I giggle and stuff the money back into my jeans. “What a crazy night.”
He nods. “Agreed.”
“Are you going to hurt the trucker guy?”
Chris sighs through his nose. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “That’s why I’m asking.”
“Best not to ask too many questions.”
The moment turns awkward again, so I grab the handle. “It’s still locked.”
“Yup,kiddo.” Chris grins and leans into his door. “And you’re not climbing over me again.”
He steps outside, walks around his Aston Martin and pulls open my door.
“You should sit in the back next time,” he teases. “I’ll buy you a booster seat.”
I roll my eyes and yawn as I climb out.
“So not funny, gramps.”
He’s a lot taller than I remember, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. His angry eyes have softened a little, but I can’t work out what he’s thinking.
“Please don’t tell my dad about the party,” I add.
Chris lowers his head. “That’s putting me in a difficult position, Harper.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe I’d give a shit about my dad’s opinion if he actually bothered to visit me once in a while. But he doesn’t live here and neither do you.”
He nods and steps back a pace. “Fair enough. I don’t care what you do. So what’s the deal with you struggling to make friends?”
“Not sure, really.” I shrug. “It’s like I get to know people and they just stop talking to me.”
Chris smirks. “Does this happen to coincide with you wearing your shirts backward?”
“So. Not. Funny.” I giggle and groan. “There must be something wrong with me. If I didn’t have Maria, I wouldn’t have any friends at all.”
He stares up at the full moon and I watch his throat roll. “Is that why you bought fancy Macallan whiskey? To impress your guests?”
“Is it lame if I say yes?”
Chris Collins lowers his dark eyes to mine. “It’s honestand lame.”
“Maybe I should put that on my dating bio. Harper Reeves, honest and lame.” Chuckling, I head to the back of his car and pop the trunk. “Look at all the booze. There’s like a year’s worth of alcohol here.”
Chris marches to my side and I shudder when he lifts his hand to my cheek to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
“The daughter of Alice Reeves doesn’t need to go out of her way to impress anyone,” he says. “Your mother never did. What you saw was what you got with her.”
I wish I had known that side to my mom, but I was too young to appreciate or understand it. Then she was gone.
“You can’t buy friends, kiddo.”
“I don’t have a choice, Private Collins.” Chris winces when I call him that. “This is my last year at Columbia. I want to make some nice friends and memories before bills and babies are all I have to think about.”
He smirks. “So cynical.”
This is the Chris Collins I remember, not the psycho at the gas station.
That guy reminded me of my father.
But now, with the streetlights twinkling in his dark eyes, he looks like the man I wish my mother had married instead. Then my phone buzzes and the shift in his eyes is instantaneous. His eyebrows narrow as I pull it from my pocket.
“Who’s that?” he asks.
Bryan’s name races warm bile up my throat. “No one important. It’s?-“
“Phone. Now,” Chris snaps.
I lock the screen, but he grabs my wrist. “Let go of me!”
“Give me the phone, Harper.” He snatches it from my hand and taps at the screen. “Unlock it.”
“No. Why are you doing this? We were having a nice conversation and then you just totally flipped out.”
“Fine.” He turns the screen to my face, and I don’t turn away fast enough. “Done.”
“You can’t just go through my phone!” He presses his flat palm just below my throat, and his arms are so long I can’t get anywhere near him. “Stop it! Give it back! This is a total invasion of?-“
“You have six new messages from Bryan Dickface Stanfield.” I’m scratching at his arm as he scrolls down and starts to read. “I’m going to kill you, slut. Count your days, whore. No one fucks with me. You’re a dead woman walking.”
Chris pulls out his phone and snaps a photograph of my screen.
“Slimy little fuck,” he snarls. “Your dad mentioned his name before.”
“What are you doing? Give it back!” I slip his arm and snatch my phone from his hand. “What the hell is wrong with you? This is mine, not yours.”
The man I was talking to just a minute ago is gone. Now I’m staring up into the eyes of the lunatic at the gas station.
“You’re like Jekyll and Hyde!” I yell.
“You have no idea who or what I am.”
“You got that right! You’re a maniac!”
He clenches his fists. “This Bryan guy will be eating through a straw when I’m done with him.”
“What?” I gasp. “You don’t even know where he lives. And I’m not telling you.”
Chris raises an eyebrow. “How does 15 Brockley Drive sound?” I throw a hand to my mouth. “Yeah. I saw part of his message when you were in the liquor store. So I made some calls.”
“You’re…you’re crazy,” I tell him. “You know what, keep your drinks. And here…”
I pull off his suit jacket and throw it at him. Then I reach into my pocket, grab the cash, and stuff it into his free hand.
“I don’t want your blood money!” I shout. “I don’t want or need anything from you. And I swear to God, if you go anywhere near Bryan or do anything to him, then I’ll never speak to you ever again. I mean it, Chris. If you ruin my last year here, I’ll never forgive you.”
He lifts a hand. “Harper…”
“No!” I snap, walking backward. “I’m going inside. I appreciate what you did for me tonight, but if you respect me even a little then you’ll leave him alone. I can fight my own battles. Goodnight.”
I turn and run to my front door. Inside the safety of my house, I do what I always do and head straight for my bedroom. I slam the door shut and march over to the window. My next-door neighbor’s dog howls when Chris screams and punches his chest like an angry gorilla.
“Calm down or we’ll call the police!” some guy yells from across the street.
Chris grips the gun against his hip, the shiny silver metal glistening under the streetlamp.
Please don’t do anything.
Straightening his posture and sucking in a deep breath, he raises his hand.
“My apologies, sir!” he shouts. “One of those days.”
He glances up to my window, so I shimmy sideways out of view. I can still see him as he lifts six bags of alcohol from his trunk.
He strides up my driveway and I hear the clink of glass when he lowers the drinks to my doorstep. I then hear the clatter of my mail slot, so I make my way to the staircase and peer down at the door.
Five crisp hundred-dollar bills lie strewn across the hallway.
Making my way back to my room, I grab my diary and flop down onto the bed.
My phone starts ringing before I’ve even written a word…
EIGHT
Chris
“Hey, Boss. We’ve got eyes on this Bryan scumbag,” Gary tells me.
I close my office door. “Where is he?”
“Sitting at the mall on his own,” he says. “Fucking loser. He’s just checking out every girl that walks past. I’m parked right next to his shitty car. Say the word and I’ll bundle him into the back of the van when he leaves.”
I’ve never felt so torn before. Especially with scumbags like Bryan Stanfield. Bullying and harassing young women makes him the worst of society in my eyes.
“Boss? You there?”
“Yeah,” I say, staring down at my gun.
“So what’s the deal? He looks like he’s ready to leave. I can have him at your club in less than twenty minutes.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.