Beautiful Burn Read online

  Beautiful Burn

  Copyright © 2014 by Adriane Leigh

  Cover Design by Regina Wamba at MAE I Design

  Editing by Adept Edits

  Formatting by Erik Gevers

  ISBN-10: 0990386163

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9903861-6-2

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  prologue

  Auburn

  I've broken him, bent him, and burned him, and each fevered moment was worth every ounce of pain.

  If I had predicted the course my life would take, it would not have included my gorgeous, brooding English teacher. But it does, and I can’t say that I regret it because it’s shaped me. He has shaped me.

  The moment his searing green eyes locked with mine again, a tingling awareness had radiated down to the depths of my soul. I knew Reed West was one mistake I wanted to make. I threw caution to the wind and learned more lessons than I ever thought needed learning.

  I’ve learned that love lies. I’ve learned that love breaks us. I’ve learned that love is a beautiful burn in a quiet corner of the heart that won’t be ignored.

  one

  I rushed into class six minutes late, cursing the teacher who’d backed out of the community summer writing course at the last minute. Hustling into the classroom, I dropped the books that’d been weighing me down and turned to address the class. My eyes travelled over familiar faces and new ones. Some older, a few housewives who were no doubt scratching “take a summer writing course” off their bucket list, and a few younger, still in high school, I'd bet. And then my eyes landed on a face I knew well about halfway back, in the farthest row to my right.

  Auburn Lawrence.

  The tiniest of grins tilted my lips when I saw her. She glanced up and caught my eyes, a slow grin curved her mouth and just like that I was transported to this same classroom, three years ago when she was in high school, and my student. Our gazes sat suspended across rows of desks and other students, freezing time as a prickling sensation of awareness flooded my body. Auburn was here. She was back, she was writing, and she was enrolled in my summer class.

  My mind snapped back to memories of just the two of us and afternoons spent in hushed conversation after class about reading and writing books. It was my first year teaching and from the moment she'd began talking, I'd known she was different. Thoughtful, intelligent, introspective, ambitious. When she'd mentioned that she wanted to be a a writer a few weeks into the class, all the pieces had seemed to snap into place for us. A connection had existed, or so I'd thought. From the beginning I'd thought of her as my equal, as more than just another student. In the years I'd been teaching since then I'd never had a student like her.

  A cough from the back row pulled me from my musings on the past between Auburn and I. I shook the memories off with a smile at Auburn, making a mental note to chat with her later and see what she’d been up to the last few years. I knew nothing, beyond that she'd gone to Central Michigan University, after graduating three years prior.

  After discussing our goals and explaining the project I expected them to turn in at the end of the summer, I dismissed the class. Students rambled out and it wasn't long before I noticed Auburn lagging behind. I was glad for it.

  “Long time, no see.” I crossed my arms and relaxed against the edge of my old wooden desk.

  “Yeah.” She stopped in front of me with a hesitant smile and tucked a stray lock of chocolate hair behind one ear. “Never thought I’d be in this classroom with you again” A sexy grin lifted her lips. The energy between us seemed to spark and that same sense of awareness I'd had earlier returned ten-fold.

  “That a good thing or a bad thing?” I nearly choked, all the while clutching at the desktop until my fingers ached. In the three years since I'd last seen her Auburn had changed. Gone was the lanky, athletic body and nervous giggle, she was a woman. Her back straight and held with confidence, her smile easy and engaging, rich brown eyes that seemed to defy the laws of physics by peering into your soul and reading all the stories you had buried there.

  “It's a great thing.” Her eyes flashed to my lips and I heard the smallest of sighs whisper in the space between us.

  “I was thinking that too.” I suddenly found myself breathless, my brain short-circuiting and struggling for words. “So you’re still writing?” I spit out lamely. Making casual conversation with her seemed trivial. All the moments from our past now flooded my memory and had me feeling things that had been repressed for the last few years. I itched to ask her if she remembered those moments as fondly as I did. I wanted to ask her if she felt the connection burning up between us, the energy pregnant with unspoken words.

  “Always,” she finally murmured.

  “It's great to see you again.” I drank her in, from the soft waves of her dark hair down to her long legs.

  She smiled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “It's great to see you too,” she breathed, her eyes caught with mine, saying all the things that we were too self-conscious to say after the long absence.

  “I'm glad you're still writing.” I gestured to the notebook in her arms.

  “I can’t imagine not writing, and when I decided to come home for the summer, I wanted to keep up on it. It's easy to get lazy,” she finished quietly and I sensed there was so much more she wanted to say. There was so much more I wanted to say.

  “Isn’t that the truth?” I added. “It’s going to be good. I’ve got some fun things planned.” I couldn't help but gush. I loved writing. I loved being around writers. This was familiar territory.

  “Fun?” She laughed a genuine laugh that hit me like a canon to the gut. The unbearable urge to touch, connect, feel her soft skin beneath my fingertips was a distraction. I struggled to resist. Her eyes focused on mine left me feeling breathless and rattled. “Everything okay?” The rich tone of her voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “Yeah, I'm great. I'm really glad to see you in this class.” I patted her forearm and righted myself to guide her towards the doorway. Why am I patting her like a dog? I had to end this, had to escape the awkward conversation before the urge to slip right back into the old habit of spending countless hours just talking to her consumed me. We were safe then – she was my student and I her teacher – but now we were in an entirely different place where the possibilities seemed endless. Endless and exhilarating. While I hadn't put a name to it back then, now I could. Now I recognized it for what it was. Chemistry.

  Her eyes darkened for a moment before she composed her expression. “See you tomorrow, Mr. West.” She brushed past me and walked straight out the door.

  Mr. West. Jesus. Is that how she thought of me? I guess that’s what she’d always called me, and back then I think we both sensed it would have crossed an invisible line if she'd called me by
my first name. Reed. I could only imagine what it would sound like rolling past her lips in that honey-coated voice.

  My chest filled with extra beats, I tucked this semester’s books in the drawer at my feet and mused on the upcoming eight weeks. Auburn Lawrence was going to be in my writing class this summer. Things certainly had just become more interesting.

  ***

  I was navigating the bleachers after the first baseball game of the summer when a chorus of giggly voices called out, “Hi, Mr. West!”

  A group of freshmen I'd taught last year waved eagerly. “Hi, ladies.” I gave a sober nod as I passed, stepping over stray paper cups and empty cartons of popcorn as I went. Being a mid-twenties, moderately good-looking, male high school teacher had the unfortunate downside of acquiring a small handful of giggly teen admirers. Encountering it still never ceased to unnerve me.

  I trailed behind another group of kids and rounded the corner of the last set of bleachers when I knocked into a warm body. “I'm sorry.” I placed a hand on a thin shoulder to steady the stranger. A cascade of shiny, dark hair turned and deep walnut eyes landed on me. “Auburn! Hey again.” It'd only been a few hours since I'd seen her for the first time in three years. Funny how fate was always finding us of late.

  “Hi, Mr. West.” Her dark eyes danced, mystifying me, captivating me, dragging me under. “I forgot to say it earlier, but thank you for writing a recommendation for the English department at Central. What you said was amazing,” she finished, peering up at me through dark lashes.

  “I meant all of it.” I murmured, my eyes following the soft waves of her hair that brushed at the top swell of her breasts and begged me to drink in the rest of the elegant curves of her form.

  Crimson tinted her cheeks a deeper shade before her eyes glanced over my shoulder. I turned to see a guy strolling towards me with an easy smile on his face, lean physique, and a baseball cap pulled low on his head. She smiled awkwardly when he tucked her under his arm.

  “This is Jake,” Auburn introduced us, her eyes averted.

  “Hey.” I gestured to him. Not that I knew her type, but he didn't seem like it with his khaki shorts and boat shoes. She was so much more thoughtful and creative, while this guy screamed Ivy League prepster with a healthy trust fund. “Well, I've got to get home. Good seeing you, Auburn.” I touched her shoulder as I passed, eyes landing on Jake’s, frozen for seconds. It wasn't intentional, purely instinctual. If Auburn was in the room, my body had a burning desire to touch, feel, connect.

  “Hey, Mr. West?”

  “Yeah?” I turned.

  “I was thinking about that project you assigned today. I’m sort of confounded by it. A twenty-thousand word fictional memoir...” she trailed off, twisting the ends of her hair through her fingers.

  “Yeah.” I scratched the stubble on my chin. “I've gotten a few emails about that already. Tell you what, stop by my office tomorrow morning around ten if that works for you and we'll talk it out.” I jumped at the chance to spend time with her again, one on one time, like we used to.

  “Ten is great.” She smiled. “Thanks, Mr. West.”

  “Anytime. See you tomorrow.” I held her eyes for an extra beat, uncaring if she was tucked under her boyfriend’s arm or not. He raised one eyebrow before I turned and headed for the now dark parking lot. A few kids lingered, talking and laughing as I slid into the love of my life, my freshly painted, medium blue, seventy-one Blazer, and backed out of the dim lot. I drove the darkened, twisting streets towards home as my mind fell back to a time early this spring when I knew life had other plans for me...

  It had been uncharacteristically warm for mid-April and the rain showers of early spring were finally yielding fragrant, richly-colored blooms on trees and in gardens. Sweat had trickled down my forehead as I watched her flicking through her phone, perched in a lounge chair, chatting mindlessly and filling the air with white noise in the form of local gossip.

  I knew this was it. Now was the moment. But as I listened to her babble about the recently single status of her best friend, I couldn't bring myself to tell her. The overwhelming urge to push it aside and deal with the pain alone was overpowering. And so I stood, hands in pockets, mind raging with indecision, and I let her have her happiness. It wasn't been happiness coursing through my veins, it was something else entirely.

  My chest ached and shoulders burned as I refocused on the road and pushed the memory of her from my mind, something I'd been doing a lot of lately. Denial -- my coping mechanism of choice.

  I had no way of knowing that tomorrow would be the first step in our fall.

  two

  Auburn tapped on my door at five to ten the following morning. Always on time and eager to please. She had a bright future, I was sure of it.

  “Morning.” I set my pen down and grinned, my heart picked up a few extra beats whenever she entered a room.

  “Morning.” She smiled brightly before sliding a chair closer and plopping down in it. She shifted, tossing her feet on the edge of my desk, white Chuck Taylors loosely tied and slightly scuffed. I eased back into my chair, relaxing into our old habit of easy conversation.

  “Make yourself at home.” I gestured with a playful grin.

  “Thanks. You know, I kinda miss this place.”

  “Really?” My eyebrows shot up. “College beaten you down already?”

  “No,” she answered simply. “I love it, but it’s good to be home. We’ve had so many great conversations here. Hemingway to Cather…I remember everything.” She slid a half smile my way as she mentioned a couple of our favorite authors. I breathed a little easier knowing she remembered, knowing it'd impacted her like it had me.

  “How are your classes?” I was conscious of maintaining professionalism despite my urge to delve into more personal territory.

  “They're all pretty good, except algebra, for obvious reasons.” Her face twisted with irritation. Auburn hated math, it was a weakness we shared and something I'd revealed to her years ago when she was struggling with a particular geometry teacher. “So how have you been these last few years?

  “Pretty good, thanks.” Good was about the last thing I'd been, but now wasn't the time or place. “So talk to me about what you're worried about with the project.”

  “I just have no idea what to write about.” She ran a hand through her hair. I couldn't even count the number of times I’d watched her do that over the years in my classroom. “You don't understand, I have the most boring life in existence.”

  “Ok, remember firstly the story is fictional. I want it written in the style of a memoir -- inspired by true events, and then expanded upon in a fictional way,” I explained. She sighed and pulled her hair over one shoulder, fidgeting again. “You just have to be inspired,” I finished.

  Her eyes caught my gaze, drifted down to my mouth and back again before she continued. “I go to school, I study, I work, I read books. No tragedies in my past...I'm just boring.” She shrugged, as if distracted.

  “Some of the greatest stories ever told are about the everyday mundane experiences that we can all relate to. Reading isn't always about escaping to faraway lands, the best books are the ones that resonate on an emotional level. The author and reader are connected by a tin-can string of words across thousands of miles and hundreds of centuries.” She ingested my words for a moment. “You just have to unearth the gems within the everyday.”

  “Hmm...” She squinted her eyes at me, still skeptical. “Sage advice. I like your romantic literary sensibilities,” as she shook a finger in my direction in the dorkiest version of herself possible. Her silly sense of humor had me smiling from ear to stupid ear. “There still needs to be some drama though...” Her face was once again serious as she returned to brainstorm mode.

  “That's where the fiction comes in,” I offered, feeling more invigorated than I had in too long.

  “And people like a love story...” She was thinking out loud again. This exchange had become equal parts creative and entert
aining. Auburn and I had our own language when it came to brainstorming. We seemed to share thoughts and complete each other's sentences as we volleyed back and forth.

  “Love is everlasting. Gatsby spent his whole life pining for one girl. Bam! Greatest modern love story ever told. What about that guy yesterday? Maybe there’s something in there.” I was eager to get lost in casual conversation and get my mind off of my life of late.

  “Jake? Meh…he’s fun, but there’s really no greater meaning to be mined there.”

  I broke out in a loud laugh. Her eyes caught mine before she joined me. “Why are you with him then?”

  She shrugged as her giggle quieted. “He’s fun.”

  “Sometimes fun is a good thing,” I flirted.

  “Fun can be a very good thing,” her voice dropping as her eyes sparkled with mischief. Sitting across from me now, she seemed much more grown up than when I'd taught her before. My eyes drifted up from her shoes, the snug, washed denim clinging to her legs, the dip of her waist, and the swell of her breasts beneath the fitted tank and red plaid shirt she wore untucked and open.

  I chastised myself for looking and averted my eyes. I couldn’t deny that she was attractive, always had been. I also couldn’t deny that we’d always had some sort of pull to each other. Never had it crossed into inappropriate territory, but somehow Auburn and I, her teacher and nearly ten years her senior, had a friendship, chemistry, an undefinable pull to each other. An easy banter existed between us, one that I’d had with different people before, but never with a student.

  I swallowed and opted to redirect the conversation. I suppose I considered Auburn a friend on some level, but hearing about her current romantic relationships was not something I was interested in. “So what are your plans for the summer?”

  “Nothing much. I usually spend the summer near campus, but my grandma had a stroke, so I'm home spending the summer with her. I'm helping her with cleaning and cooking, taking her to therapy.” Her face softened as she spoke of someone that was obviously very important to her. “I tried to get Callie to come home with me, but she wouldn't hear of it.” I vaguely recalled her shorter, mouthier best friend. “She's got a job and a boyfriend.” Auburn waved a hand dismissively. She was always so animated -- I'd forgotten that about her.