“Jesus.” He straightened, his blood heating at the memories that conjured.
She kept rolling, leaning across the desk to get in his face. “If you must know, I cut my parents out of my life after what my dad did to you.”
Leo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, but it wasn’t just him, was it?”
“Correct.” She pushed away from him, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “I wrote the essay. And he showed it to you to get you to break up with me.”
“Which I did,” he said in as bored a voice as he could muster, ignoring the way his pulse was pounding in his ears.
“Yes. I recall.” She sucked in a deep breath. “So I put myself through college on scholarships and loans, and I’m still paying them off with my crappy salary.” She rubbed a hand tiredly across her forehead, a hint of defeat creeping into her posture. “And even though I haven’t even paid myself that crappy salary for the past few months because the state funding dried up, the last thing I want to do is ask them for money, not even to keep Beaucoeur BUILD open.”
As shocked as he was to hear that Faith had walked away from her fortune because of everything that had happened, he was even more surprised to hear the name of her organization.
“You’reBeaucoeur BUILD?”
“I am.” She planted her hands on her hips, drawing herself up to her full height. “And you’d be an idiot not to give my application full consideration. Nowapologize.”
Her ferocity stopped him in his tracks. “Listen, I didn’t know about the money thing—”
“Not that!” she shrieked.
He tossed his hands in the air, utterly baffled by what she was after. “For what then?”
“For… for…” A blush crept over her cheeks, almost as if she was thinking something dirty. Curiosity coursed through him. What was she picturing that made her drag her tongue across her lower lip like that? Before he could ask, she shook her head sharply and pivoted back to the subject at hand. “I take it you know about BUILD?”
He nodded, grateful to be on slightly safer ground. “A bit. It’s highly regarded, from what I understand.”
She leaned a hip against the edge of his desk, a calculated look on her face. “Pretend I’m not me for a second. Would something like that have helped you in high school? A no-cost tutoring center with specialized programs based on student needs?”
His brows snapped together as she deftly poked at that old wound. Faith had been the first person to realize that his problems with math ran deeper than simply needing to study more. The truth was, a program like that would’ve made a huge difference to him in high school. But he’d be damned if he’d admit that to her.
She read the answer on his face. “Of course it would’ve helped,” she said softly. “Would you have actually used it though?”
He scoffed. That would’ve been asking for help, which had been only slightly preferable to death for him back then.
She made a flourish with her left hand as if she’d just won her argument. “So you see why I need resources. It’s hard to reach stubborn boys like you.”
He sank back in his chair. “Yeah. I see your point.” He tipped his head back to study the ceiling. Beaucoeur BUILD was really, really good. His supervisor Savannah often pointed to it as a model for the tremendous benefit a well-designed local nonprofit could provide. The reality of the situation, though, was awful.
“I can’t do this.” To his horror, his voice cracked as he said it, but Faith just smiled encouragingly.
“An extension? Sure you can.”
She didn’t understand his hesitation.
“It’s not that. I can make an exception if I want.” His eyes met hers, pinning her in place. “It’s just… It’s you. And it’s me.”
“Yeah. I get it.” She pressed her lips together. “But Leo, so many kids need this program.”
Kids like you.She didn’t say it, but it’s what she meant. And what a kick-in-the-nuts reminder that was of the circumstances that had led them to this moment.
“Still so dedicated to helping the less fortunate,” he murmured.
She flinched, and he knew they were both remembering the spectacular end of their relationship. The girl he loved had used her college admissions essay to write about how she’d saved him from his learning disability. Dyscalculia. A term he’d never even heard until he’d read it in her words. She’d blamed his poverty, his subpar grade school, even a healthy streak of toxic masculinity that kept him from asking for help in his classes. Butshe’dnoticed andshe’dhelped, and then she’d written all about it to secure herself a spot at Northwestern.
And in the years since, she’d gone on to create an organization that had helped hundreds of kids in Beaucoeur. He admired the work she was doing, was grateful for it even. But at the same time, part of him still fucking hated her for treating him like her own little charity case.
She fidgeted, palpable guilt rolling off her, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. “I’m so sorry for writing that, Leo. I’ve regretted it for years.”
