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Colin’s besieged breath suggested he’d caught her sarcasm. “Thefirst text I took from his shelves was Layamon’sBrut.Granddad found me buried in it one day and dug out Geoffrey of Monmouth’sThe History of the Kings of Britain,insisting I start there instead.The more I read, the more time we spent talking. He loved the parts about King Arthur best. It fascinated him that this renowned fictional character could have had a real-life equivalent. So I introduced him—and myself—to all those Arthurian romances you used to go on about. Remember, you were taking that class?”
Allison nodded. “King Arthur in Fiction and Film.” That course was to blame for her infatuation with all things chivalric. “And I remember you endlessly dismissing them as the pedestrian origins to Tolkien’s masterpieces. Which for the record, isn’t even accurate since Tolkien—”
“Studied Old English, not medieval lit, I know.” Colin rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you more credit back then.” His eyes skimmed her face. “I get it now,” he said softly. “Granddad read Malory at least four times. All the discussions we had made me think, ‘Wait, maybe this is my field.’ I’d certainly logged enough hours thinking about medieval lit thanks to him, and it felt right to study something that mattered to the people that mattered to me.” A muscle feathered in his jaw.
Allison’s stomach dipped like they’d crested the tallest incline on a rollercoaster. “People?”
“Granddad, obviously, but you, too.” Colin whispered the words to the windshield. “I wasn’t lying when I said you inspired me.”
“Okay.” With her heart banging in her chest and drowning out her thoughts, it was the only thing Allison could think to say.
Colin shook his head as if clearing out cobwebs. His gaze honed more intently on the road. “I wrote a fifteen-page writing sample on Malory’s construction of Arthur, and crafted an entirely new statement of purpose. And I tried again.” His hands strangled the steering wheel. “All rejections, again—”
“Except Claymore.”
“Except Claymore.” His throat bobbed against a swallow. It looked hard enough to be painful. “Someone on the grad committee there saw something in me, for once.”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. The day’s allotment of gel was long gone, and it fell in soft strands around his eyes and ears. Allison had to sit on her hands to keep from brushing it back. From getting lost in its silky texture.
Damn his hair and his arms and his perpetual need to lean against things. It was as if Allison was cursed to always be drawn in by them.
“So all this time, you’ve been trying to prove yourself?”
“Maybe. I mean, I’m not really a medievalist, right? Not the way you are. And this is it. The only school that wanted me. That’s why I can’t turn away from this mentorship. From the research trip. This is my one shot.”
He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Colin’s need to prove to his mother and grandfather that their sacrifices for him were worth it had always spoken loudly to Allison. It echoed her desire to show Jed she hadn’t needed everything he wasn’t willing to sacrifice.
They were the same, in that way and so many others.
Thinking of Jed caused another grip of panic to squeeze her heart, and Allison let her head fall back against the seat. She was too tired to be angry at Colinandworried about her father. She lowered her window slightly, letting cool air fan her feelings as it dried the perspiration at her temples.
Colin had told her something scary, something she would have been loath to admit to anyone if it had happened to her. Never had he made himself so vulnerable to her before. Maybe she should do the same. Admit her lies about how her teaching was going and release that burden from her chest.
But then he cleared his throat. Its distinct hint of condescension raised Allison’s hackles and swept any thoughts of confession from her mind.
“You know, I’m still thinking about your reading of that passagefrom ‘The Knight’s Tale.’ I believe you’re interpreting it all wrong.” Apparently, they were shifting back to familiar territory: Colin disagreeing with every word she said.
Allison rolled her eyes. “I picked up on that, yes.”
He pressed his lips together as the palm of his left hand trailed restlessly up and down the curve of the steering wheel. “I think there’s something more complicated going on there. I think the Knight, or Chaucer, is exploring, or possibly even celebrating, the messiness of love, not criticizing it. Love’s confusing, and unpredictable. It ebbs and flows. You can think you’re over it, and then all of a sudden,wham,your world’s upside down. Heaven is hell and hell heaven.Paradysis a prison and vice versa.”
His voice was too solemn, his face too drawn and tight. Allison’s heart was too wild in her chest. But she was too drained, and the night stretched out ahead of them too long, for her to try to work out what it all meant. “Maybe you’re right,” she conceded.
“Yeah?”
She pressed her elbow into the armrest, and her upper arm brushed against his. “You’re better at this medieval lit stuff than you think, Colin. So, could you please,please,stop using me to prove that to yourself?”
Colin held up a pinky, his eyes not straying from the road. “Promise.”
She hooked her finger in his.
Neither of them let go.
Chapter 19
Silence settled over the car as the clock crept past midnight.
Allison and Colin had exchanged small talk for a while but now they were both watching the darkness skim by. A show tunes playlist hummed softly in the background.
