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Where the hell is the person who walked into the road.

I unfasten my seatbelt to check. When I hope out, though, I wince as pain slices up my side. I glance down at my shirt. The headlights from my truck offer enough lighting that I can see blood is staining the fabric.

I think a piece of glass cut me.

It doesn’t look too bad, though. Although, I’ll probably need stitches.

I press my hand to the wound and slowly make my way around the back of the truck and to the road. Then I stop dead in my tracks. Because what’s in front of me is probably one of the most horrific things I’ve ever seen.

And considering what happened three months ago, that’s bad.

Really fucking bad.

Chapter 14

Wylder

Wylder

At first I was a little hurt by Harper blowing me off. Sure, I kind of expected it to happen, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t sad about it.

And then I slowly started to realize it’s for the better. I had promised myself I’d stay away from her, but had been terribly failing at that. This would give me more of a reason to do so.

I need to stay away from her.

She couldn’t find out who I am.

And to be honest, I didn’t want to continue to lie to her.

But as I was walking across the campus, heading for my car, I saw her sitting in the rain, having a breakdown, and my heart literally broke.

It reminded me so much of that night, the pain I felt in my chest.

I was moving toward her before I could even process what I was doing.

She was quiet, and I didn’t press her. In fact, I left her side the moment she made it safely in the dorm because I knew if I didn’t, I’d want to go with her, and hold her. And that’s definitely not what she wanted.

And what I definitely don’t need to be doing.

“Yo, Wylder! Where the hell is your head at!” Brooks shouts as he throws a football at my face.

We’re hanging out at the park, waiting to get a game of football started. It’s fall break and since hardly any of the guys on the team went home, we decided to hang out here and play for fun, something we really don’t get to do anymore.

I catch the football and rotate it between my hands. “In the game. Where’s yours?” Then I launch the football at him.

He’s drunk enough that he doesn’t catch it, and it makes me smile to myself.

I hate this guy, have since the day I met him. He reminds me of my old friends from high school, one in particular. But I try not to think about him anymore or else guilt strangles me⁠—

I jog over to my cooler to get a drink, attempting to distract myself. The autumn air is breezy, but I’m sweating badly enough that I’m just in a tank top and shorts. But the longer I stand still, the colder I get.

I decide to put my shirt back on. As I’m slipping it over my head, I catch sight of a patrol vehicle slowly driving around the parking lot. The driver has his window down and he’s looking around, as if searching for someone.

I wonder if this has to do with that woman that went missing. It’s a pretty high profile case, and has been plastered on every social media outlet. I didn’t really know Ivy personally, but I’ve seen her at parties before, and at school. She was nice enough, albeit a bit quiet. Brooks bothered her a few times, but that could be said about any woman.

As the patrol vehicle pulls away, I turn around to return to the game, only to find Brooks halfway across the park and jogging toward where he parked.

“Where’s he going?” I ask Cameron, one of Brooks' friends.