Page 125 of The Tartan Thesis

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can continue with the work I thought I’d lost. Return to the history I’ve built my identity around, the one I’ve defended, argued, lived for years. I can shed new light on the government-sponsored cruelty perpetrated against the Highlands. It’s exactly what I’d wanted, but it doesn’t bring the joy I thought it would.

The fact is, I love my new topic. It highlights the contributions Scotland has made to the world. It celebrates the country’s early efforts to educate the general populace and all the good that came from it. From modern, human-centered views on economics, morality, and philosophy, to medical breakthroughs like antiseptics and penicillin, and significant technological advances like tarmac, the air-filled tire, and the telephone, Scotland and her diaspora have changed the course of global history in countless ways. The Encyclopedia Britannica was compiled and edited in Edinburgh, for Christ’s sake!

Focusing on my country’s beauty has sent a ray of sunshine bursting through my cloudy days, and it’s actually thanks to Beau that I found my new research area. He bought me a book over the holidays about Scotland’s contributions to modern society, and after reading it, I was intrigued. I’d already known most of what the author had posited, but it had never occurred to me in the way that he stated. Given there’s more work to do on the subject, I ran with it, and it’s brought more joy—even during this sad time in my life—than my original topic ever did.

I was able to see Scotland not just as something broken and taken, but as something that endured. That shaped the world. That gave.

Now both paths sit in front of me, equally viable, equally demanding, and I don’t know which one is mine anymore.

“May I have a few days to think about it?” I ask, needing space more than anything else.

She considers me, then inclines her head. “You have one week to make a final decision.”

“Thank you,” I say. I gather my things quickly, the room suddenly too small, my thoughts too loud.

But before I can leave, I turn back, something nagging at me.

“Professor?” She hasn’t looked away from me. “What reason did Beau give,” I ask carefully, “for not pursuing Highland oppression?”

Her eyes narrow. “Mr. Ramsay, I do not make a habit of sharing the details of discussions I have with colleagues.”

Heat rises in my face. “Right. Of course. Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“That being said,” she says, lifting a hand, “I believe it is appropriate in this instance.”

She reaches for her glasses, sliding them off and setting them neatly on the desk, her gaze settling fully on me now.

“When Beau gave me his reasons for why he wasn’t pursuing each topic, I challenged every one of them, acting as an intellectual sparring partner,” she says. “However, when we got to the topic of Highland culture, the only reason he gave was that you were already working on something similar and that he refused to move forward with it because, in his mind, it belonged to you.”

I flinch as the blood drains from my face, my stomach lurching.

“If I recall correctly, and I usually do,” she says, one corner of her mouth turning up, “when I asked Mr. Fontenot why he thought you should expand on that research area instead of him, his exact words were, ‘Because I know in my bones that no one could do it better than Torin.’ And on that point, I couldn’t argue.”

My mouth goes dry, my stomach knotting so tight it hurts. Of course Beau didn’t steal my research or betray me; he would never hurt me intentionally. Even the things he said about me when I left him, he only said because I was pushing him away. He was doing what he had to.

“Mr. Fontenot has remained interested in your original topic,” Professor Moreau continues, “and I provided him with additional reading materials. He never told me why, but between you and me, I believe he wanted to impress you with his knowledge of your research area.”

A tear slips free, running hot down my cheek, as everything rearranges itself in brutal clarity. He hadn’t been competing with me, he’d been choosing me.

My chest tightens, breath catching, something cracking open beneath my ribs that I can’t hold back any longer. All the fear, all the hesitation, all the careful walls I’d built—they give way at once, collapsing under the weight of the truth of what I’d done.

I’d been so scared of falling for Beau and then losing him.

And now I have lost him, haven’t I?

My pulse kicks hard, adrenaline flooding through me, chasing the panic that rises fast on its heels.

But if he cared about me that deeply for that long, then maybe there’s a chance. He might not forgive me for doubting him and for the cruel things I said, but I need to find out because…

My heart beats faster, a realization coursing through me, the blood thrumming in my veins.

I love him. I love Beau Fontenot.

“I have to go,” I say as I rush from the professor’s office.

“Mr. Ramsay,” she calls from her desk, and I stop long enough to see a proper smile on her face when she says, “Bonne chance.”

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