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“You left Syracuse behind and built a life for yourself here. Me showing up could be a reminder of all the things you came here to forget.”
“Aurora, fuck,” he breathed, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “It isn’t like that. Shit, wait a minute.”
Austin pulled over, the car idling on the sidewalk. “Look, I won’t deny I was a little shocked when you told me you were transferring to LU, but I never, not for one second, resented you for it. You’re my sister. My family. If anything, I’m fucking relieved that you’re here, and I can keep an eye on you.”
“You mean that?” Emotion clogged my throat, and I realized how much I needed to hear it.
“Of course I do. Come here.” He reached for me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “I’m sorry, Rory. I’m sorry for all the shit we went through. I’m sorry for leaving you there to clean up her mess. But I had to get out. I had to—”
“I know you did. I know.”
We held on to one another tightly, the pain from our past filling the cracks between us.
“I know we still haven’t talked much”—Austin pushed me away gently to look at me—“but I’m here whenever you’re ready. I’m here.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Because although his apology was what I needed at that moment, it didn’t erase years of pain and anger.
“You’re better, right?” he asked. “I mean, you seem better now.”
“Yeah, Austin. I’m better.”
He bought the lie, flashing me a bright smile before pulling me back in for another hug. “It’s really good to have you here, Rory. I’ve missed you.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, wishing I could believe his words.
Wishing more than anything, that they were true.
I was in Heaven.
Literary Heaven.
Professor MacMillan was an imposing woman. Tall and heavyset, she commanded the stage with her presence and obvious love of literature.
“In this class, you will be required to read and critically analyze a number of texts from the nineteenth century.”
A frisson of excitement went through me. I’d already read at least three of the four required on the reading list. But George Eliot would be new to me.
“Psst,” the girl next to me mouthed. “Do you have a spare pen I can borrow? Mine’s out of ink already.”
“Sure.” I dug one out of my beloved Jane Austen book spine print pencil case and handed it over.
“Thanks, I love your case,” she whispered. “Let me guess, team Darcy?”
“Actually, I’m team Bertram.”
“Touché. I’m a total sucker for Mr. Darcy. Cliché, I know. But once I saw Colin Firth’s performance, I knew there would never be another Austen man for me.” She smirked. “I’m Harper.”
“Aurora.”
“What do you make of MacMillan so far? I heard she ran a tight ship, but this is some next-level shit.” Harper grinned, and oddly, I found myself grinning back.
She was the opposite of me—ash-blonde hair, slim, with bright blue eyes that sparkled when she smiled. I couldn’t help but think she would be exactly Noah’s type.
Dammit.
I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Noah. I was supposed to be focused on class. But he had a way of worming himself into my thoughts.
I needed to pay the student housing office a visit sooner rather than later.
