He stared into her eyes with a tenderness that didn’t belong amid the throng of Reunion & Commencement. She barely breathed as Reece coaxed a runaway blond curl behind her ear.
It happened in an instant. The world tilted and slid like a cruel illusion. Some of its color bled away, eaten up by creeping black fear. Charlotte’s heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes.
Ben did that. Touched her like that. Caught her hair and eased it behind her ear after some pitch-perfect profession of love. She used to hear it as a declaration of loyalty and not a trap, not a glue patch for her wings to get stuck to.
You’re the only girl for me, Charlotte. You’re the only one who understands me. Just like I’m the only one for you.
For a dangerous moment her brain short-circuited, caught on the live wire of memory. Reece’s words repeated and twisted, the only girl I want.
Her, with her shitty life and her dirty hair. Her, with a job she hated and a mother she hadn’t spoken to in years. Her, dragging around emotional baggage monogrammed with her initials.
Reece was too kind, too caring. Too genuine to trust. Too good for her.
No.
Charlotte lassoed the snarl of panic and yanked it into submission. She took a deep breath and held it in her chest.
No. She wouldn’t do this again. She wouldn’t let echoes of her past sabotage her happiness. She had no need for the manipulations of an ex-boyfriend long since banished from her life. Even if Ben had slipped past her defenses for a weekend, skulking just beyond this perfect moment.
Reece’s hand faltered and came to rest on her shoulder. He frowned at the terror playing out across her face. “Are you okay? You still with me?”
Charlotte nodded. He cupped her chin in his hand and studied her eyes, unconvinced.
The heat of his touch against her skin grounded her. She clutched his hand still woven through hers and made him her true north.
That broken, desperate person who Ben convinced her she was, it was bullshit. Nothing but a fun house mirror reflection of her worst fears, dangerous only when it looked just familiar enough for her to believe.
My name is Charlotte Thorne. I am twenty-seven years old. It’s going to be okay. I deserve to have fun.
“I’m here,” she said. “Just overstimulated.”
Reece didn’t ask questions. He guided her across the street and through the intersection with University Road. Charlotte let him tug her along as her brain knitted itself back together.
Just a trigger. A shard of memory that couldn’t hurt her anymore.
The other side of the street was quieter. A canopy of trees hung over the sidewalk, dampening the roar. The air smelled like the suburbs again, fresh dew and newly planted sod. Her panic dissipated as spring leaves swayed and whispered around them.
“Man, it was a real bacchanal back there.” Reece laughed at himself, making conversation while she put herself back together.
Charlotte felt a fresh surge of gratitude for his unflappable calm. Ever the perceptive guy, he didn’t push her to explain why she shut down. She added it to the long list of reasons why she liked Reece as a person.
He didn’t pry.
He sucked at pong.
He danced with her to bad music surrounded by strangers.
He looked at her like she was put on this earth to ruin his life.
He loved dogs.
“Do you go out much?” she asked.
“In St. Louis? Nah. I’m an old man now.” They turned onto the path back to Randall Dorm. Gravel crunched underfoot. Reece’s sneaker found a loose rock and he kicked it, sending it skittering into the underbrush.
Charlotte tucked her arm through his. She glanced up at his carefully still face—Reece looked straight ahead, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets.
“When did you quit drinking?” she asked.
Reece’s jaw tightened. Before she could worry that she’d overstepped, he answered. “Not long after graduation.” He licked his lips. “Binge drinking is a lot less fun when you’re doing it alone.”
It made sense now. Water pong at the party, no cocktail in his hand at the class reception, no alcohol on his breath when he hugged her good-bye last night. She’d suspected since Jackie’s announcement at dinner when he didn’t look surprised. Reece must have been giving her advice on how to support her dad.
Was that why Reece didn’t kiss her in the hallway? Because she’d had too much to drink, while he was completely sober?
Charlotte frowned. She rarely drank anymore, yet the second she returned to campus, she wanted a beer. She hadn’t questioned the impulse. Maybe she should have.
“Is it hard being back here? There must be triggers everywhere.”
Reece sighed. “Yes and no.” He unfolded their arms so that he could take her hand again, an anchor in an uncharted conversation. She hoped she was asking the right questions. “I’m not tempted to drink, but the guys have been weird about it. I think I’m a buzzkill at pregames.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She’d never been privy to the private drinking rituals of bros, and she didn’t want to insult his friends. “That sounds hard.”
“It is what it is. They’re good friends.” Reece squeezed her hand. “It’s not their fault they want to get wasted and I don’t.”
“What do you like to do instead? In St. Louis, I mean.” Charlotte cringed at the question as soon as it left her lips. It was such a small-talk question, like asking him about his major as they walked back to her dorm to hook up.
If she sounded vapid to Reece, he didn’t point it out. “For fun, you mean?”
