Into the Stars (USC Series Book #2)

chapter seven

INTO THE STARS
———
BRINLEY

This is complete bullshit.

I don't know who let Brooklynn have the first pick of what we get to watch tonight, but somehow she got it. Leaving Aidan and me to spend our Wednesday night bingeing all sorts of true crime cases.

But you know, in life, not everything goes your way.

I mentally roll my eyes at the sight in front of me. The guy running the television show is literally walking through a crime scene, showing off every little detail left behind from the crime. Who the hell finds this entertaining?

Looking away from the screen when it gets a bit too gory for my liking, I catch a glance at Aidan, who just looks outright bored and Brooklynn has her attention entirely focused on the television in front of her, completely captivated.

Meanwhile, I am plotting my discreet escape plan. I feel like I am third-wheeling. The obvious thing would be to go to the bathroom and attempt to climb through the tiny window.

But the issue nagging in the back of my brain is how am I going to get down? We are on the second story of our apartment complex, so that poses a large issue as I would rather not land a bag of broken bones when hitting the ground...

I don't think there is any chance of me making a successful escape, unfortunately.

"Haven't you watched a case on this guy before?" I ask, vaguely recognizing the name of the perpetrator.

Brooklynn nods. "Yeah, but this is a new documentary on him. I haven't seen this specific one."

"Right," I drawl as if it makes complete sense. It doesn't, but I go along with it, anyway.

I stare back at the screen of the television, thankful any gory scenes have disappeared. Brooklynn says that I should be used to the sight of blood, not growing queasy every time I see it, considering my choice in a future career.

But I think the reason I hate the sight of blood in cases like this rather than in the operating room is that as a surgeon, you are helping the person, whether or not the outcome is positive; your primary goal was to help them. Whereas, in true crime cases like this, the act was done with an end goal motivated by hostility. Malice. Spite, perhaps.

People may not differentiate the two different motives in their minds, but it makes sense in mine.

Drawing me away from my thoughts, a loud knock echoed through the apartment. I wrack my brain, trying to think of who we might be expecting, coming up empty-handed. Brooklynn and Aidan ordered pizza not so long ago, but typically they buzz up from downstairs, not coming directly to our apartment door.

Taking this opportunity to potentially escape from my duty of being the third wheel tonight, I stand from the couch, wandering over to the front door in a few quick steps.

Thinking it is the pizza delivery guy, I don't look through the peephole. Big mistake. I realize that much the moment I open that door. Definitely not the pizza guy.

Staring right back at me is the person I least expected to see right now, and I don't know how I feel about it either. Conflicted, maybe. I think that is the only way to describe it.

Those brown eyes I have stared into too many times. Those brown eyes hold too many memories that I would rather not surface. Those brown eyes I used to be utterly obsessed with...

"Ben," I say oddly calmly, trying my damndest to remain composed and straight-faced. I refrain from revealing any lick of emotion across my face because I don't want to show what a big impact his being here has on me. Show no weaknesses.