Page 79 of Cross My Heart
I’m on my feet in a heartbeat, striding for the doors.
“Anthony? Saint?”
I hear my mother calling me, but I don’t slow down.
I have to get to Tessa.
I damnwell break the speed limit, driving up to Oxford, and by the time I arrive at Tessa’s flat, I’m nearly going out of my mind imagining the worst. Somebody hurt her. She was scared.
And I wasn’t there to protect her.
“Tessa?” I hammer on her door. “Tessa, it’s me, Saint. Open up!”
The door cracks a couple of inches, and her cautious blue eyes peer out. When she confirms it’s me, she removes the chain, and opens it wider.
“Hey,” she whispers, stepping back to let me in.
I stop dead in the doorway. She looks like she’s been through the wringer. Her face is pale and drawn, there are dark shadows under her eyes, and an ugly bruise on her forehead.
“My god, what happened to you?” I immediately go to her, tenderly cupping her cheek to examine the bruise.
“I’m fine.” Tessa starts to pull away.
“Liar.” I try to draw her closer to comfort her, but she winces in pain, and puts a protective hand to her stomach.
“Really,” she insists again, even as I see the pain mar her delicate features. “I went to the hospital, they checked me out. Nothing but some scrapes, and a few bruised ribs from where he… He hit me.”
Blood pounds in my ears. Rage strikes through me, but I force myself to stay calm.
“Who was he?” I ask, carefully leading her over to the couch. I tuck a blanket around her, and she curls up, looking more vulnerable than I thought possible. Tessa, who always has a smart retort; fearless and bold. Now she wraps her arms around herself protectively and gives a little shrug.
“I don’t know, I didn’t see his face. He was wearing this creepy mask. It was over quickly,” she adds. “He just grabbed me, and knocked me down, and then some people came, and he ran off.”
“But he didn’t get your purse?” I ask, noticing her brown leather shoulder bag hanging on a chair.
Tessa blinks. “No. I, umm, I guess I held onto it instinctively. It was stupid,” she adds, “I should have just let it go.”
“This isn’t your fault.” I take her hand, holding it tightly. “It’s Ashford’s, for not having better lighting in the street. Or cameras. What the hell are they doing housing students here, outside the college walls?” I demand, shaken by what a near-miss it was. I’m gripped with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness, furious at the world—and myself—for allowing her to be hurt.
If somebody hadn’t come…
“You’re moving in with me.” I decide suddenly.
“What? Saint, no,” Tessa protests, clearly surprised.
It was an impulsive suggestion, but now I think about it, it’s the perfect solution.
“It’s clearly not safe here,” I point out. “You’ll be much more secure at mine. The streets are safe. I have a top-of-the-line security system, you can easily walk to class. And I’ll be there to protect you.”
Tessa gives me a tired smile. “I’m not a damsel in a tower, Saint, and I don’t need you to play like a white knight. I can take care of myself.”
“The bruise on your forehead says otherwise,” I point out.
She lifts a hand, pressing it to the purple welt, and winces. “You couldn’t have stopped it, even if you’d been there,” she says. “He wanted…”
“What?” I ask. “What did he want?”
She looks away, evasive. “Nothing. Just some cash, I guess. Look, it’s a very sweet offer,” she adds, getting to her feet. “But come on, me moving in with you? We both know that’s just crazy.”