I feel myself softening even as I fight against it. It’s such a relief to hear someone else admit that sometimes things suck, to feel like I can say it without being judged for not being grateful for the opportunity.
That’s how this silly game started. We were so privileged in college—me because of my family’s support and him from the full-ride scholarship that let him focus exclusively on his studies. Even knowing how lucky we were, we needed the outlet to say the things that were weighing on us. And it always worked. Releasing the bad from our bodies and out into the world freed up space for us to focus on the good.
He holds up a third candy, and this time I cave, opening my mouth wide. He tosses it, a perfect throw that lands right on my tongue. The crunch of the shell and explosion of chocolate hurtles me back in time to when we were the annoying students who didn’t put in the work andreallyneeded an A.
I think through all the things I hate right now—too many options, when my job sucks and my coworkers hate me. “That blank-eyed stare students give when no one wants to speak.”
I’m loving the work, but that doesn’t mean it’s all perfect.
“Yes,” he yells, pointing a finger at me. “That’s the worst!”
I smile slightly, still unwilling to give myself over entirely. I pull open my bag of M&M’s and toss one to him. My aim isn’t as good, and he dives, barely catching it.
“All the extra things I have to do to qualify for tenure. I just want to do my research and teach in peace.”
Another tossed to me. “The politics of it all. I hate having to watch what I say to try to keep them happy.” He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “No trying to make me feel better. This is the Bitching Game, and only bitching is allowed.”
He lifts his hand in surrender and opens his mouth foranother piece. “The insecurity of this field. If I don’t get tenure, I’m fucked.”
I have no doubt he’ll get tenure if he keeps things up the way he has for the past year. His research is brilliant, his students love him, and the whole university is up his ass. He’s their new darling. Even his association with me hasn’t dimmed his shine, if the way the other faculty on the program flock to him is any indication.
He tosses another one to me. The next answer comes out of my mouth without my consent. “That there’s nothing I can do to be accepted by them.” It comes out as a whisper, and I hate the weakness in my voice.
It isn’t until the words leave my mouth that I realize I don’t just mean the Rome professors. I mean all of it, the professors here and the ones on campus constantly belittling and embarrassing me. I mean my brothers, who didn’t care enough to keep in touch. My mother, who was fine throwing away a relationship with me. And my father, who still thinks of me as a petulant child.
I study my hands, unwilling to see the pity in his eyes, until Colton’s knees come into view at the periphery. He’s as close as possible without being in my lap, serious eyes trained on my face.
“They don’t deserve you, Chaos.” He speaks with such conviction. I don’t know who exactly he means, but I can’t help but believe him. “Inez told me what happened.”
A shudder racks my body. “Their minds are made up. I’ve tried to engage between classes or at group dinners—tried to make a positive impression—but I’m met with silence. And I don’t know what to do or how to fix it. And I know it all sounds ridiculous, but the staff are hurting and I love them and I love Billings and I want to make it better, but I can’t if they won’t meet me halfway.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until he wipes the tears away.
“They’re assholes,” he says.
I sniff. “Stop saying the right things.”
He chuckles and flicks away a tear that had made it to my chin. “I’m never going to sit by while you cry.”
Sincerity is etched on the lines of his face: his tight jaw, the worry lines around his eyes, the softness of his gaze.
Those eyes ensnare me. They’re like the canopies of the oak trees that never change colors where I grew up in Florida. A deep, dark green with flecks of brown, like the trunk peeking through the branches. But when the light hits just right—like it is now—they light up. Light greens and yellows dancing through the darker shades, shifting like leaves on a cool lake breeze.
Home.
I suck in a deep breath. “You can’t protect me from everything, you know.”
“I can sure as fuck try.” He smiles widely, and I’m powerless to resist the urge to kiss his dimple. I savor the feel of him underneath my lips, his light stubble that tickles me. I breathe in his comforting woodsy scent. His answering inhale echoes in my ears and goose bumps run up my arms.
I sit back quickly, nearly breaking my back on the stiff metal armrest. These moments have to stop, because when I think the wordhome, I mean it. He is my home. And I won’t survive losing another family’s love.
Colton clears his throat. “Now about the professors.”
I sigh, dropping my head back. “I appreciate you wanting to help, even though you can’t do anything.”
His brow furrows again. “Hold that thought.”
He digs into his messenger bag and pulls out an enormous sheet of paper and what looks like a handful of chess figurines. He dumps them all onto the bench between us.
