Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (193 page)

James’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“I was drinking and dancing. And then at one point, I just felt—weird. I was out of it. Like, way worse than if I were just drunk. The lights started to blur. I couldn’t tell where I was. It wasn’t Rohypnol, but James… something happened. A guy tried to lead me out with him.”

He jumps to attention. “What? Celeste!” He takes my cheek, turns my head toward him. “You’re serious? Are you okay? Who was it? Do you remember? I swear to fucking God, I’ll kill the bastard—”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I figured out what was happening—somehow—just in time. He didn’t do anything.”

“Do you know him? Have you ever seen him before?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Fuck!” James slams a fist against his leg. “Celeste, if anything bad happened to you, I would have…I would…”

“James, it’s okay.” I put my hand over his fist. He relaxes a little. “It’s you I’m worried about. The drinks were spiked that night. You were serving them, weren’t you? And Angela is now a witness.”

“Who’s lying,” James says. He shakes his head. “Fucking Angela. I can’t believe she would… well no. I do believe it. She has always been spiteful. Damn it. She found the perfect ally in Summer, too. Christ.” He takes a deep breath. “This is a bigger mess than I first thought.”

He catches himself admitting that. “But don’t worry,” he amends. “I’ll figure it out. It’ll… resolve itself.” He eases his hand from mine and stands. “They don’t have a case.”

“You don’t sound as convinced anymore,” I say softly.

“Angela’s involvement muddies the waters,” he grunts. “Still. If I didn’t do it, what can they prove? The worse thing that can happen is this case will drag on for months and months and months. It won’t be clear-cut.”

“Can you still fight it?” I ask. “I mean
really
fight it and succeed? It’s not just you against Summer anymore. It’s you against Summer and Angela, and there are drugs involved…”

“I know. I know, I know, I know. But we gotta trust in the system, you know? They wouldn’t put an innocent man behind bars.”

I raise my eyebrows.

James scoffs a laugh. “You’re right. That’s a fucking lie. I don’t know what to tell you, Celeste. I’ll fight tooth and nail, but… well, we’ll need to see what type of case they build against me first.”

“Summer did mention something about a… leather folder?” I say. “She said Angela wants it. If you give it to her, Summer told me she might withdraw charges.”

I watch for his reaction. His face remains blank.

“Do you know what that’s about?” I ask.

James gives a small, understanding nod. “Yes,” he says.

Instead of expanding on it, he returns to the bar and pours himself another drink.

“Well?”

He leans against the countertop and rocks back and forth on his toes. “She wants…” he shakes his head. “She wants to bankrupt me. But there’s no way she’s getting that folder. None!”

“Why?” I ask. “James, what’s inside?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. He waves his hand through the air. “She’s not getting it. I understand what she’s trying to do now. She wants to blackmail me. She and Summer dreamt up this rape charge. They coordinated the whole thing. If we can show
that
to the court…” his eyes light up. “Then they’ve got no case. It’s the vindictive ex-wife and the spurned lover against me. The judge isn’t a moron. He’ll see right through their little act.”

“James… what’s in the folder? Wouldn’t it just be easier to give it to them and make this all go away?”

He looks at me. “No,” he says. “I’m not frightened anymore. If they want to push me, I’ll fight back.” He gives a malicious grin. “And I’ll destroy them.”

3.

“Look at this!” I slam down the paper on James’s desk in disgust. “Look at what they’re writing about you. Go on, have a read!”

James scans the heading of the student paper. “
Esteemed University Professor Accused of Rape
. Hmm.” He shrugs. “That’s not so bad.”

“Not that bad? Are you kidding? Read the rest. It’s slander!”

“’Professor James Landon, New York Times Bestselling author of
Little House by the Sea,
has been accused of sexual battery… blah, blah, blah… at an unsanctioned party at his residence…blah, blah…’” he skims the rest. He looks up.

“Honestly, Celeste. They’re not saying anything untrue.”

“Are you kidding me?” I protest. “Look at what they’re saying? They’re calling you a…a…a
predator
!” I snatch the paper back and begin to read. “Listen to this line, ‘The professor has been known for exploiting his power status in the classroom and has reportedly taken advantage of his celebrity and fame by pursuing illicit relationships with his female students. Former members of Professor Landon’s class admit the charge comes as no great surprise. They say—’”

“Celeste,” James cuts me off. He places his hand over the newspaper and lowers it to my waist. “You’re giving in to sensationalism. Don’t worry. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“They’re trying a full-on character assassination!” I cry out.

“Let them,” James says. He looks me in the eyes. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

I spin away and stalk back to the bar. “How can you be so—so
calm
about all this?” I demand. I take out a highball glass and set it down with too much force. “Shit!” I cry out as it shatters on the counter.

James is at my side in an instant.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“It’s nothing,” I say. “I just…” I look at the mess. My hands are shaking. “It just makes me so mad, you know? That they can say all those things about you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” James says. “There’s not going to be much of a story if they don’t have a case. I can prove my innocence.”

I turn to him. “Are you sure of it?” I ask.

He takes both my hands. “I’m positive,” he promises. His green eyes shine into mine. I see such conviction there and so much courage.

It makes me feel weak and ashamed and cowardly by contrast.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Good,” he says. He steps into me. His hands press into my body. “Close your eyes.”

I do. I feel him shift closer.

A moment later his lips are on mine in the softest, most velvety kiss I’ve ever received.

He draws back then leans his forehead against mine. “Good?” he whispers.

“Good,” I tell him back.

He rubs my arms. “I don’t want you to worry, Celeste. Whatever the press says—it’s hardly the worst thing anyone’s ever written about me. Exams are over at the end of the week. Everybody will go home for break. With the holidays just around the corner, nobody’s going to remember any of this. And when they come back in January, it’ll all be resolved.”

“Will it, though?” I ask. “How can you be sure it’ll move forward so fast?”

“Trust me. I have friends at the law school. I’ve spoken to them, and I know how the court process works. Summer and Angela think they have a case, but it’s paper thin. Summer wouldn’t have gone in for medical examination because they’d know she was lying. The burden of proof is on them, not me. I can defend myself. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll try,” I mumble. “It’s just…” I trail off and look away.

James directs my face back to him with one finger under my chin. “It’s just what, lover?”

Despite my disposition, I smile. “I like it when you call me that.”

“You’ve warmed up to it finally. It’s who you are. What you’ll forever be.”

“Maybe not forever,” I whisper.

He makes a hissing sound. “You’re going to beat this cancer thing.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask. I sniffle. “If I don’t, James… then it’ll be my fault for ruining your life.”

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey. Look at me. Don’t say that. You can’t ruin my life, baby. You know why?”

“If you say because I’m going to survive, I’m going to punch you,” I try to joke.

“Not that.” He shakes his head. “Though you will. No, Celeste, the reason you won’t ruin my life is because I was never
living
before I met you. I was just… existing. Floating from place to place, never really seeing things for the way they are. Never really…” he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, “…appreciating the beauty all around me.”

I look at him through watery eyes. “You think I’m beautiful?” I ask.

“You know I do,” he affirms. “And you fucking are. You are beautiful, Celeste. You are precious, and you are brilliant. You shine. I’m only so lucky as to witness it.”

I wipe my tears away on a tiny little laugh. “I’m only all those things because you make me them,” I whisper.

“It’s because I love you.”

My heart melts. “Really?” I ask.

“I knew I’d love you from the moment I set eyes on you. From the moment we first fucked. From the moment we spoke, and you let me in, and you bared to me your soul.”

“That’s awfully romantic,” I accuse gently.

“You make me so.” He smiles and takes my hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”

I follow James upstairs to his study. He leaves me on one side of his desk, not quite as impressive as the one in his office but large none the less. He opens a drawer to take out a massive leather folder.

He drops it in the middle of the workspace. “This is what Angela wants,” he tells me.

“What is it?” I ask.

He nods. “Open it. Look inside.”

I pull it toward me. The leather is dark and heavy. There’s a certain sturdiness to it that reminds me of James.

I unclip the flap and open the folder. Inside are sheets and sheets of old, yellow-tined notebook pages with writing all over.

“My first few books, I wrote longhand,” James says. He chuckles. “There was a certain gravity to writing with paper and pen that appealed to me then. Still does, in fact. Only now, it’s a pain in the ass to try transcribing it.”

“These are your first books?” I ask. I feel like I’m holding something sacred.

Oh, what Summer wouldn’t give to be in my spot, before the term started, when she still had starry eyes for James Landon.

“The very first,” he confirms. “They’re actually drafts, mostly. Half of that never made it into the final manuscripts. The other half? Well, it’s been changed and edited so much that even
I
might have a hard time recognizing it.”

I feel like James is showing me something important.

“So then, Angela wants these?” I ask. “Why? And why were you so adamant about refusing her? I mean, obviously, these pages are special to you—“

“Special?” he cuts me off. “They are more than special, Celeste. They are priceless. They are me pouring my soul out. To the ideas and values I now hold. To all those things…” he gestures around us. “…that gave bearing to this. Those pages…” He taps the top of the stack in my hands, “…show my genesis. They reveal who I really am.”

“But these are
yours
,” I say. “They’re not Angela’s. What on earth does she have to do with them?”

“Nothing,” James affirms. “Yet to her, they could mean everything. I wrote those, and we were dating at the time. She was less spiteful then. I could see the dark in her, but I chose to ignore it.”

“Why?” I ask. “Was it ever love?”

James shakes his head. “Love, I only feel with you, Celeste. I did not love Angela. She did not love me, either. But we both had even less love for all the things going on around us. We were similar in that sense, and it is what drew us together. Perpetual pessimists, you might say.” He gives a small, sad smile.

“But you’re nothing like that now,” I tell him.

“No,” he agrees. “I changed. And looking back, I know that these pages,” he touches the stack, “were written in the midst of a serious depression that I did not recognize until much, much later.”

“Oh, wow,” I whisper.

“Anyway. See these markings? The ones with the blue pen?” He points them out. “Those are Angela helping me with edits. She was one of the few who could make out my handwriting.”

I squint at the page. “It’s pretty miniscule,” I say.

He smiles. “Exactly. Angela and I kind of fed each other the same dark shit. It was a never-ending spiral towards deeper and deeper depression, masquerading as philosophical angst. Maybe that’s how these books sold so well. Maybe all my readers feel something in these pages that speaks to them. That let them know that despite all the individualism present in our world, those who espouse it are very much afraid. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of dying without having given their life meaning. Afraid of being a throwaway cog in the machine of never-ending momentum, of perpetual movement. Afraid of getting lost within human civilization.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“Light is only the absence of darkness,” James tells me. “Writing these pages was like a purge. I had to eliminate the darkness shrouding my mind. Only then could I transform my thoughts into what they were meant to be. This, all of this…” He touches the pages again. “Is me creating a canvas of blackness for light.”

“I still don’t understand what Angela would want with them? Why could they possibly hold any relevance to her?”

“Ah,” James holds up one finger. “Do you remember how I told you the article you showed me isn’t the worst I’ve faced?”

“Of course. You just said it minutes ago.”

“Well. Would you like to know what I was comparing it to?”

“Um, duh?”

He takes a heavy breath. “When I first wrote these,” he glances at the papers again, “I borrowed heavily from philosophy of the late 1800’s. Even that is probably putting it mildly. I used their ideas and presented them as my own. But, of course, these pages were never meant for anybody else. They were for me, for Angela, maybe for our friends.
Not
for publication.”

“You plagiarized?” I wonder.

“Almost,” he says. “I walked the line but didn’t cross it. And the final manuscripts were wiped clean. Of course, some of the
influence
remained… but none of us can make claim to be fully secular, can we? Society is interconnected. Ideas are recycled and take on new life. Everything is constantly moving, there is always progress, and to shun and ignore our past is to be doing the great thinking of yesteryears a spectacular disservice.”