Free Between the Pages: A Novel by Amanda Richardson

released. And, as you know, it turned out to be huge success.” He hasn’t turned around. His knuckles are white against the steel of the fridge, and I swallow before responding.
    “Oh,” I say quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you let go?” Did you kill her?
    He slowly turns, and he furrows his brow before looking up at me in anguish. “There was an accident with one of my students. It was the absolute worst day of my life. I was trying to help her, and . . .” He trails off and puts his face in his hands. “Anyway, there was a lot of publicity surrounding it,” he continues, talking through his fingers, “and the university thought it best for me to take a permanent leave of absence.” He looks up at me and grimaces.
    Oh. OH. An accident? “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, moving closer to him. He looks up at me and his eyes are rimmed with red.
    “I don’t like talking about it.”
    “You don’t have to,” I whisper, and I resist the urge to take his hands, even though I really, really want to touch him.
    He just nods. “Anyway, under some awful circumstances, my first book made bestseller lists. So, the darkness birthed greatness.” He gently shrugs his shoulders, but he doesn’t look away. His face is mesmerizing.
    “Sometimes you need to wade through the shit to get to the gold,” I add. “And look at you now.”
    He looks at me sadly. “Yeah. Something like that.”
    The microwave beeps and I walk over, taking my food out. I ask the question I want an answer to. Hannah said he’d had an affair with the student. I’m not about to ask that , but I compromise with a question in between. “She must’ve meant a lot to you. To inspire a book.” I grab a fork and look up at him before retreating to the dining room. I know I’m fishing—it’s possible the girl who died had nothing to do with his book. But something tells me she did.
    He’s watching me funny, his head sideways, a small smile on his face—a small, sad smile. “She did mean a lot to me.”
    We continue to stare at each other for a few seconds. I say the only thing that enters my mind. “I’ve never felt that kind of love before.” I sigh. “To inspire a whole book? Pshaw. My exes don’t even deserve a paragraph.”
    He smiles, but it’s a tight smile. “That bad, huh?”
    I nod. “God, I’ve always had bad luck with men.”
    He watches me for a beat before he comes out of his stupor. “Well, anyway . . . do you want to eat supper together?”
    “Supper? I thought you grew up on Long Island? Last time I checked, they say dinner,” I tease. I walk into the dining room and he follows me. I glance at his plate. “Also, don’t you want to heat that up?”
    He shakes his head. “No, I like my food cold. And yes, I did grow up on Long Island. But the woman who took care of me was from Texas. Old habits die hard.” He sits down across from me, and I watch as he cuts up his cold chicken. For whatever reason, I like his many odd his quirks. It makes him unique.
    “Huh,” I say, acknowledging the information. “See, and I hate cold food. I hate cold anything. ”
    “You’ll get to know about all of my weird little habits as the days go on,” he says between bites.
    I smile into my food. “Yeah. I guess so.”
     
    *
     
    I text Hannah later that night when I get back to my room.
     
    Me: I seriously don’t think he murdered her. I asked him about it, and he got really sad and emotional. He mentioned an accident. I’m still curious about the affair though. I have a lot of time to get him to confess all of his dirty little secrets.
    Hannah: Okay. Just be safe. :) If you learn anything new, let me know.
    Hannah: ASAP.
    Me: Love you xx
    Me: The guy says supper, for God’s sake.
    Hannah: LOL
     
    I stay up and read until about midnight, and when I finally fall asleep, I dream of Emerson. Except it’s not Emerson—it’s Geoff with Emerson’s body. When I wake a little after eight the next morning,