I fell against the cinder blocks and let myself slide down the wall. By the time I reached the floor, I was sobbing. Chest heaving, tears streaming down my face. My hand was bleeding and already starting to swell.
After a minute, someone knocked on the door.
“It’s closed,” I snarled.
Their voice was muffled. “Bro. I gotta take a leak.”
“Take it somewhere else,” I growled.
I heard them walk away.
Then I gave myself two minutes. Two minutes to mourn the fact that someone had done that to her. Horrible images and scenarios pulsed in my head. She must’ve been terrified. My stomach twisted. She’d been carrying this hurt and darkness inside all this time, putting up a front that was a total lie, and I’d never even suspected. What kind of terrible person was I that I couldn’t tell?
When those two minutes were up—still a complete wreck—I gave myself two more.
But when those were up, and I was nowhere near done with my tears, I made myself stand. I washed my face and then my hand—fairly certain I’d broken it. Then I told myself to stop sniffling and cowboy the freak up. I wasn’t the one who’d been raped.
Just the woman I loved with my entire heart.
Another sob tore through me. “Stop,” I hissed. Hands on the sink, I stared at myself in the mirror.
Fact: Assuming her pregnancy was a result of the rape, Tally had kept this secret for nine years. She hadn’t told even her closest friends. Maybe she hadn’t told Madden. There wasno way she’d want me to know. And if she found out that I did, she might never speak to me again.
And I couldn’t live with that.
Fact: Aside from the sexual assault, there was no possible way for me to tell her I was Leggs without her making the connection that she was The Girl. We’d met nine years ago. I’d told her that meeting The Girl had been a love-at-first-sight experience. Tally was intelligent. It wouldn’t take two minutes for her to realize she was The Girl. And if she found out she was The Girl, she might never want anything to do with me again.
Again, I couldn’t live with that.
Fact: And this was something I could worry about later—but worry about it, I would have to. I’d been writing a novel with one of my students. For a year and a half. Professors wrote textbooks with their students all the time. But a novel? That would be completely out of the question. It was in the fine print of my contract. It caused an imbalance of power. I could be accused of persuading her, giving her unfair academic advantages. If anyone found out, they would not care that we hadn’t known. They probably wouldn’t believe it. Especially since she was Anna’s best friend and we’d known each other before she ever started school here. She could lose the fellowship that paid her tuition.
I couldn’t live with that.
I’d probably lose my chance at tenure.
I’d live. It would suck but I would live.
As I walked down the hall, I knew I had to get out of this building as quickly as possible. I needed way more time to think. To process. As it was, I was a volcano on the verge of eruption.
And I needed to get my throbbing hand checked out.
When I walked into my office, she was still in mychair, the computer on her lap, but she was stiff and closed off. I couldn’t blame her.
I sat and she looked up at me through her lashes, like a puppy who knew she’d done something wrong but they weren’t sure what. I swung her chair so we were facing each other, knee to knee. Then I reached over and slowly closed the lid to her laptop.
“Tally?” I said, faking calm. “I can’t write this scene with you.” She stared at me, tight-lipped, and I could see the hurt. “I’m your professor. It wouldn’t be right for me to help you write a sex scene.” Not even close to the reason, even if it should’ve been.
“Ash, c’mon,” she breathed, sounding almost desperate. “I won’t tell anyone. I’m really good at keeping secrets.”
That sentence almost did me in. Because yeah, shewasreally good at keeping secrets. And she shouldn’t have to be. But life had taught her otherwise.
I swallowed and let myself take a beat. Then I tried again. “I’m really sorry,” I said more firmly. “I can’t.”
“But you’re myfriend,right?” She sounded full-on desperate now.“Friends help each other. I’m stuck in a rut and I need you to give me a tow. I’ve thought about it a long time and I know you’re the right person to help.” She reached out to squeeze my hand. I yanked it away. But the hitch in her breath told me she’d seen. My hand had doubled in size since the restroom and it was starting to bruise. Her eyes met mine, full of questions. Then she reached again as if gently touching it would make it better. Like a mom who kisses an owie.
If she touched me, I was done for. I would be sobbing, head in her lap in less than five seconds. I tucked my hand under the opposite armpit. Oof, that throbbed.
She looked utterly wounded. “Ash, what is going on?”
