The Fundamental Theory of Us Read online

  Rachel paid while Sawyer argued about the price. In the end, Rachel got what she wanted: Sawyer trussed up, looking like someone else, ready for a date. A date. The words felt foreign. Technically, she had gone out on dates before, but they were set up by her parents at the club, or dinners out at the Hamptons with sons of her parents’ friends. Society dates didn’t count.

  They agreed to take Sawyer’s car to a little club near the university that had live music. Rachel left hers in Sawyer’s building parking lot. During the drive, Rachel sat with her hands twisted in her lap as she stared out the window, or checking her hair and makeup, and readjusting her many necklaces.

  Sawyer parked in the back lot, in one of the few spots left, under the cover of trees. “Here we are.”

  Rachel dropped her head between her knees. “I think I’m going to puke.”

  She shook her head. “Rachel, you’ll be fine. If she doesn’t like you, then it’s her loss.” Sawyer shrugged.

  Almost ten minutes later, Sawyer and Rachel stepped through the doors of The Vault, a small restaurant/music venue. Inside, the music drowned out voices. Most of the crowd’s attention was glued to the band on a small stage at the back of the dimly lit space. Stranger’s heat seeped through her dress. Sawyer shrugged out of the cropped jacket and fanned herself. Pretty soon she’d start melting and all Rachel’s hard work would go to waste.

  Rachel scanned the crowd, looking for the girl she hoped to make jealous. Sawyer still thought the plan sucked, but Rachel was sweet, even though the Purple Punk Princess did grate on her nerves. If pretending to be on a date with Rachel worked, and she was forced out of her comfort zone, then Sawyer considered the inconvenience worth it. Besides, it felt good to throw off her armor for a night. Uncomfortable, but good.

  “There she is.” Rachel’s fingers bit into Sawyer’s arm. “With the braids.”

  Ignoring the sharp sting in her calf muscles, compliments of the killer shoes, Sawyer searched the crowd at the end of Rachel’s finger and spotted their prey straight away. Long, black braids shot through with shocking blue, light brown skin, big glasses, and a dancer’s body.

  “She’s beautiful,” Sawyer said.

  “Fucking gorgeous. You should see Lola dance. It’s like … magic.”

  Sawyer rolled her shoulders back, her mother’s man-hunting advice sneering in her ear. Breasts out, chin up, and a smile. Just a little one, like you’ve got a secret, and if they do as you suggest, you might share it with them. She hated it—hated the lies, deception. Cheating. Anything you imagine, it happened in the hurricane of waspish women, stuck up men, and their bratty children. Nothing was off limits, except embarrassing the family. Once you crossed that line, you were out. Unless you left first.

  “Oh God, she’s coming this way.” Rachel’s grip turned bruising. “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do we hide? We should probably hide. Oh shit, she’s looking at me!”

  Sawyer sucked up Rachel’s panic like it was her own. Lola’s long legs ate up the floor and she reached them before they could think of anything to say or do.

  “Rachel. I didn’t think you’d be here tonight.” Lola’s liquid brown eyes flicked to Sawyer then back to the purple pixie. “Who’s your friend?”

  Rachel stood straighter and slid an arm around Sawyer—Sawyer’s chest clinched tight at the contact. The floor tilted. She barely heard Rachel’s introduction, but felt her standing wooden beside her. Lola didn’t notice. Her sharp eyes locked onto Rachel’s hand draped on the curve of Sawyer’s hip. Going by the downward curl of her lips and flared nostrils, Lola was not happy. Nervous tension crackled in the air. People around them were oblivious.

  “I need to visit the little girl’s room,” Sawyer said. Her nerves fizzed and her heart beat fifty times for every step she took through the crowd.

  At the restroom entrance, Sawyer paused and turned around. Lola and Rachel were standing close, their noses almost touching. She watched them pause, breaths mingling. Then Rachel pressed her palm against Lola’s jaw. Even from across the floor, Sawyer could see the sparks flying between them as Lola lowered her head and claimed Rachel’s mouth.

  She cheered silently while a thread of jealousy stretched taut in her belly. Sawyer shook it off and went into the ladies’ room. Cold water, that’s what she needed. A splash on her cheeks did little to chase away the heat. The leather made her warmer than usual, even with half her body bared. Hell, the bodice barely covered her nipples, and the leather tassels that made up the skirt might as well not exist at all. If her mother ever saw her wearing this—

  Her phone chirped and Sawyer jerked away from the mirror, her eyes wide with fear. Get a hold of yourself! Mother’s voice—shrill, commanding. Would she ever get away from them?

  Sawyer grabbed a sheet of paper towel, blotted her cheeks and reached for her phone with a shaking hand. It might be from him. It might not. Only one way to find out.

  u can go if u want … thanx 4 ur help! i owe u 1!

  Relief eased the tension from her muscles. Rachel’s crazy plan worked. Sawyer couldn’t believe it. Then again, some people had a way of getting what they wanted. Persistence paid off. Maybe if she fought harder, Sawyer could work past the cobwebs blocking her view of the future and leave the past in the past. It was difficult when the one person she loved more than life itself had blood ties to the one person who made her life a living hell for the past five years.

  The bathroom door opened and two girls close to Sawyer’s age stumbled inside in a bubble of hysterical laughter. The blonde looked up and scowled at Sawyer. She recognized her from Studio Art: Emory Daughton. The girl eyed Andrew the same way Sawyer did, the same way any straight female with a pulse did. Who could blame them? That didn’t explain why Emory’s eyes turned into weapons each time she spotted Sawyer.

  The other girl dragged Emory into a stall and slammed the door, cutting off Emory’s laser-beams. Sawyer rolled her eyes. Probably doing drugs.

  Free from any further obligations for the night, Sawyer pulled her little jacket back on, covering some of her chest, and headed out to her car. On the short trip home, she thought about Courtney, and the last time she’d seen her three-year-old niece. Strawberry-blonde curls spread over her pillow, her bright green eyes staring up, pleading. Just one more story, she’d said. Begged. No child in the world loved stories more than Courtney. She had to be the only kid who asked for books as gifts, when her family had enough money to buy her anything she wanted.

  Sawyer had almost missed her bus out of New York, just to spend five more minutes with her niece. Courtney was like one of those rare flowers that sprouted up in a harsh, unforgiving climate. If only she could be there all the time to protect Courtney from the poisonous atmosphere around her. But that wasn’t Sawyer’s job. Not her place.

  As she parked, Sawyer changed mental gears, thinking instead about the art project she and Andrew spoke about earlier. She wanted to do something special, something she hadn’t done before. She lied when she told him she wasn’t good with pencils on paper. Once, another lifetime ago, art was her life, her reason for breathing. Taking the class now was her way of dipping her toes back into the pool.

  She would stick to math as her major—numbers could be controlled. Art was messy and too emotional. When she compartmentalized the horrors of her past, releasing the hold on her emotional tap wasn’t the brightest idea. She wanted to do something different. Something no one else in the class would do. Not paint or sculpture, and definitely no acid. She had enough scars.

  Sawyer reached her floor and wondered if she should head into town and find an internet café to do some searching and get ahead on some of her schoolwork. Her gaze went to Andrew’s door. Stupid. She shouldn’t get involved. Everything Sawyer touched turned to shit—her entire life served as proof.

  She had just put her key in the lock when his door opened, and Rosie bounded into the hall, followed by Andrew. He filled the doorway, his face
half-hidden in shadows. His eyes shone, two impossibly blue beacons in the night.

  While Rosie licked Sawyer’s fingers, Andrew sucked in a breath and she felt his gaze moving down her body. He never lingered too long, but everywhere he looked, her skin tingled. He looked up at her and she heard him swallow.

  “Rosie,” he said, his voice rough and deep. It vibrated through her. The dog gave Sawyer’s hand one last lick and bounded back across the hall, her tail whacking the wall. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s fine.” Sawyer wished he hadn’t seen her in this. “Um, sorry about skipping out like I did. Rachel needed my help.”

  Her mouth went dry as Andrew stepped out into the hall, wearing a pair of track pants and nothing else. The man was magnificent. The kind of model sculptors dreamed of carving into marble. Perfectly imperfect with all his scars, tattoos, and muscle. Powerful, but beautiful, too. Oh boy, those abs. If she could move at all, Sawyer would fan herself. Yep, Global Warming was all his fault.

  “No worries.” Andrew’s fingers idly moved behind Rosie’s ear. “You left your pizza here, though.”

  Sawyer shook her head. “No, it’s yours.”

  She thought he’d press the issue, but Andrew only shrugged. “Big night?” He nodded at her outfit.

  Sawyer laughed. “Like I said, Rachel asked me to do her a favor.”

  One dark brow rose. “And that involved…?” He looked her leather Tinkerbell outfit over once more.

  A prickly blush broke out every inch of her bare skin. “Not my idea. I don’t—dress like this. Ever.”

  “Well, you look good.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the floor. The muscles in his chest tightened. “I’m just diving into this Fundamentals stuff. Well, drowning, more like it.” He smiled, reaching one arm behind him to scratch his neck.

  Go inside. Lock the door. Hide. Sawyer squeezed her eyes tight, filled and emptied her lungs. When she opened her eyes, she saw Andrew watching her, a curious yet guarded shadow in his gaze.

  “Do you need some help?”

  He let his arm fall back to his side. The muscles flexed and relaxed, making his tattoos dance. “Only if you’re not busy.”

  They had an agreement—and Sawyer always kept her word, when she could. “Give me a couple minutes?” She motioned to the leather, and regretted it when Andrew’s eyes darkened.

  “Sure. I’ll be here.” He jerked his head toward his apartment.

  Sawyer nodded, turned on her heels, opened her door, and slipped inside. For a few seconds, she leaned on the back of the door, giving her pulse a chance to calm down. The wood felt cool against her legs. She stripped out of the jacket, pulled the zipper on the dress, and let it pool around her feet, then stood in her bra and panties and heels, absorbing the chill. Five minutes with Andrew and her core temperature went way past critical.

  After a minute, she straightened and gathered the expensive leather, and carried it to her closet, which was mostly empty. Everything she wore could be folded. What was the point of buying nice things when she didn’t want to be noticed? No one paid attention to the girl in oversized thrift-store clothes. No one except Andrew. And now he’d seen her like this. Sawyer caught her reflection in the closet door mirror. Through her white cotton bra, she saw the four long pink marks on her chest.

  Sawyer turned away from the mirror. She hung the dress and jacket up, removed her heels and placed them on the closet floor. In her dresser, she pulled out a baggy sweater and a pair of jeans. She removed the makeup Rachel had painstakingly applied and she ran a brush through her hair, remembering that Andrew’s place didn’t have too much light. Besides, they’d be in school mode. Unlike most people she knew, studying to Sawyer was serious business, not an excuse to … do what other people seemed to do.

  She left her apartment and knocked on Andrew’s door, keeping her gaze glued to the floor. She didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes when he saw her this time—now that he knew what she could look like when she made an effort. Because no amount of hell was worth taking that risk.

  Chapter Eight

  With Sawyer’s help, Andrew ratcheted up his knowledge of Fundamentals of Probability. Every evening for the past week, she came over and they studied. During one of their study sessions, Miranda showed up, but seeing Sawyer there again must have made an impression on her. She hadn’t bothered him since.

  That happened four days ago.

  Today was Saturday again, early morning, and he and Rosie were out on the trail they carved out in the woods. He brought a few items along in the hopes of kicking up his training once more. His arms felt like they were getting softer. The trouble with building so much muscle and not keeping up with previous regimes meant a risk of muscle turning to fat. It wouldn’t happen overnight, however, complacency wasn’t in his vocabulary—until the leg.

  Andrew hammered the final nail into a tree branch where he planned on hanging the last speed bag, and then his makeshift course was complete. No weapons. He didn’t need to fire anything to get the same effect. Climbing, punching targets, crawling, and jumping were enough for now. Especially since he could barely jump the distances he used to. He made jumps a high priority, and thankfully there were a couple creeks and felled trees he could practice with.

  Rosie stood behind him, ready for anything. She spotted a squirrel and followed it with her eyes. Her training meant she stuck by him, until he let her go. Andrew gave the command and Rosie hesitated a moment before shooting off into the trees. She might be his support dog, but Rosie was still a dog, and needed the chase-and-catch game like any other. Besides, he didn’t own her—they were equals. Friends.

  Andrew went to the beginning of the course and readjusted his prosthesis, checked his laces, and mentally prepared for the task ahead. He set a timer on his phone, strapped to his bicep, and held his thumb over the button as he got into position.

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Go.

  No hesitation. He shoved through the foliage, running his hardest to the first obstacle: a felled tree with a little dip of leaf-strewn ground underneath. His muscles protested. He hadn’t pushed himself this hard in months. Giving up wasn’t an option. He pushed on, dropping to his stomach to crawl under the tree, squeezing and pulling, until his feet cleared. Then he was up again, running to the first tree with a rope ladder. He climbed up, pulling his body higher. At the first branch, he hoisted up onto it and stood for a second, knees bent. Then he jumped down into the pile of leaves, the shock of hitting the ground jolting through his missing leg.

  Ignore it. Not real.

  He pushed on, hitting the first speed bag. The second. His lungs burned, a welcome sensation. Muscles worked, rusty at first, then remembered the way they used to push and strain, until a welcome heat filled his body. Another obstacle—this one a felled tree. He jumped over, fumbling a little, barely clearing the other side and landing the jump. Andrew swore but kept going. The last speed bag. His knuckles slipped and hit the tree.

  “Fuck.”

  He kept on pushing himself to the last obstacle, another tree and rope ladder, the climb made slippery from blood running down his knuckles. He took breaths he didn’t have to take. Forced his body over the final hurtle. One last jump, one last jarring shock to the bones, and he raced for the finish line. Rosie was there to greet him with an enthusiastic bark, her tail wagging. Bits of debris clung to her golden coat, her tongue hung out one side of her mouth. Her eyes were clear. He could swear she was smiling.

  Andrew dropped his hands on his knees and sucked in breath after breath, his throat on fire. He hadn’t pushed himself that hard in a while. The burn felt good. Reminded him that he was alive. A momentary pang knifed his chest. He pushed it back. Not your fault. Repeating his therapist’s assigned mantra helped—a little. The memory was always there.

  “Holy shit, dude.”

  Andrew lifted his head. Sweat dripped in his eyes. He blinked it away and saw a guy and a girl in high tech running gear watching him.

/>   “That was amazing,” the girl said, her eyes wide. She was blonde and pale, like Sawyer, but didn’t have the same effect on him. “We saw you from the start, and I thought ‘what’s he doing?’ Then you just … tore it up.”

  “Yeah,” the guy put in. “How’d you do that?”

  Andrew found his pack—he’d left it here, knowing he’d need some water when he finished and didn’t want to traipse all the way back to the start—and dug out a bottle of water. After downing half, he poured the rest in a small bowl for Rosie. She lapped it up greedily.

  “Marines.” Andrew swiped a hand across his brow and it came back wet.

  “Jesus, you’re bleeding.” The guy pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it over.

  “Thanks.” Andrew nodded, wiped his brow and sure enough, it came back red.

  “I think it’s just your hand,” the blonde said.

  “Yeah, I hit the bag too hard.”

  The woman laughed and smiled at the guy. They shared a private conversation with their eyes, the kind of deep connection he thought he’d had with Miranda. When he woke up in Germany, with one leg missing below the knee and an email from her saying “I can’t do this,” he knew what they shared wasn’t love—not real, honest to goodness, can’t-be-without-her love. She broke his heart, but at the same time, she set him free. He drained the bad blood and moved on. Thoughts of Miranda didn’t make his chest ache any longer. She just … annoyed him.

  “Um, so I’m Taylor,” the blonde said. “And this is Logan.”

  Andrew smiled, introduced himself. Waited. There was more, he sensed.

  She twirled her blonde ponytail around a finger. “Have you ever heard of Tough Mudder?”

  “Yeah.” He had done the marathon twice. That was before.

  “Well, we signed up for a smaller version of it. Kind of like a practice run, you know? We’re training, but outside of trying on the courses that are already built in crowded places, we can’t really find anything we can use to practice. Plus, we’re really new to this.”