Forced Proximity (Bluebell House Duet Book 1)
Forced Proximity: Chapter 1

Breathe. In and out, Evelyn. In and out.

The last month of therapy had given me a greater understanding of the importance of breathing through pain and panic, but today, no matter how many times I told myself to fucking breathe, the terror of what awaited me on the other side of those fancy gates was all I could focus on.

Being back at college might be what broke the final hold on my sanity.

Running my hands up and down my denim skirt, I used the rough material as an anchor to keep myself calm.

“Almost there, Ms. Lewis. I’ll get your bags while you head in and speak to the dean.”

The driver was employed by the college and had given me a little introduction speech on the way from the airport. He kept calling me by my new last name–changed since the attack for my own safety–which was going to take some getting used to.

Once Evelyn Marie Cromwell, I was now Evelyn Marie Lewis, foster child of Karolyn and Mitchell Lewis and brand-new student at Meadowridge College. Nothing like switching colleges in your junior year of a four-year economics degree. But here I was. Living the dream.

Thankfully my guardians had made sure I got credit for most of my completed classes, and there were only a few prerequisite courses specific to this college that I’d have to catch up on. Better than a bullet in the brain, though. So I’d take it.

“Tha—thank you,” I managed to get out, the panic barely at bay as I continued to suck in breaths like a pug with a sinus infection. Dr Graystone had warned me I was far from ready to give up therapy. My trauma remained a driving force in my life, and until I could go days without nightmares or face new situations without panic attacks, I needed all the trauma-coping skills from regular therapy sessions.

Too bad he was now over a thousand miles away from me back in Tennessee—I could have used his particular brand of tough love to get me through the next twenty minutes of hell.

The driver stopped before the gates, opening his window to chat to the security who emerged from a hut off to the side of the black, wrought-iron gates. I studied the entrance, taking in the impressive gold filagree and large MC etched in the center. “I need your identification, Ms. Lewis,” my driver said, drawing my attention.

The process of ensuring I was a student took longer than I’d expected, as they checked my identification, ran a quick background check—I had no idea how Mitchell managed it, but I had an entire online history as Evelyn Lewis now—examined every inch of the car to ensure there were no unauthorized tagalongs, and finally declared we were free to enter.

“This college is reputed to be harder than Fort Knox to break into,” my driver said, picking up the conversation as he drove through the gates and up the long driveway leading to a Victorian-style building with creeping ivy along the red and black brick walls. “I don’t know what your parents did to get you in here, but you’ll be taking classes with royalty, politicians, and the richest of rich in our country. Security is paramount, so you have nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t know about the attack. No one knew I was the sole survivor of that dark day at Tennessee Hallows College. My face and name had never appeared publicly, and I’d been swept out of there by my concerned guardians so fast, there was no chance to even say goodbye to the friends I’d made in my first two years. “That’s good to know,” I said, pressing my face closer to the window of his Chevy Suburban. “Hopefully I won’t have to move again before my degree is finished.” Or dodge bullets raining across a room.

When he pulled up, a welcome committee was waiting for me. Classes officially started tomorrow—I was late and had missed orientation, but I still earned a personal greeting and tour by the dean himself. A dean who knew my story, and I half wondered if that was what got me in here in the first place.

“Ms. Lewis,” the distinguished older gentleman said as he opened my door. “I’m Dean Henry Attworth. Welcome to Meadowridge College. We’re delighted to have you joining us this year.”

The Lewis family were solidly middle class. They hadn’t exactly struggled since my dad dumped me on their doorstep for a week when I was ten, and then proceeded to disappear for a good ten years after, but we’d also never had any excess. I hadn’t been in the headspace to ask how they’d managed to get me into such a prestigious college after the attack, but now, standing here and staring up at the imposing building behind the arched entrance, I found myself curious.

How had they managed this?

“I’m excited to be part of your college.” I was proud of myself for not sounding as freaked out as I felt. “I know graduating from here will open many career opportunities for me.”

In and out. In and out.

Breathing was an autonomic reflex for fuck’s sake. Newborn babies breathed when they were two seconds old. I could do this.

“All the opportunities, Ms. Lewis. Now, if you’ll follow me. You can leave your bags; our staff will bring them to your dorm.”

Pulling my gaze from the brick building, I gave Dean Attworth my full attention. He was a few inches taller than my five feet seven, with a head full of silver hair, piercing grey eyes, and a sharp navy suit with a blue-and-grey-checkered tie. There wasn’t a wrinkle to be found on his clothing, every line ironed to within an inch of itself, and even his face was strangely smooth when he was clearly well past his youth.

The rich probably weren’t allowed to look old. Nothing like mortality to remind you money can’t buy everything.

The first building we entered was unusually quiet, the dean pointing out the main office, guidance counselor, registrars, and where we sign up for clubs and sports. A few students emerged from the offices while we stood there but didn’t even bother to look my way, much more interested in their phones than the new student.

The rest of the tour took a few hours, as we visited the many different buildings that made up the massive grounds. A grounds that was fenced on all sides, with that same high, black, wrought-iron structure as the front gate.

“It’s electrified,” Dean Attworth told me, his final action being to run over the safety of the grounds. “Please don’t accidentally stumble into any of our security measures. The guards patrol twenty-four seven, and we have satellite imagery of the grounds beaming to a secondary company. If you have any visitors, they will need to go through the same checks you did upon entry this morning. Your safety is of upmost importance to us here, and my door is always open if you ever feel threatened or unsafe.”

For the first time since we approached the gates, a semblance of calm replaced the abject terror that had been holding me in its grip. “Thank you. Safety is the first priority for my family. This will go a long way to alleviating their worries.” And mine.

The dean beamed like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery and could retire to his favorite beach and drink cocktails for the rest of his life. In perfectly pressed three-piece suits.

“This is where I leave you,” he said when we arrived back in the main entrance. “You can grab your welcome information from the registrar’s office before heading to your dorm. I believe you’re in Marigold Hall. Your bags should already have been delivered.”

He was gone in a waft of expensive cologne, and I was left to hope that for the rest of the day, I’d just get to hide in my room. Stepping out into a new state and school for the first real time since the attack was already a lot for today. Tomorrow I’d attempt to make it to classes and get my life on track.

But first, I needed my schedule and welcome information. The office was right there. Sure, I had to pass a few groups of students who had gathered, but it wasn’t a huge deal. None of them were going to whip out a gun and start shooting into a crowd.

We’d been all but strip-searched on the way in, and I was safe here.

Safe.

In and out.

In. And. Out.

As I approached the entrance to the office buildings, there was a loud crash and one of the girls let out a screeching laugh. This was followed by a second crash, and at the sound of glass shattering on the paved entrance, terror gripped me and my mind flashed back to that day.

The day my world almost ended.

The day I hid behind a desk silently sobbing while a maniac called my name.

The day bodies were scattered around me as I prayed he wouldn’t replace me. Prayed as I ran and screamed, until my back exploded in pain, and then there was blessed darkness.

I’d lived when others hadn’t, and this was my second chance.

I was just too fucked up to enjoy it.

Most of the time, panic locked me in place, my lungs screaming for air until I all but passed out. Today, with all those students staring at the crazy chick in their vicinity, I found myself running. Running with no destination in mind and just an incessant need to escape.

I ended up in front of a building that was familiar, but I couldn’t remember what the dean had said was inside. When I burst through the doors, I found myself in the library. Thank God. Libraries had been sanctuaries for me in the past, and desperate for a moment of peace and to escape how utterly broken and fucked up I was, I pushed deeper into the shelves.

I found myself in a dark corner near the last rows of shelves, my mind fuzzy and frantic. I hadn’t encountered anyone until the very last row, where I found a student already in the stacks. He was dressed casually, in faded denim jeans and a black fitted shirt, leaned back against the shelves, his eyes closed and expression calm.

I had just enough mental capacity left to wonder if he had been searching for a moment of peace as well, but not enough to quiet my breathing as those tendrils of panic still rode me. His eyes popped open, and I was greeted by the darkest green irises I’d ever seen, framed by inky black lashes.

He straightened from his relaxed pose, towering over me as I tilted my head back to keep his face in view, like it was somehow my new anchor in this storm of panic. A face built of perfect masculine lines, a straight nose, and sinfully full lips.

He was one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen, and I was about to embarrass myself beyond repair.

Our gazes clashed, and he didn’t say a word as he examined me with a furrowed brow. I had no idea what I looked like, but no doubt my purple-black hair was in complete disarray while panic drained the color from my normally golden skin.

When he took two steps toward me, I couldn’t replace the strength to move away. “Are you okay?” he asked, the deep timber of his voice strangely soothing.

Unlike me, he was the epitome of health with natural blond highlighting strands of his brown hair, perfect bronze skin, and those spectacular eyes. “No.” The truth escaped in a harsh whisper, my ability to lie gone in my moment of vulnerability. “I’m broken beyond repair.”

A shadow crossed over his features, but he didn’t run screaming from the morose chick cornering him in the library stacks. “How can I help?” he asked, moving even closer until I picked up hints of a spicy aftershave mixed with his natural masculine scent.

Help. Fuck, I needed so much help.

Before I could think through the consequences of my actions—no doubt a man this gorgeous had a girlfriend—I pushed up on my tiptoes and slammed my lips against his. Desperation had initiated my action; I had to escape the torment in my mind. But I never expected him to kiss me back.

I never expected a damn thing these days.

He stilled at the initial contact, and I let out a breathy groan when mint and spice caressed my senses. Clarity returned with the kiss, and that was when the embarrassment hit like a freight train; I was so fucking far out of line. Lifting my hands from his chest, I was about to jerk away when his firm hand snaked around the back of my shirt and yanked me into his huge, hard body.

Heat exploded between us everywhere our skin touched, and there was a brief second between my sloppy attempt at a kiss and when he took control. His tongue demanded entrance as he devoured my mouth, and whatever panic had lingered in my system was swept away by his lips moving against mine.

Our tongues danced, two strangers sharing a second of grief and attraction.

Then it was all over.