Page 30 of When Hearts Collide

The door closes with a resounding bang. My pulse is loud in my ears as the room falls silent, the quiet so eerie I can hear myself breathing.

Professor Anderson keeps his back toward us, his tall frame shaking almost imperceptibly, his hands fisted tightly to his sides.

Slowly, he turns toward us. “Let this be a warning to any of you who have funny ideas about cheating. Your futures will be ruined. No. Exceptions.”

His eyes sweep the room before his gaze lands on mine. “Am I making myself clear?”

I flinch under his withering glare. My heart rate skyrockets to the roof.

“Yes, Professor,” all of us respond.

“I’ll repeat what I said on the first day. This class is reserved only for serious students, no cheaters, no liars, and absolutely no distractions.”

He stares at me, a harsh fierceness reflected in his eyes, and I find myself breathless, with anticipation or fear, I don’t know. His gaze roves over my face like he’s memorizing every freckle on my skin or peering into my mind to wrench out every single chaotic thought fluttering inside me. I feel like a bird at his feet, and he’s staring at me like I’m his next meal. I should be scared, worried. My fight-or-flight response should be activating.

But instead, a strange heat flows through my veins.

No distractions.

My fingers curl into my palm, digging into my flesh, and I tear my gaze away.

“Today, we will go over…”

I hear his footsteps as he paces in front of the podium, but the words are muffled. I’m underwater, disoriented, trying to find my way to the surface, my lungs burning for air.

No distractions.

I feel his searing gaze on me for the rest of the class, each deep rasp and hoarse grumble prickling my skin, the air thinning every time he passes by my seat. A throbbing appears between my legs, and I fight the urge to clench my thighs.

My eyes dart up and our gazes connect. His nostrils flare and a muscle tics in his jaw.

No distractions.

I can’t help but wonder, is his warning for me or for him?

Chapter 13

The crisp fall breeze blows across my face as I walk through a thick grove of trees while juggling a cup of hot chocolate and a small ceramic pot of yellow daffodils in my hands, all the while balancing the phone tucked between my shoulder and my ear.

“I got the flowers from the florist right before they were about to close, Dad. I just need to make a stop at my professor’s office hours, then I’ll head out to the cemetery.”

Dad’s voice is rusty as he replies, “Thank you, Millie. I can always count on you.”

He lets out a deep sigh, exhaustion clear in his voice. “I should make a trip out there. Give the flowers to Francine in person. But, after all these years, I…I still…”

I pause in the middle of the garden and sit down on the lone green bench. Carefully setting down my things, I smother the ache in my chest and hope I sound upbeat.

“Mom is with you always, Dad. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t been back to visit her grave since we moved to New York. With a love like yours, she never really left.”

A lump forms in my throat. “And I’m sure she’d love the flowers. I read in her journals daffodils were her favorite. They’re bright and cheerful, don’t you think? I remember Mom liked to laugh a lot.”

The memories are fading year after year, but the feeling never disappears. I can still feel her presence around me.

Loss is a strange thing.

Some days, you walk around and feel whole. The sun is warm on your skin and you notice bright butterflies fluttering about as you go through your everyday routine. Things feel peaceful. Content.

Then there are days when you feel winded. When the loss hits your head like a sledgehammer, and you wonder if you’ll ever feel awe or happiness again. When the hole in your chest feels more like an abyss and you know you’ll never stop missing that person.

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