So when Loch asks, hesitantly, “Why’d you switch?” he’s close enough that his exhale billows across my cheeks.
I shove the books into his chest. “None of your business.”
He pushes them right back. “The payment stands—you wanna use this library while you’re here, you read these authors.”
Fury rages. Bright. Piercing. And I remember every second of thatterm I spent in the English track. I remember why Istoppedbeing in it, why I stopped writing, not because Cambridge consumed my time, but because—
Ah hell.I do not think about this.Ever. It’s done. It’sover.I have my whole real life lined up now—helping Coal with Christmas, being an ambassador, fulfilling these duties, so on and so forth, I don’t need to think about that other shit.
But Lochlann. Fucking. Patrick.
Is standing here in this amazing library, trying to guilt me into reading these books with a smugness that’s a permanent fixture on his face.
“Ah yes, the superiority of classics?” I snarl. “No other books are worthy? You aren’t a true writer if you haven’t read and loved these pinnacles of human creation? Stick them up your ass. Where’s my room?”
Loch lurches back. Something on my face must finally break through his pomposity, because he snatches the books from me.
His expression fades to resigned annoyance and he drops the books on a table. “You’re an ungrateful arse.”
“I really don’t care.”
But he keeps studying me. He’s frowning but doesn’t look as pissed as he should, and the energy is—different. Like he’s trying to work something out.
Without another word, he cuts around me to head through the library.
I follow, scowling at his back as we leave and file up the staircase.
On the second floor, after ducking down another long, dark hall, Loch shoves open a door.
“Here,” is all he says before he marches away.
His silhouette fades into the shadows.
I push into the room and slam the door.
Pretentiousprick.
My eyes barely see the room. It’s small, a lamp on in the corner, my suitcase propped on a bench by an armoire. A canopy bed is arrangedfor the night and my brain picks that moment to goleprechauns did the turn-down serviceand I shiver at that horror movie image.
Alone, silence pressing in from all sides, my self-hatred rises up again, along with its ever-obnoxious friend, guilt.
I made a mess of my first night here, didn’t I?
I dig my phone out of my pocket. There are a few missed texts—from Wren, chastising me in a mildly passive aggressive way for going rogue with the apology, and I manage to ignore my wince; but most are in the group chat with Coal and Iris, both of them asking me how it went.
I hit a video call with Coal before realizing I have no idea what time it is. It’s after ten here, so what time is it at home? Ireland is ahead. Time zone math—
The call connects, showing the hazy outline of Coal in shadows. “Hang on, we’re in the theater room. Sweetheart, can you get the light?” It pops on. “Thankyouuuu.Okay. What’s up?”
He takes one look at me and bolts upright in a black recliner. I can see other empty ones around him, so I’m assuming it’s just him and Hex watching a movie. That I interrupted.
Ah, hello, guilt, there’s always room for more of you.
“What’s wrong?” Coal asks. “You’re a mess.”
I catch sight of my image in the self-view screen and yeah.Messis accurate. Hair all disheveled. Eyes bloodshot.
“Sorry.” I rub my face. “I should’ve texted first.”
