Page 45 of When Hearts Collide

It’s not really cheating. I’m just taking the test for myself and she’s doing the same for herself. Maybe she won’t need the help. Her words bounce around in my brain. My heart thuds in a rapid rhythm.

Somehow, I don’t think he’d see it this way. Shame washes over me and curls around my gut. I can’t believe I’m considering this. I’m the rule follower, the straight-A student.

Taking in her teary eyes once more, I’m hit with a sharp pinch of pain as I remember the little girl inside me, the one who cried herself to sleep after Mom passed away in the hospital, the girl with the broken heart which has never truly healed.

I pray Jocelyn won’t need my help during the test.

I curl my arms around her and wrap her in a tight hug, my eyes wet with tears, an aching hole in my heart. “Shh… Let me think about it, Joss. Shh…”

I’m good at hiding myself from others around me. I have a lifetime of experience, after all. His intense eyes flash into my brain and I shake my head, my chest feeling heavy. He won’t know. And maybe she won’t need my help.

Jocelyn shakes in my arms, her sobbing loud in the room.

I rub circles on her back, feeling all the bottled-up pain and sadness pouring out of her body. “Shhh… I’m here, Joss. I’m here for you.”

Chapter 18

Something is wrong today.

I can’t place it, can’t pinpoint it, but I feel it deep in my gut, and my gut is never wrong. It’s what makes me a good businessman.

The class is quiet as the students focus intently on their exams. It’s the last exam of the year before the final paper is due mid-December. It’s weighed the heaviest, but by now, after a few months of debates, policy papers, and hours of coaching in office hours, I’m hopeful the class will perform well.

She isn’t sitting in her usual spot today, front and center a few feet away from me, my temptation within arm’s reach. Instead, she’s sitting in the back with her friend, Jocelyn, in a shadowed corner of the classroom, like she’s ashamed of something and wants to be invisible. But how can she be invisible? It’s impossible. She shines brighter than the sun cutting through the clouds on a rainy day.

Jocelyn coughs and I see Millie glancing up, her teeth savagely attacking her bottom lip. She sneaks a quick look at her friend before shuffling in her chair. Then her eyes dart to mine and quickly flicker away.

Something is definitely wrong.

Quicksilver slowly seeps into my veins, and a foreboding heaviness settles on top of my lungs. My stomach flips.

It reminds me of the dread I felt at the playground right before school was dismissed the day Mom died. The sun was shining brightly, the usual New York humidity in the air. Friends were running around playing tag or kicking a ball across the lush, green lawn, not caring if they were making their uniforms dirty. It was a normal day. But my hackles were up. Something felt horribly wrong.

The hour passes by quickly—a strange, eerie calm—and instead of being one of the first students to hand in her paper, she’s one of the last, along with her friend.

Millie keeps her eyes down as she walks up to my desk, her shoulders hunched, and a thin layer of sweat beads on her forehead. Her test paper is crumpled at the corners from her tight grip. She lets out a soft sigh before placing the paper on top of the stack of exams on the table.

A nervous energy filters through me, and I stare at her bowed head, silently beckoning to her. Look at me, little lark. Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.

She doesn’t look up, doesn’t try to catch my eyes, or flash me that sweet smile of hers. Instead, she and Jocelyn slip out of the classroom, as quiet as phantoms.

I release a stale breath. I want to go after her. To fight and defend her against whatever is plaguing her. To be her avenging warrior.

“Professor Anderson? I have a question regarding next week’s class,” a student asks.

Giving the closed door one last glance, I turn to the jock in front of me. “Yes?”

It’s for the best. The distance.

But why does it feel so wrong?

“Professor Anderson, here are the top ten scorers on the exam as you requested.” Johnny, my TA, who helps me with grading sometimes, hands me a small stack of papers.

I always skim through all the graded exams, but I like to read the top scorers in detail. The insightfulness in them usually has my heart pounding, and a warmth filling my veins.

They’re a reminder of why I love this job and how I’m shaping my legacy. They tell me to continue, despite Fleur taking up my entire life, leaving me little to no time for myself. No hobbies other than the very occasional trips to the forest to birdwatch or hunt. No women other than mindless fucks in Noire, a way for my body to satiate the beast inside me. But despite everything, I still carve out the precious hours for academia.

“Thank you, Johnny. You can go home now.”

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