Page 106 of What We Don't Say: Part Two

“I know,” I whisper.

His mouth presses against my temple, then Theo’s hair. He keeps holding us while the rage moves through him in hard breaths, refusing to put either of us down before his body believes we are still here.

Idris joins us more quietly. He touches Theo first, sliding one hand along his shoulder until Theo turns and reaches for him. Idris gathers him in without taking him away from Sloane or me, creating room inside the tangle rather than breaking it apart.

His other hand comes to my throat. His thumb brushes beneath the moonstone, checking the skin there before tracing the edge of the pendant.

“It worked,” I say, leaning into his palm. “I still felt him. I knew what he was doing before the words settled.”

Idris' jaw flexes. He bends and presses his mouth to my forehead, holding it there while Theo grips the front of his shirt.

Dash remains near the door until the hallway quiets. He speaks briefly with security, the department chair, and someone from university counsel, his voice low enough that the words blur into procedure.

When Dash opens the office door and comes back inside, the authority leaves his shoulders by degrees. He looks at Theotucked between Idris and Sloane, then at me in the middle of them, and the worry on his face is so open that I extend my hand before he can ask.

Dash comes to us and takes it. His thumb moves over my knuckles, familiar and careful, before he leans down and kisses my hair.

“I am sorry he reached you here,” he says.

I look around my office, at the coffee spilled across the table and the half-eaten sandwiches beside Zana’s open folder. Garrett entered the room, but he didn’t empty it.

“He didn’t take it,” I say. My voice shakes, but I smile when Theo lifts his head to look at me. “He came into my office, and everyone heard him.”

Theo’s answering smile is small and wet. I brush his hair away from his face before leaning in to kiss his forehead.

Zana sits at the edge of my desk, Garrett’s folder open beside her. She has already photographed the documents and collected the names of the people who saw him enter.

“The university preserved the hallway footage,” she says. “Several students recorded the confrontation. I will need copies of everything, along with statements from each of you while the details are fresh.”

Her tone is businesslike, but she looks at Theo before continuing. “That can happen after you have had water and enough time to breathe.”

Theo nods and keeps one hand in mine.

Dash brings the tray closer, though the coffee has gone cold. He replaces it with the unopened bottle of water and kneels near the couch while Sloane shifts us carefully onto the cushions.

For several minutes, no one tries to move the story forward. Sloane sits with me half across his lap, his hand spread over my stomach. Theo curls against Idris with his feet tucked beneathmy thigh, and Dash remains close enough that my knee rests against his shoulder.

The bracelet lights fade one at a time because no one needs the paired pieces while we are all touching.

My breathing steadies slowly. Every time it catches, Sloane’s hand moves over me. Theo keeps stroking the inside of my wrist, and Idris rubs his thumb along the back of Theo’s neck until the sharp sweetness in the room begins to soften.

Dash looks toward Zana only after Theo has finished half the water. “How quickly can we move?”

Zana closes Garrett’s folder. “Faster than we could yesterday.”

Theo

Callie lets me carry the dessert because she says the cupcakes are the only part of lunch I have shown proper respect for. I hold the box against my chest while she locks her office door, and Dash waits beside her with two paper bags balanced in one arm and his other hand resting low at her back.

He has been touching her like that more since yesterday, enough that she keeps leaning into the contact before she seems to remember anyone can see. I like watching it happen, because her body looks different when it forgets to brace.

The parking garage is bright and warm when we reach it, full of sun coming through the open sides and the smell of hot concrete. Callie walks between us toward Dash’s car, and his thumb moves once against her waist when she starts telling him about a student who emailed at midnight to ask whether “ethics” was supposed to make them feel personally attacked.

My gaze focuses on his hand, a smile creeping onto my face until Dash notices me staring. He opens the back door for me, then keeps his voice low enough that the question belongs to us before it belongs to her. “We okay?”

Callie turns from the passenger door, her keys still hooked around one finger. Her eyes move from Dash to me, and the warmth in her scent thins with worry too quickly.

I nod and hold the cupcake box tighter. “I like it when you love on her. Her smile is different.”