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I found myself growing upset about it. Guilty, in fact. Guilty that I’d dragged her here and shown us both what our life could be if our feelings for each other didn’t have to be kept a secret.
She felt it too. I watched her pack her suitcase in total silence, a far-off look in her eyes as she zipped it shut. I wanted to ask what she was thinking about, but I already knew the answer. The second we were in the car, it was over. We both knew it, but neither of us could bring ourselves to talk about it.
We were halfway back to Gatlington when I abruptly pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a truck stop diner. It was late morning on Friday, and once we returned to campus, students would be arriving back from their week-long break.
I couldn’t guarantee an opportunity to have this conversation with her in private once we returned to campus. Looking over at her as I put the car in park, I could tell by her withdrawn expression that she understood why we’d stopped.
“I could use a cup of coffee.”
She gave me a weak smile and slowly reached for her seatbelt.
I felt like I was walking in slow motion, my hand resting on her lower back as I led her into the restaurant. I curled my fingers into her coat, hanging on for dear life as I fought against what my heart wanted and what was logical.
We sat at a booth facing each other. A waitress took our order—two coffees. Nothing else. I couldn’t stomach eating, and I doubted she could either.
Then we sat in silence watching the snow fall.
I should have told her how I felt. I should have laid it out on the chipped and scratched vinyl table top. Run away with me. Let’s not go back. We can go anywhere. Do anything.
“I—” She hesitated, turning her coffee mug in a circle. She looked up at me, her eyes softening with emotion she’d buried deep over the last two days. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” She shifted her weight and swallowed hard. “I had tunnel vision before I met you. I knew what I wanted, and every minute of my life catered to one goal. I let everything else slide... A relationship with a man I didn’t want so I could keep my parents off my back. The expectations of me on campus, in my sorority, expectations to be the golden child and the student everyone looked up to. Coming into graduate school, I thought—damn, I’ve made it. I did everything I had to get here and now I—” She pursed her lips and looked almost pained as she met my eyes. “You showed up in my life, and nothing I wanted before makes any sense. Nothing I did before to stay on track, to keep my goals and dream at the forefront of my mind is just... Nothing about this makes sense to me, Rhys. I don’t want to go back to Gatlington and pretend like what happened this week meant nothing, but it has to, right?”
I reached for her hand and curled my fingers over hers, her skin warm to the touch from her coffee mug. “We don’t have any options but to pretend like this didn’t happen.”
I withdrew my hand and made a fist in my lap. I’d been thinking about our situation on a constant loop, trying to make sense of the worst case scenario.
“At the least,” I continued, “you’d lose credit for this semester. Your admission to your graduate program would be reevaluated, and it’s likely you’d face disciplinary action.” I leaned back and looked out the window. “At the worst, you could be removed from your graduate program.”
“And what about you?”
I looked back at her and noticed her tears had dried and her face had taken on that cold mask I hadn’t seen in days now. It gutted me, but I replied, “I could lose my tenure, but that’s nothing compared to the social reckoning you’d face. I won’t allow you to be raked through the coals for something I did—”
“This was our decision—”
“I’m your superior, Whitney. I am your professor. I’m older than you. I’m established. My tenure at Gatlington came with a code of ethics I had to sign to step foot on campus, and I’ve broken a cardinal rule. But you will face the worst of the fallout if anyone finds out about this. I can’t let that happen. And I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” she whispered, clutching her coffee mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.” She momentarily hung her head. “I wanted this to happen, Rhys. Since the moment I saw you walk up to that podium on the first day of class, I wanted you. I wanted to do all of the things the other women fantasized about doing. I put myself in your way without realizing it. I never needed you to tutor me. I never needed your help with class. I just wanted you, so I made the decision to do something about it, and if you apologize to me for what you think you did—” She looked up at me with sudden fury flaring behind her green eyes. “I don’t regret it.”
I rolled my lower lip between my teeth as I met her steely glare. She was challenging me. Challenging me to continue groveling at her feet like I’d stopped at this diner to beg her forgiveness and secrecy. “I don’t, either, but we both know this can’t continue.”
She leaned back in her seat and held her mug against her chest. “I know. Then that’s it. It’s over. No harm, no foul, right?”
I hated her tone and the icy indifference that laced every word. I knew that was better than both of us breaking down. I felt like a hole had been torn through my chest, and I could see a flicker of something similar in her eyes.
“Whitney, I—”
She stood up and walked away, the door chiming as she hurried out to the parking lot and wrenched the passenger door open, slipping inside.
I fought to swallow, finding it nearly impossible as I clutched my coffee mug hard enough to crack the ceramic.
All of my research had once led me to know one thing for absolute certain.
There was no such thing as soul mates. Attraction was biological. Commitment was a construct. Love and devotion were something that could be studied based on how the ancients buried their dead and created their masterpieces and temples. Love and devotion in modern times reminded me wholly of blind faith and devout worship, all of which were rooted in the fear of loss.
I’d never believed in true, all-encompassing love. I was a scholar, for Christ’s sake. I knew the data and patterns and trends.
