Anger runs through my veins. I’m sure they’re paying him a pretty penny for this interview, which is much needed, since he’s got a fancy defense lawyer and his funds are frozen.

Everything he owns has been confiscated, waiting for the result of the trial.

Joe Causey killed my brother. He hurt Emily Rochester.

And because of him, Paige had to be without her mother for months, believing she was dead.

That alone would be enough for me to hate the man, but he also threatened Jane.

He knows she’s important to me. He’s willing to use her to hurt me. The thought is strong enough that I want to stride into that tall, white brick building and find her, drag her out of her meeting with the admissions counselor and hold her until I can stop this hollow fear inside me.

But I don’t. I continue to lounge against the tree, pretending not to notice when girls give me furtive looks, when they point at me and then giggle with their friends. I suppose some guys would be flattered. Some guys might even see it as an opportunity, a quick fuck with a beautiful young girl. I don’t want that. And the only thing it makes me feel is guilt because I did use Jane. I’m still using her, if I’m honest.

I text Mateo.

“Are you watching the girls?”

“Yes,” comes the answer right away.

He knows what I mean. The girls are Emily and Paige.

Mateo never got along with Emily, but I still trust him to look after her. And he’s like an uncle to Paige.

With the college tour ending late in the day, we’re going to be out of town until tomorrow. At least Mateo’s there to make sure they’re okay, to make sure the paparazzi don’t get too close to them.

That’s part of why I’m here. I would’ve wanted to come with Jane anyway, on her tour, as moral support, but I’m also here to make sure the paparazzi don’t mess with her.

I have no problems introducing them to my fist.

Sunlight glints off glass as the large doors open and Jane emerges. She’s wearing jeans and tennis shoes, a plain T-shirt and a light jacket. Her hair is down, loose in the wind. It’s a casual look, but one that takes my breath away. She’s beautiful. Seeing her again, even after only thirty minutes, makes my heart squeeze with happiness and with fear. I don’t want to hurt her.

A black woman follows her out. I remember her as the advisor who welcomed her. They cross over to me and the woman introduces herself. “Mary,” she says, smiling. “And you must be Beau Rochester.”

I give a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you.”