The Brightest Light of Sunshine

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want me to smack you across the face with this shoe right now?” I ask Emily, because I’m pretty sure my best friend has a death wish I wasn’t privy to.

She crosses her arms like she’s outraged by my response and frowns at me. “On a scale of one to ten, I’m two seconds away from dragging you across campus with me whether you like it or not.”

I glare at her.

She glares back.

And I sigh, defeated.

Emily is dressed to kill tonight, looking as stunning as ever, and I wish I could get that kind of confidence back. The kind of confidence that was stolen from me all those years ago.

Because it’s still warm outside, she’s wearing a short, emerald green dress that hugs each and every one of her generous curves, paired with some nude sandals I’ve stolen from her wardrobe once or twice. Her black hair is up on a tight ponytail and her manicured fingers are tapping on her arms impatiently.

“Do I need to remind you—”

“No, you don’t.” I know exactly what I said to her three years ago, and I curse that moment every day of my—sometimes—agonizing existence.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration.

Emily is one of the very few people who knows about the assault. It happened the summer before I moved here from my hometown in Canada, and I almost didn’t come to Warlington because of it. Luckily, I had a solid support system—aka Aaron and my dads—, who reminded me how badly I’d wanted to come here since I decided I was going to be an English major when I was fifteen.

Warlington University is a pioneer campus in English and Literature, and somehow, I was smart enough to be accepted into their exclusive program. I wasn’t going to throw this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity because some asshole didn’t know that no means no.

Years of therapy have led me to the good place I’m in today. Or okay-ish, rather. The fact that I never once blamed myself for what happened helped me move on faster, I think.

Not that you truly move on, not really.

Every day I live with the reminder that he took my freedom and my choice away from me, crushing them in the span of a few short, horrifying moments. But at least I’m here to talk about it, and I’m thankful for it.

“So repeat what you promised me the year we started rooming together,” she says, narrowing her impossibly gray eyes at me. Honestly, I’ve never seen such a fascinating eye color.

I let out the loudest sigh imaginable and lower my gaze to the ground, because I can’t stand the intensity of hers. And I recite word by word what I promised her three years ago, when the administration office assigned Emily as my new roommate and unknowingly gifted me the best friend I’ve ever had.

“I, Grace Allen, bravest and strongest woman alive, promise my best friend and future hottest and smartest teacher, Emily Laura Danes, that I will attend at least one party each semester and that I will step out of my comfort zone more often because I’m surrounded by people who love me and got my back at all times.”

There. I haven’t forgotten a single word.

She nods, a satisfactory gleam in her eyes. “And how many parties have you been to last semester?”

I sulk. “None.”

“And the semester before that?”

“None.”

“And what is this?” She gestures at nothing in particular, but I know what she means.

“Our last year at Warlington.”

“Exactly.” She kneels in front of me and rests her hands on top of my thighs for support as she searches my eyes. For what, I don’t even want to know. “This is just a house party, walking distance from campus and all. Aaron will be there. I will be there glued to your side all the time. But most importantly, I’m pushing you to come because deep down I know you want to. It’s that little troublesome head of yours that won’t let you take this step.”

I still can’t look at her because I hate that she’s right. I hate that my traitorous brain refuses to stop messing with what my heart desires. I’ve let fear control my life for years, but Emily’s right—I’m not planning to fail my courses, and neither is she, so this is our last year at Warlington University. Am I really going to let my past keep me from making the most of my future?

“Plus,” she adds in a wicked voice that I know all too well. “I didn’t want to pull the Dax card, but…”

My eyes widen. “Shut—”

“Uh-huh. We’re not doing this, darling. I know you have a crush on him, so don’t even bother.” She smirks like she knows the depths of my secrets. She does. “I heard from Amber that he’ll be at Paulson’s tonight. So… Do with that information what you will.”

Now she’s just dangling the piece of juicy meat in front of the chained beast for funsies.

“You’re being unfair.” I glare at her, but I can’t hide the small twitch in my lips.

Emily eyes me knowingly. “Is it a yes, then? Will you get dressed and come with me?”

To be fair, I was going to accept before she threw Dax into the mix. It’s not that I’m against parties, although I do tend to get nervous around large crowds. Especially drunk crowds. And we all know that a college party isn’t the ideal place to be if you want sobriety.

It’s been almost a year since I went to my last party and I kind of miss the feeling of getting all dressed up and dancing for a few hours, having fun with my girls.

Surely, it can’t be that bad.

Right?

***

Wrong.

This is terrible.

We arrive at Paulson’s quite fashionably late, since I hadn’t even showered before Emily ambushed me with the idea. By the time we are both dolled up and ready, and after a ten-minute walk to the off-campus brickhouse WU’s quarterback shares with two of his teammates, I already regret saying yes to this.

Everybody is drunk out of their minds, which is to be expected from the first party of the semester, but jeez. Even Aaron is already four beers deep into oblivion, which leaves me with one less buffer.

Emily links her arm through mine as we make our way to the living room, where our friends said they were going to be. As I run a quick scan of the room, I spot a few Warlington graduates and other people who aren’t enrolled but know Paulson one way or another. The guy has more connections than a freaking celebrity.

Great, more drunk people to deal with.

Also, no Dax so far.

“Em! Gracie! You came!” Amber’s cheery voice greets us the moment we reach the living room. Her wavy blonde hair falls in loose waves, and she’s wearing a red top that looks amazing on her. “Céline was just about to tell me all about her hookup with Stella this summer. Come on! If I miss even a second of this, heads will roll.”

My mood shifts instantly. This is the crowd I want to be around, no matter if we are surrounded by people who make my skin crawl.

I met Céline and Amber through Emily in my second year at Warlington University, and although I’m not as close to them as I am to Em, I couldn’t imagine my college experience without them.

Céline is Canadian, like me, and we share some classes since she’s all about Linguistics Anthropology. She’s also the tallest girl I’ve ever met, with the most impressive red hair, and freckles for days. And she’s finally built the courage to make a move on Stella. Seriously, she’s been crushing on the girl for like, what? A year? It was about damn time she acted on it.

Amber, on the other hand, looks like a pixie standing next to her. She’s clad in that to-die-for red top that hugs all her curves. She’s one of the sharpest people I know, and she’s going to law school next year. Which is fitting, since Amber can win arguments with her mouth closed and persuade you into doing whatever she wants even if you hate the idea altogether.

“So, get this,” Céline starts as she makes room for us on the couch. Some couple is making out on the other end, so I end up standing. “I’m in Montreal with my parents for the summer, helping my sister with the shop, Yada, Yada, Yada. You know the drill. And one day—”

“Oh my god!” Amber squeals, even though Céline has revealed literally nothing.

“Shut it, woman. Let me finish,” Céline shushes her, but she’s smiling. “Okay, so one day I’m closing the shop and guess what? Stella texts me. Says she’s in town with some friends and wants to hang out with me.” A pause. “Alone.”

Amber squeals even louder, drawing the attention of a few people around us.

“Did you hook up with her?” I ask eagerly because I’ve been waiting a whole lifetime for this ship to sail.

“I’m getting there.” Céline smirks. She knows she has us on the edge of our seats. “Naturally I say yes, and she picks me up for dinner. We have an amazing time, honestly. We’ve talked before, but she’s actually like, super fun and smart and—”

“Cut to the part where you shove your tongue down her throat, honey,” Emily says.

“So impatient.” Céline rolls her eyes at us. “She takes me back to her rental and we hook up in her room. I stay all night. Best sex of my life. The end. Is that summed up enough for you?”

Now we are all squealing. “Is she here tonight?” Amber asks.

“Well, duh,” she answers with a smug smirk. “She’s over there playing beer pong with Aaron, Brian and Maxwell.”

Sure enough, I turn around and spot Stella with my cousin and two other guys I don’t recognize. Aaron catches my eye and waves for me to come over. I grab Emily’s arm and give it a squeeze. “I’m going with Aaron for a bit.”

“Okay, hon. We’ll be here,” she assures me, and just like that I leave my friends behind and make a ten-second walk to my cousin that almost makes me throw up.

Nothing is going to happen to you. Aaron is right there. Emily is behind you, watching.

The most reasonable part of me knows this, but the poor little thing isn’t strong enough to prevent my mind from spiraling. Once I reach my cousin, he wraps a long, muscular arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his sweaty chest.

“Ugh, how can you be so stinky already?” I try to push him away, but he doesn’t let go and plants a loud kiss on top of my head instead.

“I’m so glad you came, G,” he says, ignoring my pleas. I love him, but right now I would rather be anywhere else than right under his stinky armpit. Perks of being five-two. Yay.

“Uh-huh.” He releases his monster grip on me when I push him again. That’s when I notice Stella beside him. “Hey, Stella. Long time no see.”

“Grace, hi.” She gives me her signature white-teethed smile that shines against her dark skin. With her long, thick braids and her chiseled jaw and nose, I don’t think I’ve ever come across a more beautiful woman. No wonder Céline is into her. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, too. “It’s been way too long. Aaron and I here are giving the guys a run for their money.”

“You tell them, baby.” Aaron high-fives her. He might be twenty-six, but he still acts like a college kid. I don’t blame him, though—adulthood is a pain in the ass. If he’s not ready to say goodbye to this lifestyle, I’m not going to be the one who judges him for it.

I shake my head in amusement as the two guys on the opposite end of the table, Brian and Maxwell, start reassuring me that they are the indisputable leaders of this beer pong table. But I’m barely listening, because suddenly a flash of white catches my eye.

Not a flash of white—Dax Wilson himself.

An alarm goes off in my head. He greets a couple of guys as he enters the living room, right across from where we are standing by the dining table, and I’m not ready for him to see me like this.

Granted, I don’t look too bad—I’m wearing a loose baby blue dress that isn’t short enough to make me uncomfortable, and my hair is having a good day, but unlike most girls here I’m not wearing heels (I love heels, but between them and pointe shoes, my feet can never catch a break). I also didn’t go overboard on the make-up, because it makes me panicky when men look at me and see a piece of meat instead of a woman they can have a civil conversation with.

So yes, maybe I’m a tad underdressed, but at least I’m here at all, and that’s a big enough milestone for me.

Now, however, I regret not having dolled up a bit more thoroughly. Just a little.

Sure enough, Maxwell shouts Dax’s name and he comes over to the makeshift beer pong table.

Oh, my god.

“Dude.” Dax shakes his head as he approaches his friend. “Almost didn’t make it. That chick Megan threw herself at me the second I stepped on the porch. Said something about coming to the next game.” He says something else I can’t make out over the loud music, and they laugh.

My stomach plummets, but I mask it well. Arguably, Dax is one of the most handsome, sexiest, most attractive (you get it) guys on campus. Plus, he’s on the hockey team if I remember correctly. What kind of girl in her right state of mind wouldn’t throw herself at him? Jeez, I would do it myself if I weren’t so self-conscious and such a chicken.

Dax is an English major too, so we share some classes. He transferred from Boston last year, which is why we haven’t talked much. I rarely ever go out, and he goes out a lot, so there’s your answer as to why he doesn’t even know I exist.

Well, that’s a lie—he knows I exist because he’s smiled at me a couple of times in class and even asked me for a pencil once. The chances of him remembering my name are slim to none, though, but it doesn’t bother me.

Their conversation goes on and I zone out until Dax calls my cousin’s name. “Hey, Aaron! Been to your tapas place the other day. It’s solid.”

“Thanks, man,” my cousin replies, but there’s an edge to his voice. His arm goes back around my shoulders as he turns to Stella, “Mind if I go outside for a minute? We’ve pretty much won this thing already.”

“Sure,” she assures him quickly. “I’ll call in a replacement.”

“Come on,” Aaron whispers in my ear and leads me away from Dax.

“Where are we going?” I’m only mildly pissed that he didn’t ask me if I wanted to leave. As we make our way past the living room, we pass his beer pong replacement—a very smiley Céline.

“I’ve just said it. We are going outside.” He presses me closer to his side when we pass by a group of drunk football players who are nudging each other. Aaron’s still not smiling, and the fact that he looks surprisingly sober is freaking me out.

“You wanted to go outside all of a sudden?” I raise a suspicious eyebrow even if he can’t see me.

“Yup.”

I’m not buying it, but I also don’t have the energy to argue with him about it. Aaron is a closed book. In all the time we’ve been close, which is forever, we haven’t had an honest conversation about his feelings ever. Not even when his high school girlfriend dumped him on prom night and, despite being so clearly upset, he kept shrugging it off and got drunk instead.

The thing is, every emotion shows on his expressive face nonetheless, so it’s not like he can hide how he really feels. That’s why every time I sense something is bothering him, like right now, I have to suck it up and pretend everything is fine because he won’t tell me a thing. Asking is pointless. That’s Aaron Allen for you.

Once outside, he takes out a cigarette from the back pocket of his jeans and lights it up. If my aunt found out that he smokes despite having promised her he would quit a year ago, she would make him swallow the whole package in one gulp. But because I’m a great cousin and he’s a grown man, I won’t say a thing about this.

“Didn’t expect you to come tonight.” He blows out the smoke and I move to his other side so the air doesn’t carry it directly to my face.

“It wasn’t in my plans,” I confess. “Em convinced me.”

“Ah, that one.” His lips curve around the cigarette in an affectionate smile. “Always getting you into trouble.”

I don’t tell him about my promise to her three years ago, or about Dax. I’m not ready to admit out loud that I might be interested in a guy again after all these years because I absolutely don’t want to have that conversation with Aaron of all people. He’s like a brother to me.

“It’s always trouble I can manage.” He knows this, but I still feel the urge to remind him.

He puffs out another cloud of smoke. “I like Emily for you. She’s a tad crazy, but still sensible enough to know when she’s toeing the line.”

And that’s why our friendship works so well, I think to myself. She reminds me to live a little, while I remind her to relax a little.

“How are those ballet lessons going? Kiddies giving you too much trouble?” He steps on his cigarette to put it out and an easy smile draws on his lips.

It’s no secret that Aaron would trade his job for mine in a heartbeat—well, maybe not the ballet part because he can’t dance for shit, but my cousin loves kids. He jokes he’ll have an army of children one day, but I see it.

“They’re amazing.” My spirits lift instantly when I speak about the little girls I teach. “We had our first class of the semester last Tuesday. Oh, Aaron, you had to see their little faces when I told them they were going to perform at the Christmas recital. They were so excited.”

“Duh, of course they were excited if you’re their teacher.” He looks at me in the same way my dads have always looked at me—like I’m the single most important person in the entire world. “I’m super proud of you, G. Like, stupidly fucking proud of you.”

My heart swoons at his words. “I know. You keep telling me.”

“And I’m never gonna shut up about it.” He grins. He’s about to say something else when his phone rings. He looks at the caller ID and frowns. “It’s the restaurant. I have to take this.”

“Go ahead,” I tell him when he throws me an apologetic look.

Aaron walks away towards the empty road, where the noise of the party isn’t so bad, and while my eyes are glued on him, I keep reminding myself that I’m fine. I’m safe, and he’s right there.

I really did this tonight, didn’t I? Despite my initial doubts and insecurities, I choked my fears to death, listened to my heart and tagged along with my friends. To be honest, the night isn’t going too badly. I’ve gossiped with my girls, saw Aaron (which I barely do these days because we’re both too busy) and I even was in the same room as Dax outside of class. Talk about improvement.

A sudden boost of pride rushes through me. I did it. I put on this cute dress and went out to a college party. And look—I’m safe and sound. I can’t wait to tell my dads about it in the morning.

Not even two minutes later, Aaron jogs back to me with a scowl on his face. “Gotta go to The Spoon. A customer refuses to pay for some fucking reason I don’t get.”

“They refuse to pay? People can do that?”

“Don’t even ask. I really don’t need to get worked up or I’ll punch them in the face. Come on, I’ll walk you inside.”

“I’m fine.” I grab his arm to stop him. He looks down at me, confusion all over his features. “I know where to find my friends. Plus, you’re in a rush right now. I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t be silly, it’ll only take me five seconds to walk you in.”

“Aaron.” I stop him once more. When I talk again, my voice sounds so steady I surprise myself. “I already came here tonight. Baby steps, remember? Well, I’m also ready to go back inside and find my friends. On my own. If I don’t find them in five minutes, I promise to call an Uber and leave.”

Aaron sighs. For a moment I think he’s going to drag me inside despite my protests, but then he says, “Text me whether you find them or not, all right? I’m never too busy for you.”

“I know.” I give him a small smile. “Now go. Hurry. And don’t punch your clients in the face. It’s not a smart business move.”

“I’ll try.” His lips are on my forehead for a second, and then he’s already jogging towards the tapas bar. It’s only a ten-minute walk from here, but he’ll get there sooner with those athletic long legs of his. “Text me!”

I dismiss him with a nonchalant wave. When he disappears down the dark street, realization hits me—I’m on my own, exactly like I wanted. I’m not allowed to complain now, am I?

Okay, Grace, breathe.

Breathing? I can do that. I’ve been doing that all my life, actually.

I know what I have to do. Turn around. Go inside. Find my friends. Stay with them. Text Aaron.

It couldn’t be simpler, really.

So why does it go to hell the second I move?

“Hey, Gina? No—Grace! You’re Grace, right?” A male voice I don’t recognize asks behind me.

I could pretend I didn’t hear him, but I’m suddenly alone in front of Paulson’s front porch, so I don’t think it would work.

Really? Two seconds ago there was a freaking herd out here.

“Hey. Do I know you?” I force a small smile as I turn around, because I’ve learned the hard way that a man who feels rejected is a dangerous specimen. And I’m not feeling particularly brave tonight.

When I look at him, his face still doesn’t ring a bell. He’s tall, broad shoulders, short brown hair, and the clearest shade of blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Um, I think you do. We take creative writing together,” he says in a casual tone, hands in his jean pockets and all. He would look approachable enough if I were any other girl, carrying a different set of trauma. But I’m not.

“I’m sorry.” I grimace. “I don’t remember you.”

“I’m Wes.” He holds out his hand for me to shake, but I don’t take it. Awkwardly, he puts it back in his pocket. “So, you came here with anybody?”

“With some friends.” I point towards the house. “I was on my way to find them, actually.”

“Ah, that’s too bad.” He takes a step closer, and I take a step back. He’s not being particularly creepy or anything, just your standard college guy behavior, but I’m not in the mood. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab a drink with me?”

Absolutely not.

“Um.” I shift clumsily on my feet. “It’s just that they’re really waiting for me.”

Have I forgotten how to say ‘no’? Is that it?

“I’m sure they won’t mind if you bail on them to have a good time with me.” He smiles, and now I’m freaking out.

A good time? A good fucking time?

No, no, no—

“Sorry, but I really need to go—”

Wes takes a step closer and my breath hitches. “Come on, doll. Just one drink. I promise to keep it PG.”

I shake my head and start walking backwards. “Sorry, but no.”

I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate that I’m apologizing. I hate that I was feeling so confident and now it’s all gone to hell.

“All right. Let me at least walk you inside and—”

“She said no.”

A sharp, deep voice cuts through the anxiety in my chest. For a moment, I think Aaron is back and my breathing relaxes. But then Wes moves a little to the left, and I see exactly who that piercing voice belongs to.

It’s the guy from the tattoo parlor.