Fighting Fate Read online

Logan shrugged, hoping he looked baffled enough for the teacher to leave off.

  But…Paige. He wouldn’t forget her name so easily either.

  Paige Zukowski. Trace’s little sister. All grown up and in college.

  At Granton of all places.

  What was she doing here? He’d been so certain he’d moved far enough from home he’d never cross paths with anyone else from Creighton County again.

  “All right, then.” Heaving out a disgruntled sigh, the professor closed his roll booklet. “If everyone is done with running from the room bawling, then let’s get to some geography, shall we?”

  Logan wiped a hand over his face, startled to find his fingers trembling.

  Over the last year, he’d actually been able to relax a little, positive no one on campus would ever unveil his secrets. He’d begun to think maybe he could start over and move past the dreaded night that had changed his life forever.

  Or at least make a good impression of moving on.

  A crazy, anxious breath shuddered from his lungs. He set a closed fist over his mouth to muffle the wheeze even as he glanced sideways to make sure his neighbors weren’t staring at him as if they feared he might break out with gunfire and eliminate everyone in class.

  Who would expect anything less from a confirmed killer?

  No one seemed to pay him any mind, though. They were too busy dozing, or staring off toward the bank of windows at their right, or taking notes as they listened to Presni’s lecture. The girl next to him was preoccupied with pressing little butterfly stickers to her fingernails.

  It didn’t seem real. Shame and fear coursed through him as he sat there stiff as a board, concentrating on breathing through his nose so he didn’t have a panic attack, and no one acted as if anything earth-shattering had just happened.

  Paige Zukowski was going to tell the truth about him. He’d lose all the acquaintances he’d managed to accumulate over the past few years. He’d have to leave campus in disgrace. He’d have to start over again from scratch.

  He wasn’t sure if he could pull up roots and try somewhere else. He was tired of running, tired of hurting. He just wanted to feel as if he actually belonged in one place.

  But he already knew he never really would because, no matter how far or fast he ran, he wouldn’t be able to escape himself. And there lay in the true problem. He was stuck being Logan Vance Xander, the murderer.

  An hour passed not in seconds but by the number of nervous sweat drops that leaked down the center of his back. Still dazed as Dr. Presni dismissed class, Logan was dimly aware of the students around him packing their things and shuffling toward the exit. He closed the notebook he’d opened at the beginning of the hour—still new and fresh without a single word written inside—and slid it into his bag before he slung the strap over his shoulder and stood.

  He passed the rows of desks until he reached the front. The exit stood open just to his left, but for some reason he glanced right toward the desk where she had sat. When he spotted the pen she’d dropped, he paused. He wasn’t sure why he bothered, but he neared it slowly, almost cautiously, and bent to retrieve it.

  The barrel was cool to the touch and covered with floor dust. Hot pink and infinitely girly, it had sparkled strips running diagonally across the grain. He smoothed his thumb over one sparkled line just as someone passed him and clapped him on the back.

  “Hey, Xander man. Try not to make any more girls cry today, will you?”

  Logan lifted his face and focused on a guy who’d lived in the same dorm as him their freshman year. “Yeah.” He forced an amused smile. “I’ll try.”

  Reggie Oates waved an arm and continued toward the exit. Staring after him, Logan idly shoved the pen into the front pocket of his bag.

  He left the room and headed straight to the registrar’s department. After waiting in an hour-long line, he dropped World Regional Geography with Presni and headed back outside. It was too late to take another geography class at a different time—the other slots were already full—he’d just have to make up the credits next semester.

  If he was still here next semester.

  With Trace Zukowski’s little sister on campus, he had a feeling the pitchforks and torches wouldn’t be far behind, running him off within the week. Maybe within the day. Or the next hour.

  Oh, God.

  Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes briefly, panicked what his future—and the rest of his life—held in store for him now. He shoved his way out of the old limestone building, glowering at the flowering ivy growing up the walls, and nearly plowed into a girl hurrying up the wide marble steps. He darted to the side, barely missing her.

  She was turned away from him and not paying attention to where she was going. While she glanced behind her as if making sure no one was following, he sucked in a breath.

  “Paige,” he said, though he couldn’t see her face. For some reason, he just knew.

  She whirled around, her straight dark hair fluttering out over her shoulders, sending a whiff of her shampoo his way. All spicy and sweet, the mix struck him hard. A wave of awareness cramped his muscles. When she looked up, he couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.

  But she obviously didn’t return the attraction. Her horrified gasp and wide, frightened eyes, not to mention the way she lurched back with a fearful flinch, pretty much told him she’d just spotted the most ghastly beast on earth.

  Helpless anger stole over him. She was going to ruin his life. Before he could even brace himself for the fallout, she’d crush everything he’d worked three years to build. And here she was, acting scared of him?

  He wanted to grab her and shake her, make her look at the man behind the murderer, and force her to forgive him, tell him it was okay, that she knew he hadn’t meant to kill her brother.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he snapped, irrationally insulted by her unnecessary fear.

  But when she met his gaze, forgiveness didn’t line her wary, darting eyes. Tears did. “Except you already have.” A frightened tear quivered at the edge of her long lashes.

  She was right. Physical pain couldn’t match the emotional turmoil he’d put her through. His anger dissolved like sugar in water. Ashamed of himself, he stepped back and tried to swallow the knot in his throat, forcing himself to calm down.

  “Look. If you were coming here to drop the class, I already did, okay? You don’t have to.”

  He risked a quick glance up to catch her reaction. She held her book bag in front of her, using it as a barrier against him, even as she lifted her chin, though that only seemed to expose her neck in a more vulnerable way, revealing the rapid beat of her pulse throbbing against tender flesh.

  Three years ago, Logan couldn’t imagine frightening anyone so completely, especially a girl. But those days were long gone. She looked terrified.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked, knowing he sounded brusque, maybe even rude. But he couldn’t help it. Seeing her rattled him as much as it obviously did her. He wanted her gone, far and away from Granton.

  Though she refused to make eye contact and stared around him as if she still wanted to enter the registrar’s building, she nodded with a quick, jerky bob.

  “Good,” he said, his voice going hoarse. When he felt his chin wobble, he drew in a sharp, horrified breath and added, “I guess that’s settled then. We don’t share a class any longer; I doubt we’ll see each other again. Problem solved.”

  Her gaze flashed his way, raking him with animosity. And it struck him how her problems were far from solved. Her brother was never coming back, and that was his fault.

  He swallowed, his throat so dry he was surprised he didn’t choke. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t particularly want her to spit in his face again, so he just stared, waiting.

  When she only damned him with her beautiful, dark eyes, he gave in first, jerking his gaze away and blinking rapidly.

  “Here,” he choked out, grasping at the only thing he could think to provide as a peac
e offering. He yanked her pen from his bag and thrust it forward. “You dropped this.”

  She focused on her pen, her eyes dilating with horror.

  When she didn’t reach for it, he let his hand fall back to his side, feeling like an idiot. “Right,” he said, unable to keep the sneer from his voice. “It’s tainted now that I’ve touched it, isn’t it?”

  He wanted to pound his fists against the injustice of it all, demand that she and the entire world let him back in among the living. The worst part was, though, even if he was welcomed with open arms, he didn’t think he could enter, because he knew he didn’t deserve normalcy or happiness.

  Or forgiveness.

  Paige Zukowski sent him one last scathing glower before turning away and dashing down the marble stairs away from the registrar’s.

  Either she’d decided not to drop the class or she’d return later. In either case, he felt as if he’d actually accomplished a small victory. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want her to leave Presni’s class when actually he wanted her gone completely, but it had something to do with taking her brother away from her. If he couldn’t return Trace, then at least he could step aside so she’d stay in all her classes and attain her college goals.

  And maybe in doing so, he’d gain a measure of atonement. Or maybe he was just fooling himself, and he was doomed to live with this guilt for the rest of his life.

  Chapter Three

  AFTER HER SECOND ENCOUNTER with Logan Xander in the space of two hours, Paige hurried back to her room and missed the rest of her classes on her first day at Granton. Rattled to the core, she camped out on her narrow bed and watched the TV Mariah had brought and set up on Paige’s desk, taking up nearly all the space, which would force Paige to do her homework on her bed.

  If she stuck around long enough to have homework.

  God. What was she doing here anyway? This had been Trace’s dream, not hers. What did she care about business administration and marketing? And what did she think to accomplish by graduating from his college? It wouldn’t bring him back.

  It wouldn’t bring any of them back.

  She should just quit now. If her first few minutes on campus were any indication of how the rest of her year would go, she didn’t want to suffer through such torment anyway.

  But leaving would feel like a defeat. And it would feel like she was giving up on her brother. It’d feel like she was letting Logan Xander win.

  That just wasn’t acceptable.

  Frustrated, angry tears seeped down her cheeks. She wiped at them savagely, cursing their source. After surviving through her brother’s death and the funeral her mother had forced her to attend two years later, she would’ve thought there were no more tears left inside her. But her body just kept producing them, and she blamed each one on the killer who’d invaded Trace’s dream school.

  She hated Logan Xander, hated him so much. Hated what he’d already done to her. Hated what he was still doing to her. And by all accounts, she didn’t even know the first thing about him except he’d been the star basketball player on his high school team and was the son of a lawyer.

  It didn’t matter. She hated him.

  By six that evening, her hate had cooled to a boiling abhorrence. As she paced the floor in front of her bed, she made a decision. She would stay and show everyone—herself included—that she could do this.

  So…how was she going to do this? Trace had been a believer in the “keep it simple” motto, so taking it one baby step at a time sounded good. What should she do in the…oh, next five minutes?

  When her stomach rumbled, Paige grinned and set her hand over her abdomen. Food was a reasonable step. She hadn’t left her room since that morning. Maybe she could go find something to eat. But with a glance toward her door, she shuddered.

  Maybe a nice, calming shower would help her build up the nerve to leave her room. Wrapping her toiletries inside her towel, she carried her things into the bathroom and glanced toward the opposite door that led into another room. Her suitemates, Mariah had said. Paige hadn’t even known what a suitemate was until yesterday, and she apparently had two whom she’d yet to meet.

  She took the shortest shower in the history of showers. The temperature of the water changed constantly from scorching to freezing. She had to keep her hand on the control knob even as she lathered and rinsed. It reminded her of her back and forth feelings about whether to stay or leave campus.

  After she turned the water off, she stood with her face upturned to the showerhead and her eyes closed as she tried to control the anxiety still plaguing her.

  What if she saw him again?

  Could she handle that?

  Maybe Kayla was right. Coming here had been a mistake. This was a sign, clearly telling her she’d made an extremely bad move. She should just return home to Creighton County tonight, enroll for fall classes at the community college there, and work toward a degree in education. That was probably what she would’ve done anyway if her family had remained whole and half the members hadn’t died on her. She liked kids, liked watching them learn and grasp new concepts. She could’ve been a grade school teacher. And most of all, she could’ve stayed close to her safe, comfortable home.

  Except her home hadn’t felt safe or comfortable for three years now.

  Thanks to Logan Vance Xander.

  With her emotions bubbling back to the surface, Paige ripped the shower curtain open and reached for the towel she’d left folded on the toilet seat. She snapped it open to wrap around her just as the door from her suitemates’ room opened.

  With a startled shriek, she covered herself and leaped back into the tub. The wet floor made her slip but she caught herself against the wall.

  “Oh my God!” The intruder’s red curls bobbed madly as she jerked to a stop. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

  Paige closed her eyes and pressed her hand against her pounding heart to keep her towel from slipping. Her face heated as she croaked, “I forgot to lock the door.”

  The redhead instantly began to retreat. “No problem. I’ll just…yeah.” The bathroom door was quickly shut, leaving a streaming wet Paige alone again.

  Though it was too late to worry about lost privacy now, Paige reached out and locked her door. Then she dried herself and her shampoo and soap bottles at warp speed before jerking into her clothes. She barely remembered to turn the handle on her suitemates’ room to unlock it again before she fled back into her own.

  A few seconds later, her bathroom locked from the inside, telling her the suitemate was now using it. A minute after that, the toilet flushed.

  Paige was still blushing over the whole encounter, trying not to feel like such a stupid idiot, when a soft knock came from the bathroom.

  Ready to be degraded for her forgetfulness, she hesitantly inched it open.

  The redhead inside grinned at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry again,” she said. “I really didn’t mean to barge in on you like that.”

  Paige brushed the apology aside. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m sorry for forgetting to lock the door.”

  The girl laughed out a full, jovial sound, her blue eyes dancing. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve been so afraid of forgetting to lock it myself and being caught with my pants down, I actually had a nightmare about it last night.” She laughed again. “I’m glad you did it first. At least, now I know I’m not the only clueless freshman around. I mean, not that you’re clueless, or a freshman. Or—” Her brow puckered as if she was frantically trying to think up another reason to beg for forgiveness.

  Paige laughed. The sound felt foreign coming from her throat, it almost startled her, and it did tickle her vocal chords. But this perky redhead made her feel lighter. Freer.

  “I am a freshman,” she confessed with a rueful grin. “And pretty much clueless too. I’m Paige.”

  She stuck out her hand. The other girl began to reach for her fingers but froze at the last second. “Eww. I haven’t washed my hands yet. S
orry. Can I use your—”

  Instead of waiting for permission, Red darted around Paige and into her room, immediately making herself at home at the sink, dousing her palms with hand soap and scrubbing them clean. Once she finished, she turned back to Paige with a refreshed grin, and initiated another shake.

  “There. Tess Simpson,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  They shook at last, and Paige found herself grinning again at the overly dramatic show of formality Tess put into the greeting.

  “You have such a neat, clean room,” Tess said, dropping her hand as she glanced around. “My roommate is a total slob. We haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet and she’s strewn clothes all over the floor. And, oh my God—” She paused when she spotted Mariah’s television on Paige’s desk. “You have, like, the biggest TV I have ever seen! Ours is microscopic compared to this. Bailey would just die if she saw—” Without finishing the sentiment, she flew back into the bathroom, calling, “Bailey! You have to see this thing.” She pushed open both doors wide only to return to Paige’s room.

  “It’s got to have a fifty-inch screen, I swear to God. Ours is only twenty-two.”

  The grumbling started before Bailey appeared in Paige’s room as well. “Tess, I can’t get my ring tone to—oh my God.” She froze in the middle of Paige’s room beside her roommate to ogle Mariah’s television, her cell phone forgotten in her hands. “It’s like the Mecca of dorm-room televisions.” She turned to Paige, looking dazed. “I so want your TV right now. Hell, I’ll trade you Tess for it.”

  Paige shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. She hadn’t even thought of the television’s size past how much it hogged all her desk space. Sitcoms, game shows, reality TV, none of those had really reached her in the past couple of years. It felt strange to see someone ooh and awe over the mundane.

  “Actually, it’s my roommate’s.” She shrugged. “She just put it on my desk so she could see it from her bed. But she doesn’t care if I watch it when she’s away.”

  “Well, that’s sweet.” Bailey nodded with approval. “You get to watch the roomie’s boob tube without the annoying roomie around.”