Hayes sat back with a grimace. “She talked to you, didn’t she?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Get over yourself, it’s pretty damn close.” Hayes kicked out the heel of his boot. “If she and Schiller are buddying up, you know what that means, right?”
He did.
He knew all too well.
A soft knock at the door kept him from having to answer. Hayes glanced over at him, frowning. “Did you change your office hours?”
“No,” he said. Then, louder, “It’s open.”
The door pushed inward, and there was Lane, light from the hall spilling around her in an aura. That formidable ache pushed into his skin. It beat through him the way the opening riff of the ballad had pounded in his chest that snowy winter’s day at the pond. He folded his fingers into a hasty fist.
“Wednesday,” he said, as carefully as he knew how. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, actually. Can we talk?” Her green eyes flitted to Hayes. “Privately?”
With a grin that made Colton want to punch him in the mouth, Hayes leaned back and kicked his boots up onto the desk. “Anything you need to say to Price, you can say to me.”
“Oh.” Lane looked to Colton. He ground his jaw and stared back. “Okay.” She dug the toe of her boot into the floor. “I’ve given some thought to your offer, and I’ve decided to take you up on it.”
Colton could feel Hayes watching him. Waiting to see how thoroughly he could screw this up. He wanted to say a thousand different things. Instead, he said, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Lane blinked, recalibrating. “The other day,” she said, as though he might have simply forgotten. “You said you’d help me study.”
He’d spent enough time staring down his demons in the mirror to know the smile he gave her was bone-chillingly cold. “If you’re having difficulty in Whitehall’s class, you can make an appointment during my office hours like everyone else.”
She gaped at him, her eyes perfect circles of surprise. Color rose into her cheeks. He’d never felt more like an asshole.
“Okay. Sure.” She bit out her words one curt syllable at a time. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
She didn’t wait for a dismissal. Instead, she spun on her heel, the black hem of her skirt flaring out. The door slammed, the force of her departure juddering the knickknacks on their shelves. The sound of it felt absolute. Like a stone rolled over a tomb.
Colton shut his eyes. Listened to the muffled fall of her boots fading into silence.
“Wow” was all Hayes said.
“Don’t start.”
“That was brutal.”
Colton sank deeper into his seat and opted not to respond.
“Be real with me for a second here,” Hayes said. “Do you get off on being pushed around?”
“No one is being pushed around.”
“Not yet, maybe. But what happens when she figures it out?” When Colton didn’t offer up an answer, Hayes stood to go. “Just don’t be an idiot. You’re not the only one with something to lose. We’re close to the end, all right? You know the stakes. We can’t close without you.”
Again, Colton was quiet. Hayes heaved out a sigh.
“Look, is she really that important?”
“Yes,” he said, in answer to Hayes’s question. One word. Too small to bear the impossible weight of the truth. Was she important?Was Delaney Meyers-Petrov important?The question was laughable, and so he laughed at it. The sound sawed out of him in an entirely unfunny rasp. “Yes,” he said again.
Hayes frowned down at him. “Then leave her alone, Price. Before you get her killed.”
