Page 133 of Heart of Thorns

Dean Winters nods slowly. “Your point?”

I glance at Thorne, and he’s smirking at me. I keep his attention when the next words flow from my mouth with ease. “You tell Thorne’s parents to take their money elsewhere. You allow him to finish out the year and the next, if he chooses to complete his degree before furthering his football career.” I turnand pin the dean with a glare. “Or I’ll leak the police records and make sure every news station from here to Crown Point knows what happened to me last spring, and that it’s connected to what happened last week.”

“There’s my grumpy cat,”Thorne whispers in awe.

I smile. I’ll be damned if someone takes away his ability to play football like someone took away my ability to play hockey.

The football coach leans past Thorne and has the expression of a child on Christmas morning. I smile triumphantly in his direction before the dean steals our attention with his acceptance.

“Oh, thank God.” The football coach jumps to his feet and grips Thorne’s shoulder. “You’re out for one more game, but then, you’re back on the field.”

Thorne nods. I feel the weight lift off his shoulders.

“You better keep this one,” his coach adds, dipping his head in my direction.

Then he walks out of the office, leaving Thorne and I alone with the dean.

Dean Winters sighs and grips his phone, dialing Thorne’s father’s number. We sit in silence as he works his magic, sugar-coating a fabricated excuse as to why he cannot take any funds and force Thorne to transfer schools.

Once he hangs up, I mentally dust my hands off and move to leave.

Thorne stops me. He grips my knee and gently pushes on it. I sit hesitantly and trace the tight edge of his jaw.

What is wrong with him?

“Apologize.”

My eyebrows furrow. He’s staring directly at Dean Winters, and there is no mistaking his irritation.

“Excuse me?” I don’t have to glance at the dean to know he’s appalled.

Thorne slowly turns to make eye contact with me.

My heart slips, and my breath hitches.God, I love him.

“I said,” he reiterates, “apologize.”

He winks at me before glancing back toward the dean.

“To whom?” the dean asks.

“To my girlfriend.” Thorne’s voice is even and poised, but I know he’s burning up on the inside. I open my mouth to tell him that this isn’t necessary but to my surprise, the dean shifts and stares me dead in the face.

“I apologize, Ms. Hart.” He glances away, unable to meet my eye, but an apology is an apology.

“Thank you,” I say.

Thorne stands and holds his hand out for me.

I grab on to it, and he pulls me up to my feet gently.

The dean stops me before we leave his office. I glance at him over my shoulder.

If he takes back his apology…

“You’re an art major, are you not?”

I raise an eyebrow. He knows I am.

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