this question too, several times.

  His words are kind. He’s kind. But the doubts still swirl—louder than the little voice telling me to take a chance, to be as real with him in person as I was per text, to tell him how he makes me feel. Is he only asking out of a sense of duty?

  I don’t want him to worry about me. I want more. I want less. Having someone to worry about me is a foreign feeling. Mom didn’t worry. She thought the Book would save us all. That the Master would protect us. Even when he beat her. Even when he beat me. Luke worried about me too, but it was my job to protect him.

  With Hunter, I feel his desire to save me comes from his past. He couldn’t save that girl. Whoever she was. He couldn’t save his dad from himself. He’s looking for redemption. We all are, in one way or another.

  His shoulder nudges mine. I spaced out in my own thoughts and I feel the familiar flush rushing to my cheeks. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You guys! Mrs. Jackson’s been asking where you are. You left your stuff in the room and she said she wants to see both of you...like yesterday.” Elena waves her arms in our direction and with the way her voice carries, the entire courtyard knows Hunter and I are late and that we may be in trouble.

  CHAPTER 7 - HUNTER

  Our steps are fucking in sync. Right foot, left foot. In sync. Rafael talked to me last week about the importance of visuals in a movie. That guy could talk about movies forever. I got to admit, I tune him out sometimes, but I remember him saying that if the main characters seem to be in sync, it's another way to show the audience how they’re clearly meant for each other.

  I’m not sure she realizes it, and I have no idea why I do. It’s like I notice every detail around her. Her chin is up. Her shoulders are back. I could believe her when she tells me she’s okay if I didn’t notice how often she checks behind us, how she curls her right hand into a fist and then relaxes it. Again and again. That thing with Noah wears her down more than she says.

  She’s been looking for him ever since she escaped the cult. She asked about him to everyone. She talked to the cops. She looked online. I helped her a few times. Nothing. The guy made his way to Maryland and then someone said he might be in Maine. That’s all she was able to find out and even that wasn’t confirmed. She posted his picture in forums, asking people to find him. One person said they saw him at a store in Vermont, another at a pizza place in Boothbay Harbor, but then nothing came from it. If he wanted to contact her, he would have done so. She told me once that it’s the only reason she has social media.

  But she also looks like she’s scared to hear from him, like she feels guilty for whatever happened to him. I know the feeling. I recognize it. If we ever find out who that girl is, the one who died in the pool during that frat party, I’m going to need to apologize to her family. I know it’s not my fault. I didn’t know she was in the pool. I didn’t even know she was at that party. But whenever I face them, the guilt of not finding her earlier will slam back into my face.

  Sometimes, I think Noah reinvented his life. Who would want to always live in the past? The guy may have found out his ex got married and is happy. He knows Lacey is okay. And he was barely eighteen when he got kicked out. He had priors. The cult was seen as an outlier then. I remember the documentary Mom watched on it a few years ago. Just a bunch of people who decided society wasn’t for them. It was all about reconnecting with one another without the corruption of society. Some said they were about free love for all. Others did talk about abuse, but there wasn’t really any proof and it seemed to have been limited to the group Lacey’s stepdad ran.

  Noah reinventing his life does seem like the most obvious choice. Sometimes, I wish I could have reinvented mine after everything that’s happened but most times, I don’t. Yep, it’s shitty. Yep, it sucked majorly. But I’m here
, doing what I love. Becoming a firefighter may be about saving people but it helped save me. It gives me a purpose.

  I push the door open for Lacey and she brushes past me.

  And it’s like my entire body felt that small touch.

  I’m walking in sync with a girl whose smile fills my chest with heat. And next I’m going to fucking recite poetry.

  I need to get a grip. I’m not here to imagine what it would feel like to hold her in my arms.

  The next class is already lined up by Ms. Jackson’s room. Some are on their phones. Others laugh. Two of them are sitting on the floor, cramming before class. Ms. Jackson always calls on a few people at the beginning of class about the reading. Questions you only can answer if you’ve read the material. If you can’t answer, she moves on quickly. She doesn’t push or ridicule you but she’ll talk to you after class to find out why you couldn’t answer.

  I recognize a few faces and smile. The campus is small and even though the administration was pissed at what happened, most students think I’m a legend: between the party that turned deadly and Dad, people know who I am. Living off campus at the fire station has helped me a lot. And I became a pro at hiding the turmoil. Finding Jane Doe, jumping into the water, trying to resuscitate her. A part of me wants to live life even faster, to make sure I grab every single moment...because who knows if there’s a tomorrow?

  She didn’t have one. Her life was cut short. Did she know?

  There were traces of drugs in her system. Alcohol too. Her wrists were bruised.

  And I force myself to concentrate on the here and now.

  Lacey hesitates before entering into the room. But then she clears her throat and marches in. Her bag’s still on the floor. She grabs it and shoves a book and a few papers in it. Ms. Jackson is standing by her desk. She spins around. “I have another class in five minutes. I’ve asked them to wait. You have no idea how glad I am to not switch classrooms this semester. It makes everything easier even though it seems I still run behind.” She smiles and I know that type of smile. It’s the one that’s supposed to increase your confidence, to make you feel better. I use this smile with people who escaped when their houses were on fire or when I’m trying to convince them to trust me. “Why don’t you two sit?” She gestures at the table in the front and gets her chair so she can sit in front of us.

  “The reason why I’ve asked you both to see me after class is because I’d like Hunter to tutor you, Lacey. And Hunter, I’ll take that in consideration on top of the paper you’re going to write.” I feel Lacey tense beside me. On my side I’m hesitating between grinning like I won enough money with my football fantasy league to repaying everyone who lost money from Dad, and protesting. Because I already feel myself caring for Lacey on a deep level. Too deep. I don’t have my shit together. And she needs a friend. Not a guy who needs cold showers after spending time with her. And she might hate me if I tell her what I’ve been hiding. Worse, she might hurt. My grin dims.

  “Do you think I can still pass the class?” Lacey’s voice is hesitant and unsure. She said she’d been having issues but I hadn’t realized she was afraid of failing. I’d have come on campus just to tutor her before, without Ms. Jackson making it a prerequisite to get my grade back.

  “You can.” Ms. Jackson stands up, grabbing a stack of papers and a pen from her desk. “When you took English composition at the community college, your professor was impressed with your writing. I am too. But you need help. You failed your first discussion paper.” She circles around the breakdown of the grade on the first page. “But you’re always uploading the homework on time. It could be more detailed and you also missed several of the conversations on WebCampus, but that you can make up. Your writing is good but you need the tutoring to better construct the arguments and as you might remember from the syllabus, you can do one extra presentation and paper which count as bonus points at the end of the semester. You can catch up.” She leans back and her eyes find mine. “Hunter, I believe you. You’ve been my student for several semesters and I’ve asked you several times if you had considered adding an English minor to your degree. But, you know, the school needs to be very strict.” She stops talking as if she’s worried she’s going to say too much. Probably some school rule about not sharing students’ records and whatnot.

  “Lacey knows about the plagiarism accusations.” I shrug out of habit. It’s not an I-don’t-care shrug. It’s more a nothing-I-can-do-about-it shrug. “I appreciate you finding a way to work with me. I know you didn’t have to.”

  “I didn’t become a professor to find ways to prevent students from reaching their potential. You’ve been an asset to the English department. And I know you’ll show all of us we were right to give you our trust.” She leans her head to the side. “And I actually have to give you another chance. We can’t simply kick you out of school like this.”

  My eyes must show my surprise because she continues, “Again, we feel that maybe the records were manipulated or that someone created a fake profile. But even if we didn’t, even if you weren’t a straight-A student, our job and mission require us to give everyone a chance.” She doesn’t break eye contact and gives me the kind of look that must work, especially with freshmen who don’t know yet how helpful she is. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  I nod and I put everything I can into that nod. “I won’t.”

  “What if I still don’t get my grades up? Will that be held against him?” Lacey’s lips are pursed like she’s thinking, and thinking hard. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I mean...what if this doesn’t work? Isn’t there another student you could pair him with?”

  I wince.

  But then she continues talking. Her words are soft and then loud. They rush out of her mouth. “Or am I the only one who needs that much help? I’m the only one, am I not? I don’t want to be a bother. I don’t want him to get in trouble. Clearly. I’ve got issues. At school. Issues at school.”

  She doesn’t want to be a bother. She’s not. Definitely not. My hand automatically touches her. Briefly. And I whisper, “Kate.” She glances my way and there’s a small smile on her lips. Kate’s a nurse at the hospital where Lacey stayed for a few days and she always managed to make her feel better. She listened to her when Lacey was scared of staying at the hospital. Lacey’s mom and stepdad had convinced her no one would ever understand them outside of the cult, that the world was dangerous, that people would hate them. Lacey wanted out, but only part of her believed herself. Sarina showed Lacey so much compassion. She gave Lacey a notebook when she left the hospital, and told her she was going to be a wonderful student, and to never forget to reach for the stars.

  Ms. Jackson stands up. “I need a report of the tutoring sessions from both of you. And if your grades don’t improve despite those, Hunter won’t be penalized.” She gathers her papers and glances at the clock above the white board. “I’m two minutes late. My next class must be getting antsy. I will create a workspace on the course page for the both of you. Hunter, I’ll add you and your first assignment will be up tonight as well. The tutoring summary shall be posted once a week.”

  She gives Lacey another piece of paper. “We discussed this after you left class. A summary of the discussion is part of the homework. Since you weren’t present, you need to do the second assignment on this paper.” She pulls her hair back up in a loose knot. “Lacey, I know you can do this. Now, you also need to believe in yourself and give yourself the time to study.”

  She walks up to the door and gestures for her next class to come in the room. They’re talking to one another about their assignment, the parties, the school’s latest football win.

  “Hunter, I didn’t know you were in this class.” My ex—Mila—struts my way. Her jeans are low on her hips and her But first coffee shirt is tight. Her jacket or cardigan or whatever they’re called is tied in a knot around her bag handle. Her lips are full, and several guys follow her every move. I understand. If I remember correctly, her ass looks aweso
me in those jeans. She wasn’t outside when we entered the room. But she’s pretty much a last-minute type of student. She’s good but she doesn’t believe much in planning and is all about cramming. Her hand goes up and down my arm. We went to high school together, got together during spring break. We didn’t plan on attending the same university. We got together well after our early acceptance letters, but it worked out that way. And she rushed to a sorority while I rushed for the fraternity. We’d been together for almost six months, before I lost everything—including her. I pushed her away, but part of me wondered if maybe it’d been too easy for her to decide that we were better as friends.

  Lacey rushes past me, mumbling something about seeing me later.

  “I got to go, Mila.” She pouts but doesn’t say anything else. She hit me up last year when we were both lonely and people were all talking about me again. Because of my dad. We’re made of memories from a time that seems so far away. And I may have met up with her once, but not since I became a rookie volunteer firefighter. And definitely not since meeting Lacey.

  “Lacey, wait!”