“Why didn’t…fuck!” I scream. “Why didn’t anyone call me? Or…”Or what? I’m just some name on a volunteer sheet.
“I think he probably wanted you to only have the good memories of him.”
I want to be mad. I want to be furious that he was the one who got to make that call. But to do that would mean to be mad at who William was to his core. A selfless man who cared more about the people around him, those closest to him, than himself.
I couldn’t fake a smile for one fucking night, and I left William here alone, being the complete opposite kind of man I aspire to be—a man like him. I drop my head to the couch behind me, covering my face with my hands.
“God, I fucked everything up.”
Rosie shifts beside me, putting a soft hand on my knee. “If you’re referring to William, you couldn’t be more wrong. He wouldn’t do this—” She points to the necklace in the box and the letter. “If you weren’t important to him, and he wanted you to know.”
“Now, if you’re referring to our girl?—”
I look at her, now wondering if she’s seen Chloe and how much she knows.
“There’s no time like the present to make things right.”
For a split second, I let myself have hope. But it comes and goes faster than a shooting star. Chloe deserves the world and every galaxy beyond it, and I refuse to be the reason she misses out on things. If she found out why she didn’t get that job, I know that girl who’s made up of ten percent lavender and ninety percent heart, would choose me. But I won’t let her. I won’t be the reason that she loses anything else.
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “She’s losing out on opportunities because of me. And I love her enough to know that she’s better off without me.”
I lean forward, dropping my elbows to my knees.
“I think you’re confusing self-sacrifice with love.”
I sniff, looking over my shoulder at Rosie. She’s holding the photo of William and me, running her crooked finger over our faces.
“Love is about sticking around, hun. Not disappearing.”
44
chloe
I sitwith my hands under my thighs to keep from fidgeting, but it does fuck all to stop my foot from practically tapping its way out of orbit. The plastic chair I find myself in is both cold and uncomfortable, and the waiting room is quiet enough that I can hear my own heartbeat.
When I set this meeting with the dean of students, I did so in a blind rage. I let my emotions take control of me, which isn't par for the course, but now that I’m here, it’s the first time I’ve thought about how my actions might affect me and my future going forward.
With that thought, my foot stops tapping, and I sit up a little straighter because I know that whatever comes of this meeting, at least I wasn’t complacent. I refuse to be quiet about how this university treats its best, brightest, and most hard working students. And I’m not referring to myself.
A door opens, but it’s not the one I’m waiting for. A woman roughly my age, with soft blonde hair, carrying an oversized bag enters the waiting room. She’s dressed in a pair of straight leg jeans with a plain white T-shirt tucked into the top, but it’s the oversized bright pink and orange cable knit sweater that steals the show. Her hair is pulled back andwrapped in a bandana hair tie, and other than a light dusting of mascara, I don’t think she’s wearing any other makeup.
She offers me a small smile with an even smaller wave before sitting down on the chair beside me.
“Excuse me,” she whispers. “Are you waiting for the meeting with Dean Meyer?” She looks over my shoulder with something like worry etched on her beautiful doll-like face.
I nod and she breathes a sigh of relief.
“Okay, good. I was worried I was going to be late.”
My eyebrows bunch, and when my head tilts to the side, I know I’m not hiding my confusion.
She smiles softly. "If a student requests a meeting with the dean regarding another professor or department head, they typically bring in your advisor to support you, as well as another random faculty member to be an impartial witness." She clutches her large bag to her chest with a small shrug. "That's me."
“Are you a professor?”
“Technically? No.”
“What about not-technically?”
