Page 125 of Boiling Point
She nodded, her gaze steady. “How long?”
“Until they reach a verdict.” I took another scalding sip. “They’ll convene a review board. Gather evidence. Interview anyone named in the complaint.”
Gabrielle stirred her tea, though every sugar crystal had long since dissolved. “What was the complaint?” she asked, not looking up.
“A heavily redacted email. But it was enough.”
“What did it say?”
“From the bits I could actually read, it alleged we’ve had an ongoing relationship since spring term. That we’re sexually involved. That we spent spring break together. And more recently, two weeks in England. All of which is true. Not that I confirmed any of it.”
She was silent.
“They wouldn’t say who sent it, and they didn’t name you. But whoever it was had an alarming amount of insight into our lives.” I took another drink of tea. “The email was eloquent and polished. I suspect my family. James, most likely. He has both the motive and the cruelty. And enough detail to wound with precision.”
“It wasn’t James.” She looked away, burying her face in a long sip of tea.
I set my cup down. “If not James…then who?”
She hesitated, then placed her mug on the table. Her fingers lingered at the rim. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Please don’t get mad.”
My gut clenched. I swallowed, throat dry. “I won’t,” I said. Then added, because I had to, “Unless you tell me it came from you.”
Her mouth twitched into a pained smile. “Not me.”
A beat.
“It was Aunt Suzy.” Her voice was hollow. Then she looked up, eyes red-rimmed but dry. There was no apology in them. Just the bleak certainty of delivering a wound she couldn’t take back. “She’s the one who reported us.”
I blinked. Then reached for my cup—not to drink, just to anchor my hands.
“Your aunt?” I said slowly. A faint, incredulous laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “I thought she didn’t know.”
“She didn’t. But I guess…all the little lies I told, the half-truths—they didn’t hold up. She didn’t buy the classmateboyfriend story, so she started digging. She’s got tons of university connections. And she found you.”
I closed my eyes. Let the weight of it settle.
Of course.
“That explains why Dr. Singh took it seriously,” I said quietly. “Your aunt’s faculty at the University of Houston, isn’t she?”
Gabrielle nodded. “Education professor.”
“And you’ve known since…?”
“Ten minutes ago. I was literally on the phone with her when you pulled into the drive.” She looked up, pleading. “I’m so sorry, Cal. I know it doesn’t count for much, but I am.”
I don’t know how long I stood there—frozen somewhere between heartbreak and logic, between the urge to lash out and the certainty she wasn’t the one holding the knife.
She stepped—slowly, deliberately—toward me.
“What can I do to make this right?” Her voice barely carried the short distance to me. “I’ll go to campus, make a statement, talk to the review board—whatever you need. Just let me fix this. Please.”
I exhaled and looked toward the window. “You can’t fix this, Gabrielle.”
She flinched like I’d slapped her. But I kept going.
“Because it was never your mess to fix.” I turned back to her. “I knew the risk. Knew it when I let myself want you.” I traced my fingertips along her jaw. “Knew it when I kissed you. Knew it every bloody day after. I just…” My throat tightened. “I thought if we were careful enough, smart enough, we’d make it through. We were so close.”
