I follow Clarissa to a coffee shop that—thankfully—isn't Starbucks. We queue silently for our drinks and I choose this time to careful plan what I want to say to her. A lot is riding on this conversation and I can't afford to mess it up.

"Shall we sit by the window?" I ask, gesturing towards a small table tucked away in the corner.

It's raining outside, the weather seemingly matching my mood.

"Sure," she agrees, taking her hot chocolate over.

I wait until she's comfortably seated before I begin. "Clarissa—"

"You don't need to explain," she assures, cutting me off. "You're both adults."

"But he's my professor," I argue. "He could lose his job if people were to find out."

"Make sure people don't find out then," she quips, smirking.

She casually takes a sip from her hot chocolate as though we're not currently discussing how me shagging my teacher could have huge repercussions.

"I love him," I blurt out, needing her to know this isn't just some spare of the moment thing.

She nods. "I knew you weren't just homesick," she replies.

"How did you know I—"

"Jeremy told me," she explains. "I knew it had to be more than that. You looked heartbroken."

I smile, silently impressed by her observation skills.

"So, what did he do?" she asks, gazing at me.

I hadn't noticed it before, but Clarissa has the most unique set of eyes. Turquoise blue with elements of green.

"What most men do," I say. "Freaked out when things got serious."

"Did he break up with you?" she questions, growing concerned.

I love that she feels the need to protect me in this situation.

"Yeah. Kinda."

"It looked like he'd changed his mind back there," she says, smiling.

I laugh. "That was stupid. We shouldn't have done that."

"Probably not," she agrees, briefly looking out the window.

I follow suit and stare at the thick rain pounding off the cobbled streets.

"Wait! The graffiti. Does someone else know?" she asks.

"That's not about us, apparently."

"Who's it about then?"

I shrug.

Clarissa—being as smart as she is—must sense this has something to do with our breakup and doesn't press for more information.

"Look—Sloan—you were the only person who stuck up for me that first day," she begins, smiling. "As far as I'm concerned, you're not doing any harm. I've seen your assignment feedback and I know he's not giving you special treatment."

James publishes all feedback sessions on the Facebook group we all follow, claiming it to be educational. He swears we learn most through other people's mistakes.

"Your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone."

I relax a little. "Thanks, Clarissa. I really appreciate that."

"On one condition..."

My stomach sinks, hoping she doesn't demand anything too ridiculous.

"Help me find a dissertation topic. I'm fucking panicking!"

I grin, happy to help anyone with matters of literature.

****

I walk the short journey back to my flat and quickly fire James a quick text.

Sloan:

All sorted.

Nothing to worry

about. <3

I contemplate calling him to finish our discussion from earlier but decide against it. I'm exhausted after today and although I hate being in this awful in-between stage with James, I get the feeling he needs to be alone with his thoughts a little longer.

"Nic, I'm home!" I yell, alerting her of my presence.

No response.

I fire my laptop bag on the sofa and shove a pizza in the oven, not feeling hungry but figuring I should probably eat. My consumption of one caramel latte is hardly the nutrients my body needs. Then again, is pizza really that much better? I spot the empty packaging and laugh at its half-arsed attempt at promoting healthy living. They've enlarged the word pineapple as thought health gurus are going to see that and immediately add it to their shopping trolley. Seriously, world... stop trying to make pizza healthy!

I FaceTime Lara and—in an attempt to keep her updated—share recent events with her.

"HE WHAT?"

I cringe at her increase of volume.

"Sloan, kick his arse!"

She repositions her camera so that she's half sitting, half lounging in bed.

"Want me to do it?"

"No, thanks," I respond, smiling. "He's already apologised and admitted he loves me, albeit angrily."

She grins.

"I'll let him grovel a bit longer."

"Too right you will!" she replies. "I like James. He's good for you. But let the fucker sweat."

The timer on my oven sounds, alerting me of my pizza's readiness. I scoff half of it whilst Lara chats about her therapy session, which—today—was all about deep breathing. I listen intently, interested in everything she has to share. I take notes on the self-help techniques and pay special attention to the part about recognising signs of distress in a person. Lara makes fun of me, accusing me of turning every situation into an excuse to learn. Perhaps she's right? Maybe I am a little intense?

"Call me tomorrow," she says, yawning. "Let me know how you get on."

"Will do," I say, blowing her a kiss and hanging up.

Loneliness instantly consumes me. Things between James and I are strained to say the least and although his appears to regret last night's shitshow, I'm still hurt. I have no idea what our future has in store or if we even have one together? I don't know if I can trust Clarissa to keep our secret. Everything is so uncertain and he's yet to text me back.

Arsehole!

I seriously don't know what's going on with him. This secret he's harbouring must be one of epic proportions. I've never known a man to undergo such a personality transplant in such a short amount of time. I just want to fucking help.

"Nic?"

I assume she came home during my call with Lara, given it's gone eight pm. Lately—with everything going on—she's been home before dark.

"Nic?"

I'm met with silence and it's unsettling to say the least.

I check her bedroom in case she's fallen asleep but find her bed empty. I know for a fact her last class finished at four pm, so what the hell has she been doing for the last four hours? I downplay my panic a little, convincing myself she's held up in the library or something. That's the logical reason as to why she's not home. Yet, I can't deny the feeling of dread rooting itself deep in my stomach. Perhaps she's with James?

My phone vibrates and I jump, not expecting it. It's Nicole, though my relief is short-lived. I unlock the screen and am haunted by the two words that stare back at me.

Nic <3

Purple dinosaur.

My fingers are numb as I type my response.

Sloan

Where are you?

Who are you with?

Are you hurt?

I wait for what feels like an eternity before hitting the call button. To my annoyance, it's been turned off.

"FUCK!"

I call James, begging him to pick up. It rings twice before I'm disconnected and gifted his voicemail.

"PICK UP YOUR PHONE, ARSEHOLE!!!!" I yell, already on my way out.

I hang up and order an Uber, impatiently awaiting its arrival. As I do, I keep trying Nicole, but am met with failure each time. The pizza I had earlier rolls around in my stomach, unsettled. Sweat gathers on my forehead as my body is slowly overcome with tremors.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up."

"Hi. You've reached Nicole—"

Fuck!

The Uber finally arrives and instead of engaging in my usual small talk, I sit in silence. I try James a few more times, growing more and more frustrated the more I'm ignored. I know the way to his house like the back of my hand now, though the town that once brought me lots of joy is now tainted by my worry for Nicole.

"Here's fine," I say, at the top of James' street.

I barely so much as utter my thanks before springing from the car. I sprint the remaining way and practically pound on his front door, certainly refusing all efforts of being ignored. Within seconds, Freddie answers.

"Sloan?"

"Where is he?" I ask, pushing past.

James is sat on his softa, poured over a piece of paper. He jumps when he sees me, startled to say the least.

"Sloan, what're you—"

"Doing here?" I ask, breathless from all the running. "Nicole is missing!"

Freddie enters the room as I say this and the two share a look of terror.

"She hasn't come home, and she texted me her panic phrase."

"Panic phrase?" asks Freddie.

"Yes, we have a phrase for if we're ever in danger. She texted me it that night her date went wrong, and she needed picking up."

James leaps from the sofa. "Have you tried calling her?"

"Nonstop," I say.

Freddie intervenes.

"I'll call work. They'll have his location."

"Whose?" I ask.

James looks like he might vomit.

"Tell her," insists Freddie, walking away with his phone pressed to his ear.

James gently takes hold of my hand and—on his way out of the living room—grabs hold of the paper he'd been studying when I arrived. He silently takes me to his bedroom where I discover a desk full of scattered papers. More than usual. I see my name on a number of them, questioning whatever the hell this is.

"I was fifteen," he begins, reading from the sheet. "Wait—no. I had no idea—He was—"

I take hold of his shaking hands and encourage the piece of paper out of them. The fact he's written himself a script is beyond reassuring. It's proof he cares.

"You don't need to be scared," I tell him, voice soft. "You just need to be honest, because right now you're the only person I need protecting from. You're the one hurting me. You're the one tearing me apart."

He inhales sharpy, taken aback by my words and no doubt hating them. Hating the fact he's causing me so much distress.

"Chloe Morris," he finally says.

I have no idea who she is, but I can tell that name haunts him.

"I was fifteen. She was my first girlfriend."

We're stood toe to toe, mere inches apart.

"My parents at the time made a huge deal out of it. Their son's first girlfriend. It was all very exciting." His words begin to falter and the expression on his face twists into something sinister. "Dad suggested I invite her over for dinner, so I did."

My insides churn as I watch him squirm in his skin.

"He murdered her."

What the fuck?

I had not been expecting that in the slightest.

"He drugged us—Freddie, Nikki and I—so that we wouldn't disturb them."

"Them?"

"My mother was forced into it too."

I desperately try to wrap my head around this turn of events, unsuccessful in my doing so.

"I woke up first. Found Mum cleaning blood off the kitchen floor."

He squeezes his eyes shut, as though the very idea of keeping them open causes too much pain.

"I was so confused."

I gently run the pad of my thumb over his eyes, lessening the tension there. He meets my gaze and with as much tenderness as I can convey, I offer him an encouraging smile.

"She fed me some bullshit story about self-defence and told me the future of our family depended on me keeping quiet. The next day, I went to the police."

He sways a little on his feet, so I lead him towards his bed and force him to sit.

"They both went to prison. Dad got life. Mum got seven years but killed herself after two."

I can't even begin to imagine what this has been like for him. For all of them. They were just kids when it happened. Innocent, defenceless kids.

"He was released two weeks ago."

"How come?" I ask, stunned.

He shrugs. "Good behaviour and a fantastic lawyer, I suppose."

I can sense the anger bubbling up.

"That's when the attacks started happening," I say, slotting together the missing puzzle pieces.

He nods. "Freddie's got surveillance on him. He lives in London. We assume he's back for revenge."

He pulls me up from my crouched position and gently presses my forehead to his.

"I couldn't tell you because I didn't want you to hate me."

"Why would I hate you?" I ask, gazing deep into his eyes.

"Because it's my fault. Chloe was there because of me."

"No way!" I refuse his attempt. "This is not on you."

"That's not what her family thought," he informs. "And half of the town we lived in."

I sweep his hair back, needing him to feel as much comfort as possible.

"They all blamed me."

"But you went to the police straight away. You did the right thing."

His shoulders slump, and I can tell he's been carrying this guilt with him for the last twelve years.

"James—"

He finally meets my gaze.

"I love you."

Tears pour down his face as my declaration skinks in. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely positive," I confirm, kissing his cheek.

He holds me against him for a few moments, enjoying the way our bodies feel pressed into each other. He sniffs a few times, and I can sense by the slight tremor his body is undergoing that he's crying.

"Thank you for telling me," I whisper, caressing his hair. "I know that must've been hard, but I appreciate your honesty."

"I should've done it weeks ago," he replies, pulling back an inch. "I've been unfair to you."

"It's fine—"

"It's not fine," he insists, running the tip of his finger along my cheekbone. "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you."

"You have to," I insist. "It's the only way we can move forward."

"Do you even want to move forward with me after what I've done?"

I'm smart enough to know that one conversation with me is not doing to undo twelve years of guilt.

"Yes. I will always fight for us. And it's better we fight together than apart."

He frowns. "I'm not sure how to forgive myself."

"One step at a time," I say, smiling.

Freddie chooses that moment to enter the room and—as though suddenly remembering Nic's current predicament, James and I both tense.

"The squad have a location. We need to move now."

My stomach churns.

"Wait!" I insist. "Are you talking about your dad?"

Freddie nods.

"It doesn't make sense," I say. "Nic has been so vigilant these last few weeks and she'd never put herself in a position to be alone with him."

"He might've forced her," offers James, carefully moving us both to a standing position.

"But why? Why would your dad come back after all these years?"

"Because he's a psychopath," replies Freddie.

I don't buy it.

"It has to be him, Sloan," soothes James. "It all adds up."

Freddie hears something through his earpiece and gestures to get going.

"It's not safe here," insists James. "Take my car and drive home. Lock your doors and wait for me to come by later."

"But—"

"Don't answer the door for anyone else."

"You can't go!" I stress. "Freddie's trained. You're—"

"I'll be fine."

"James—"

I grow panicked at the thought of him knowingly putting himself in harm's way.

"Sloan—baby—nothing bad is going to happen."

"You don't know that," I cry. "What if you get hurt?"

"I won't get hurt."

I pull on his jumper, pleading with him to stay with me.

"She's my sister. I have to go."

"Jamie, come on," encourages Freddie, shooting me a 'I'll watch out for him' look.

My body fills with dread as James presses his forehead to mine and lightly kisses my lips. It's a short exchange, but sweet, nevertheless.

"I love you," he whispers, pulling away seconds later.

I respect his need to go after his sister in what is potentially a life-or-death situation. I only wish his safety was guaranteed.

"James!" He stops just short of exiting the bedroom. "I believe you."

✨✨✨✨

Hi, lovely!

OHHHHHH! The secret is out.

What do you think? Was anyone expecting that?

And what about Nic? Who do you think has her?

All will be revealed in next week's (very dramatic) update!

Stay tuned!

Oh, P.S...The Professor hit 100,000 reads this week and I LOVE YOU ALL! ❤️

Lots of love.

Rebecca xo