“Stick it out.”
“You can’t do that thing…what is it called? A master’s out of the way or something?”
My heart picks up pace. “I’ve never heard of this.”
“You’d have to look into it, but Sheryl’s son did it a few years ago. He was in the doctorate program at Stanford and decided not to finish it, so he wrote some sort of dissertation and left school with a Master of Arts in Psychology.”
“I could get it after only two more quarters,” I say.
“You need to look into it,” Mom says. “But if you want to change your career path, it might be an option.”
Change my career path. That thought gives me such sweet relief, I can hardly breathe. “I need to research this immediately.”
And by research, I mean go up to my bedroom and call Peter so he can tell me if it’s possible.
Mom squeezes my hand. “I’m going to put together those plates so we can go caroling later.”
“Rhys is making breakfast,” Luna adds.
“I need to make a phone call,” I say, then jump up and run for the stairs. When I turn to go up the next set of stairs to my room, I nearly collide with Gavin. “Sorry!”
He steadies my shoulders. He’s in a dark long-sleeved henley with the top button flopping open. “You’re in a hurry.”
“I just learned there might be a way for me to leave UCLA next year with a master’s degree.”
His hands tighten on my shoulders. “How?”
“I need to call Bekah’s boyfriend and find out.” The stairwell is brightening now that the sun is rising. Gavin’s expression is calm, his body relaxed. “But how are you? I noticed your parents’ truck is gone.”
“They only wanted a new campervan. I gave them some money toward one and tried to have a conversation about better communication. I’m not sure it will do anything to improve our situation, but I’ve opened that door, at least.”
“I’m proud of you. Was it hard?”
“Excruciating.” He shrugs. “Evidently, they asked me to buy this houseforthem when my dad lost everything, notfromthem. I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I’m glad that’s the case. Turns out, Mum’s been hurt about it all these years.”
“At least she was able to get that off her chest.”
He rubs up and down my arms.
“They could come back,” I say.
“Aye, they could, but I’m not betting on it.”
I slide my hands around his waist and look up into his eyes. “I’m sorry. That must be really hard.”
“Maybe a small part of me held out hope I would wake up this morning and they would still be here, but when I handed over the cheque last night, I knew it was the last I would see of them for a while.”
I’m standing on the step below, which makes me lower than usual, but I still bury my head in his chest and hook my arms around his back. He can be strong all day in front of everyone, but he doesn’t have to be strong right now.
“This sucks. I’m sorry.”
I feel his chest expand with a large intake of breath, then I curl into him more when he lets it out on a shuddering exhale. He holds me tightly and I stand there, wrapped in his arms for what feels like an eternity.
The most comfortable, blessed eternity. I want to stand here forever.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice muffled by my hair.
“Noooo,” I whine, holding tightly when he tries to pull away. “I’m not ready to be done yet.”
