Fighting Fate (Granton University #1)(4)

“Lover’s quarrel?” Dr. Presni’s dry voice made him jump.

Logan jerked his attention to the professor who curiously eyed him of all people over the tops of his glasses. Shifting his gaze around him, Logan found an entire room full of curious eyes watching him.

Slumping lower in his seat, he shook his head adamantly. “N-no, sir. I don’t…I don’t even know her.”

Though his words were true, he squirmed inside, feeling as if everyone else saw otherwise, as if they’d suddenly learned every horrible thing about him.

But in all honesty, he didn’t know the girl with the large dark eyes who’d just stared at him as if he’d ripped out her very soul. If he had three guesses, however, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t need two of them to correctly guess her identity.

Logan knew Trace Zukowski had had a younger sister. He’d read about her in Zukowski’s obituary, though for the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name. He remembered the girl he’d assumed was the sister when he’d gone to the funeral, though. She’d approached him hesitantly only to spit in his face. Hate and damnation had seared him from a pair of tear-stained eyes that had seemed too large for such a small, pale girl. But she’d darted away before he could seal a concrete image of that face in his brain.

He doubted he’d forget what she looked like this time around.

“I’m guessing that was Paige Zukowski,” Presni pressed, still staring expectantly at Logan.

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.