Page 1 of A Moment Too Late

Prologue

My phone has vibratedin the pocket of my dress no less than ten times since class started thirty minutes ago. If I were in a lecture hall with five hundred other people, I’d risk checking to see who was calling at this early hour, but this professor is an asshole. The sight of my phone will set him off. On the first day of class, he made his stance on phones perfectly clear.

If he sees one, we all suffer.

In our second class, we found out exactly what suffering meant when someone walked in texting. The class hadn’t even started. We weren’t on his time yet. Still, he issued a ten-page paper and only gave us three days to do it.

Not a single person has been seen on their phone since.

Message received. Loud and clear.

My phone starts up again, and instantly the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a chill running down my spine. Whoever keeps calling, it must be important which worries me. All my friends know all about this professor. I’ve complained about him on more than one occasion, so they know never to call during class.

Not to mention they’re probably sound asleep. I’m the only idiot who signed up for classes that start before noon in my final semester of college. I didn’t have much of a choice. This class is required to graduate, and this was the only time it was offered.

Sighing, I brush off my concerns and attempt to concentrate on the lecture my professor is droning on about. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open as I listen to his monotone voice go on and on about our final project, due in less than four weeks. I didn’t get back in town until after ten last night, then I overslept, having to forgo stopping for coffee on the way to class so I wasn’t late. Another one of the professor’s pet peeves.

Graduation is just around the corner, though. No more early classes. No more asshole professors. Four years of hard work and dedication all come down to the next few weeks.

This semester has been mentally challenging. Both on a personal and professional level if you count being a college student by day and waitress by night a profession.

My days are long, the nights even longer. The much-needed rest and relaxation I was hoping for while vacationing last week never happened. Sleep eluded me most of spring break. I should have been sunbathing and sipping fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them. I was in paradise with no responsibilities. My days were my own, but they were lonely.

That’s not a new concept it seems. I could be in a room surrounded by all my favorite people and I’d still feel lonely these days.

I spent the first day crying my eyes out behind large, black sunglasses while my parents went on a day excursion. It was beautiful outside, the water was clear, the light breeze keeping me from overheating. The view was breathtaking. I should have been enjoying it with a smile on my face. Or at the very least, taking a nap and working on my tan.

What did I do instead?

Once I knew my parents were gone, I went back to my room and curled up under the covers. My eyes were puffy and red. It hurt to keep them open. I was exhausted from my early flight, but aside from being physically tired, I was emotionally drained.

My heart was splintering in my chest. Every time I thought about that night, I felt a new fault line appear. It wouldn’t be long before it shattered and there would be nothing left.

Because I gave him my heart two years ago.

Willingly.

Without asking for anything in return.

I expected him to treat it with care. To guard it. To keep it safe.

What did he do with it? Nothing.

That was only my first mistake, though. My second?

I didn’t ask if he wanted it. Nope. I ripped it from my chest, shoved it in his hands, and smiled. It happened so fast I didn’t give it a second thought. There was no time to overthink what I was doing because it was over before I knew it even happened.

Why was I so reckless? Because there was something there. The moment I saw him I felt it, the connection. It was magnetic, the pull I felt toward him. The way he held me in his arms was heavenly, as if I was meant to be held by him and only him.

Love at first sight.

I was crazy, right? That never happens in real life. Sure, you read about it in romance novels, but I’ve never heard about it happening to anyone I know. Hell, my mother said it took her two years to get my dad to open his eyes. He says he was just waiting to see if she was worth the effort.

Great role models, right?

But after twenty-five years of marriage, two petitions for divorce that were eventually withdrawn, and one affair on my father’s part, they seem to be doing okay.

That’s a lie.