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I stare at him.
“One year.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not getting a degree?”
“No.”
“Then why are you—”
“I just need to pass the year.” His jaw tightens. “After that, I’m going back to LA. The band starts again. That’s always been the plan.”
Always.
Of course, it has.
Cal Fox did not abandon a successful music career to discover a passion for freshman anatomy. He came here for a reason, and apparently, that reason expires in June.
“Right,” I say.
“It isn’t public knowledge,” he warns. My spine straightens slightly.
“I wasn’t planning to call TMZ.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His face changes.
“Bea.”
“You don’t need to warn me not to tell people.”
“I’m not warning you.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I just—after Issy, I’m careful about what gets out. Sometimes, too careful.”
The irritation slips out of me. I know what happened with Issy. I know what it cost him to trust someone and have every private part of his life sold off in pieces. Still, it stings that his first instinct is to protect the information from me.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say.
“I know you won’t.”
“Good.”
I turn my glass a half circle on the counter. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it….
“I suppose it makes sense,” I say. “Los Angeles. That’s where she is, isn’t it?”
Oops.
“Where who is?”
“Violet Marlowe.”
He puts both hands flat on the counter and drops his head between his shoulders.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
