Freed Page 2

  Do I honestly think Ransom will destroy me? No, I do not. Because overshadowing all those worries is Ransom, and somehow, I know he has my best interests at heart. How is it that I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life, yet barely even know him? I obviously need more hands.

  After we made some small talk with Maggie and Pete, Ransom was not thrilled when I announced that I would be heading back to the dorms, but I knew I needed to get out of there, get a clear head, and consider all he’d said. If he were completely unreasonable and simply out to get his own way, he would’ve ordered me to stay. He knows he could have easily had me complying, since he’s also figured out I yearn to please him. Instead, he asked me not to leave his apartment. Then he tried to argue with me, reminding me of my nightmares, but I reminded him that my nightmares were much better. Finally, he relented, making me promise I wouldn’t do anything stupid, and I hadn’t. Going to classes, working the horses, and talking with Maggie had kept me occupied physically.

  And if all that weren’t enough, I have been obsessing over how to fix things with Greer. Even though we hurt each other terribly, I miss him. Miss him down to my core. Even though I had finally admitted to myself that I love him, I know I can never be with him like he’s always dreamt. Like I had once dreamt. My original take on our relationship—toxic—had certainly been proven. Figuring out where it had all gone terribly wrong, well, it’s kinda like the chicken and egg debate. No matter which one came first—my being fucked-up or him being deceitful and possessive—the end result is the same. We can’t be together.

  “Wanna come back to my place and help me write my essay?” Austin asks, breaking into my thoughts. Since the professor is packing up his briefcase, I’m guessing class is over. I glance down at notes I don’t even recall writing.

  I find his milk chocolate eyes searching mine, and hope they’re clear of all that mess I’d been thinking. I don’t want his questions right now. “You mean write your essay for you, don’t you?” I joke.

  “No, seriously, I’m raring to write this essay on—” he squints at the board “—the symbolic representation of the color yellow in Gilman’s short story,” he says with a lopsided grin. “I mean, who the hell wouldn’t be?”

  “Right?” I agree. “I’m totally stoked,” I feign excitement.

  He fashions an invisible noose around his neck and pulls. “Kill me now,” he sighs, finally showing his lack of enthusiasm for the topic.

  Cocking an eyebrow, I ask. “Did you even bother to read the story?”

  “Yeah, man. Bitch’s got post-partum depression. Any fool could see that.”

  Laughing at his spot-on, albeit rudely stated, interpretation, I agree, “Yeah, but they didn’t see it back then. Just chalked up all her mental distress to being female. You see how that could be a problem for her and other women, right?”

  “I have to say that ninety-five percent of y’all’s problems are imagined, but in this case, those douchebags should’ve acknowledged that her problems were real, and then they could’ve helped her before she saw a woman coming through the wallpaper at her.”

  “Umm, hmm,” I mumble absently. Ninety-five percent of “our” problems as being imagined is now taunting me instead of Ransom’s awakening.

  “You OK?” Austin asks.

  I focus my attention back on him, lean in, and kiss his cheek. “I will be. Thanks.”

  He wrinkles his face up. “You can’t do that shit, Denver. Ransom’s already threatening to kick my ass because I get to hang with you and he doesn’t. When you gonna talk to him again anyway?”

  “Soon,” I promise. “By the way, take out the douchebags and bitches talk, throw in your analysis of the use of the color yellow, and you’ve got yourself a paper.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” I promise, shrugging.

  He wrinkles his forehead. “Well, that seems too easy.”

  I chuckle. “You ever notice how sometimes we miss the obvious because it’s all too easy?”

  He nods and gives me a “Sure do.”

  “Yep, why is it we make things harder on ourselves by thinking that’s the way it’s gotta be anyway?”

  Making my way through the student center to find a quiet corner to begin my essay, I try to focus on the topic at hand rather than my dilemma. It’s not easy. Even though I hadn’t seen Ransom or Greer, they both dominate my every thought.

  Releasing a deep sigh, I shake them both off, straighten my spine, and focus my gaze, only to have it fall on the profile of Greer’s strong back, leaning over his textbook. My step falters as I try to decide whether to make a break for it or speak to him. About that time, he raises his head and turns, his eyes finding mine immediately. A tentative smile crosses my features, as he gives me a troubled one. It doesn’t reach his eyes—doesn’t illuminate his features like his smiles usually do. My eyes are drawn first to his stitched eyebrow and then to his shorn hair. He looks as exhausted as I feel.

  Swallowing hard, I close the distance between us, wondering exactly how to start a conversation with him. It kills me that our once solid friendship has been ruined. Even when things were strained between us in the past, I never doubted where we stood with one another. Nothing is a given anymore.

  Greer grimaces, probably sensing my reluctance, or maybe even feeling his own. “Hey, chic—” he begins, only to cut himself off. My gut twists painfully.

  “Hey, Greer,” I jump in to alleviate the tension, not addressing his sweet term of endearment. “I would ask how you are, but that seems pretty pointless.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, rubbing the back of his head and turning his body toward me. “You doing OK? You look good.”

  A shaky, nervous laugh that sounds far away from us tumbles from my mouth. “I’m all right. Been better.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m so sorry, Greer,” I say. He shakes his head at me. “No, listen. I know we both screwed up, but you have to know that I’m sorry for my part in it. I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry that I was so messed up and dragged you down with me.” I drop my bag and ease into the chair next to him. “I always thought keeping you at bay, emotionally, would protect you. But, I see now that only made things a billion times harder on you. Of the many things I wish I could undo, if only one of those wishes could be granted, I would undo pushing you away like that,” I finish with a whisper.

  Greer taps his pencil on his book before he tosses it down and looks away from me for a minute. “All I ever wanted was to be yours, Denver. I let that cloud my judgment and my actions.” His eyes meet mine again. “But I hope you know that starting those rumors was not intentional, and I know that’s what has you so hurt.”

  Shaking my head, I ask, “How could starting rumors be accidental?”

  “You ever heard the expression ‘it started with a whisper?’” I nod. “It was exactly like that. I was in the locker room with a bunch of guys who were drooling over you more than usual. It pissed me off. You had just laid down your ultimatum about us seeing other people, so I was already hurt and angry. Matt was saying how you’d been showing interest in him. Not even thinking it through, I leaned over and said, ‘She’s not that kinda girl. She’s only looking for a good time.’ Next thing I know, people are calling you a fuck buddy, and … well, you know the rest of it.”

  Nodding, I ask, “You didn’t tell Drew, hoping he would spread it around?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “Just the one person, but that didn’t matter. One was all it took. It spread like wildfire. I tried to put it out at first, but it was too late. People were all too happy to believe the worst in you. Then, when I saw how guys started avoiding you —and I know exactly how pathetic this will make me sound—I played the hurt friend who was trying to keep you on the straight and narrow, making me the only one you had to lean on. I stopped trying to crush the rumors and used them for my benefit.”

  I stare into his troubled, yet sincere, gaze for a minute and see only t
ruth and regret. “I meant what I said, Greer, I do forgive you. But, honestly, I don’t how I’ll ever come to terms with the whole thing. I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to trust you again. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen, but you saw firsthand how that devastated me. How those rumors, along with what was going on at home, sent me spiraling.” I run my tongue across my teeth, deliberating, wanting so badly to reach out and offer him comfort. “If you’d told me right away, I might have been able to understand, but we’ll never know, of course.”

  He nods and smooths one hand over his hair. “As much as it hurts, it’s good you’re finally putting some of that blame on me. You didn’t do this on your own. And, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving how sorry I am, if that’s what it takes, Denver. I miss you so much,” he says, his voice cracking.

  My eyes fill with tears. “I miss you too,” I whisper. “I think you were a lot angrier with me than you ever let on, Greer. Do you forgive me?”

  “More than you know,” he chokes out.

  I finally give in to my natural inclination toward him and squeeze his hand gently before quickly withdrawing it, not wanting to send him mixed signals. “Then I can work on forgiving myself.”

  He releases a shaky breath before flexing his hand on the table. His gaze flies around the room. “There’s so much more that needs to be said, but I don’t think this is the place.”

  I nod my head in agreement, taking in his darker golden hair. He usually reserves shorter cuts for the summer, but even then, it had never been this short. “What’s with the buzz cut?” I ask, changing the subject.

  His hand moves over his head to rub the back again. “It was … necessary.”

  “Hola, chica y hermono!” a voice booms from behind me in a horrible Spanish accent.

  I turn to see Gage and Stephanie joining us, hand-in-hand. “Hey, girl,” I say brightly.

  Stephanie’s not oblivious to the tension and throws me a questioning look. Closing my eyes, I shake off her concern. I turn back to Greer and find another sad smile reigning over his otherwise beautiful features.

  “We’re working on a project for Spanish,” he tells me, as Gage and Stephanie get situated at the table.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Buena suerte!” I chirp at the small group before standing to collect my things. I want to lean over and hug Greer and tell him we’ll be all right, but I don’t know that we will, and I can’t give him false hope. I settle for patting him lightly on the shoulder. Easing back, I keep my eyes trained on his back, gauging whether or not I hurt him or helped him by talking to him. His posture is straighter, and as he turns to our friends, there’s a slight joking tone in his voice. I almost brave a smile, but my eyes catch on the gash that’s been put back together with staples on the back of his head.

  A strangled sob wrenches from my lips, making me wince, and I’m too stunned to cover my mouth in time. I spin around to flee the crowded room, but Greer’s hand at my elbow stops me.

  “Chicken?”

  “Your head,” I whisper, dropping my own in shame. “I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t tell him. I would never tell anyone what happened. He found your note and acted on it before I even knew.”

  He turns me around, drops his hand, and asks me to look at him. “An ass kicking doesn’t even cover half of what I deserved. And don’t you dare blame yourself for that,” he demands.

  I can only nod.

  His determination fades, and his face sags. “Shit,” he mutters. “I promised myself I wouldn’t ask. Don’t even really want to know, but I can’t help myself. Are you seeing him?”

  I pinch my lips between my teeth almost to the point of pain, knowing he will hate my answer. Reading me accurately, Greer exhales loudly, his head snapping sideways like he’s just been struck again. “Fuck. Fuck, that hurts.”

  Nothing I can say will make him feel better, but I try anyway. “Greer, Ransom found me that night. He helped me. A lot. Nothing has happened between us, and I only stayed at his place because I was having such a hard time. But, I’m not going to lie to you about what’s going on, even if it hurts,” I say before taking a deep breath. “I have feelings for him.”

  Chapter Two

  Ransom

  ONE TWO THREE. Strike. One two three. Strike. One two three. Strike. I bury my fist in the speed bag, making it bounce rapidly and rhythmically.

  Three days. Three long, torturous days. Austin has never had so much fun at my expense. He rubs it in every chance he gets, that he practically spends all his time with her. They have several classes together. He runs with her and Maggie. More like, he sits on alongside the trail that circles the pond and ogles her ass while the girls run.

  I’m usually a patient person, but I’m having to beat back the urge to corner her and demand to know if she’s in. That girl is all I ever wanted, and here I am, sitting with my thumb up my ass while I wait for her decision. It’s not that she doesn’t get it. It’s not that she doesn’t want it. But will she let herself have it? Does she believe she’s worth it? That’s what I’m up against.

  I wonder if no one had ever given her a shot, or if she fell right into that friends-with-benefits gig and never asked for anything more? Did her feelings get tossed aside because her fuck-the-world persona makes her seem untouchable? My laugh is dry and humorless. I had almost fallen for that myself.

  Even though we’d been pretty open with each other so far, I know there’s still a lot we need to learn about the other. One thing I’m still kicking myself over is asking her for an arrangement. I let my fear control me—the fear of her running off at a hint of something more had me making the suggestion, when that had been the farthest thing from my mind. I don’t want a fucking piece-of-shit excuse for a real relationship. I want her to be my girl—today and every day—and in every way imaginable.

  A huge part of me tells me I need to set her straight on that immediately, while fear still tugs at me to be patient. I didn’t want to lure her in under false pretenses, so I told her about my preferences. But wouldn’t luring her into an arrangement, all the while wanting something more, be just as deceitful?

  On that thought, and a pair of wet, sucking lips at my neck, I slam my fist into the speed bag, forcing it to a stop with a loud thud.

  I pop my earbuds out. “What the hell did you do that for, dipshit?” I ask, whirling around to catch a smirking Austin behind me, laughing his ass off.

  “Oh, Ransom, you’re so hot and dangerous,” he teases as he bats his eyelashes at me. “How could I resist?”

  “I can’t resist either,” I joke, as I punch him swiftly in his chest.

  “Ow, Ransom. Shit!” he complains, as I throw my head back in laughter. “That hurt.”

  “I barely tapped you, pussy.”

  “You barely hitting me is like barely getting run over by a Mack truck. Shit still hurts!” He rubs his chest, whining that he can’t be sore for his date tonight. Before I can ask him about that, he changes the subject. “I just wanted to give you the message Denver sent,” he taunts with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  My eyes narrow on his. “Denver asked you to give me a kiss?” I ask, falling into his trap.

  Cackling like a fool, he bursts out, “Hell, no. Her kiss was all for me, but I feel sorry for you, pining away for her, so me being my generous self, I passed it on to you.”

  “I’m not pining away, asshole,” I say, cracking my knuckles, “I’m being patient.”

  “You ‘bout done with that shit?” he challenges.

  I can’t fight my answering grin or the other punch I land on his chest. “Sure am, brother.”

  “Ah! Bro, this is perfect. I’ve been wanting to talk to her but didn’t want to come off as a stalker or desperate,” I admit. I throw my truck into park after pulling into the space beside hers.

  “Yeah,” Pete agrees. “It was Maggie’s idea. She said she’s about sick of you two avoiding each other and refusing to see what’s right in your faces. And she wants
to double-date.”

  “I’m not gonna hold it against you, traitor. Like you could ever tell your girlfriend no.”

  “Hey, this may have been her idea, but that doesn’t mean I’m not on board. If I’m forced to watch Steel Magnolias one more time, I’m gonna put a bullet in our TV, and I happen to like our TV.” He throws his head back in laughter when I shoot him a dirty look at his exaggeration. I’ve watched it three times. OK. Five, tops. “She said my idea of locking you two in a room together wasn’t subtle enough.”

  “Thanks for refraining. I don’t want to bully her into dating me.”

  “Ah … so we’re trying to date now. I like that way better than your stupid idea for an arrangement.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I agree.

  Hopping out of the truck, I leave Pete behind and go in search of Denver. I don’t have to go far. I can hear her cooing to her horses once I enter their wing of the barn.

  “Such a pretty girl,” Denver says. I hear an undignified snort from her other horse. “You are too jealous. I just got done tending to you. You can’t get all my attention, Indy.”

  Leaning against Liberty’s stall, I cross my arms over my chest and enjoy the view. Denver’s got her long, dirty-blonde hair French braided with ribbons threaded through it. My favorite. Her red cowgirl hat hangs on the peg while she runs the brush over Liberty’s shoulders. I watch as the muscles of her backside work as she stretches and brushes down her horse’s chest and legs. Damn, that woman is fine.

  She straightens back up and stands on the tiptoes of her red boots to reach Liberty’s withers. “What’s this?” she asks, as Liberty. “Oh, somebody’s a little sore.” Dropping her brush, she cups her free hand and uses her fingers to press on the mare’s ribs.