A Love that Endures

by Forrest, Bella

  “Um, okay,” David replied, although the stern look on his professor’s face confused him a bit. Could this have anything to do with the incident last night, with Frederick? David had already reported the guy, though he didn’t see how the matter would be in Bell’s department.

  David slipped out of the room and made his way down the hallway to Bell’s office. He stepped inside and seated himself in a guest chair that stood in front of Bell’s wide oak desk. Crossing his arms, he glanced around the room. Travel memorabilia was scattered all over, decorating the desk and hanging on the walls. He spotted cardboard tags coated with sand from ten major rivers in Africa, a large glass frame displaying coins from at least thirty different countries, and a corkboard full of postcards. There were also a dozen smaller frames with photographs featuring Bell’s younger, auburn-haired self, standing amidst all sorts of exotic backdrops. The guy had really gotten around. Spending his days now with snotty college students had to be pretty dull by comparison.

  As David’s eyes wandered around the rest of the room—noting a beautifully bound atlas on one of the bookshelves—his phone vibrated in his pocket. He slipped it out and saw a text had come through . . . from Zeke.

  “Screw this, man.”

  David stared at it, confused. He had barely managed to exchange a word with the guy since the party, despite them sharing the same room. His roommate had been out cold by the time David returned from Cassie’s house, and they had both been in a massive rush in the morning.

  But before he could text back to ask what was up, the door clicked open and Professor Bell strode in, his dark green jacket slung over one shoulder.

  He walked quietly around the desk, settled his jacket onto a coat hanger, and sank gracefully into the chair opposite David. Dragging its wheels forward and folding his hands in front of him, he glanced up at David.

  Or rather, at David’s throat.

  David immediately grew self-conscious. The bruise he’d gotten there the night before had blossomed into a lurid purple splotch. The rest of his body wasn’t faring much better, but it was at least easier to cover with trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. The discoloration on his neck was so noticeable, though, that perhaps he should have guessed the meeting would be about this.

  “Do you mind if I ask how you got that?” Bell asked.

  “Oh. I was just trying out paintball for the first time,” David replied, trying to loosen his shoulders into a more casual posture. It wasn’t actually a lie.

  Bell wet his lower lip. “I see. You can’t have been wearing proper protection, though, to have sustained bruises that bad.”

  David frowned. “Bruises?”

  “You’ve got one on the back of your neck, too.”

  David mentally cursed. He hadn’t even noticed that one.

  “It’s just, you’re not the first person from the Wolf Club I’ve seen with paintball bruises,” Bell went on, making David stiffen.

  His phone vibrated again, distracting him. Who is it this time?

  “I asked you in here because I wanted to give you a piece of advice,” Bell continued.

  David refocused.

  “Important advice, if you want to get the most out of your time here at Harvard. I know that some social club members, like those of the Wolf Club, engage in activities the university would never sanction. Case in point.” Bell glanced dryly at David’s throat bruise. “And reputations are fragile things. Especially for—excuse me if this comes off as blunt—students who don’t come from legacy families. You don’t get connections handed to you on a silver platter. You have to work for every useful contact you make. Please keep in mind that building a valuable network is much easier if you keep your nose clean and stick with the right circle of people. As a former Harvard student myself, I’ve seen students go both ways.”

  David nodded slowly, staring at the older man. He hadn’t realized Bell was a Harvard alumnus, but his advice certainly made sense. David had entrepreneurial ambitions for his future. He wanted to start his own company someday, and he knew that the right contacts could make or break a person in the business world. As it had turned out, joining the Wolf Club had not been David’s brightest idea, even though he could use the help with socializing.

  On the other hand, he was confused about why all this was coming from Bell. It was the first time he had ever spoken to David so personally and, frankly, intrusively. He wasn’t sure what Bell’s deal was.

  David was just trying to formulate an intelligent response when his phone vibrated a third time. Seriously? Why the heck was his phone suddenly blowing up? Was this all Zeke?

  “Um, I-I understand, Professor,” David replied, finding his voice and trying to keep on task. “And I appreciate the warning, thank you. I understand that being at Harvard is an incredible opportunity, one that could benefit me well into the future if I play my cards right.” As his phone vibrated a fourth time, he slipped a hand into his pocket and switched it off. He’d check what on earth was going on later.

  He looked back up at Professor Bell. “I’m just curious, why have you singled me out to talk about this?” he asked after a pause. As far as David knew, Bell hadn’t had the same conversation with his other housemates.

  “Good question.” Bell rocked back in his seat, looking at David thoughtfully.

  After a beat, he replied simply, “You’re one of my brightest students. I mean, the fact that you got a scholarship here speaks volumes enough. And I don’t say that just to flatter you. I’d genuinely regret it if you didn’t make the most out of your time here. College only comes once in a lifetime for most of us, and as you say, institutions like Harvard can be extremely influential for your later years.” He paused again. “Someone on the admissions board might have also mentioned your personal history to me. If you don’t mind me saying, I’m guessing you don’t really have an . . . older mentor, so to speak.”

  There was a glint of compassion in Bell’s sky-blue eyes as he looked back at David, but it made David feel almost uncomfortable. It seemed like the man had kind intentions, but he disliked feeling like he was on the end of someone’s pity.

  Still, he supposed he ought to be grateful. He didn’t have a mentor, and although he liked to think of himself as the sensible sort—most of the time, anyway—he was under no illusions about the fact that his twenty-one-year-old brain still had a fair bit of developing to do.

  “I see,” David replied. “Well, thank you. Again. I appreciate it, and I’ll take your advice to heart.”

  Now that his “initiation” was over, though, staying at the Wolf Club’s accommodations might not be so bumpy from here on out. The only guy from the house he was close friends with was Zeke—who was as straight-laced as they came—and sure, the weekend parties could be horrendous, but all houses had parties on the weekends.

  Regardless, he’d keep Bell’s advice in mind and play things by ear over the coming weeks. If the club still proved to be too much of a distraction, he and Zeke could find another arrangement.

  “You’re welcome,” Bell replied, waving a hand.

  “So, was that, uh, all you wanted to talk to me about?” David asked.

  “That was the main thing,” Bell said, nodding. “Though there is one other small thing I thought I’d mention, before you go . . . ”

  David raised an eyebrow at the professor’s hesitation. “And that is?”

  Bell exhaled, his lips stretching into a thin smile. “Well, like I said, I don’t want to overstep boundaries here, but . . . if you need any help tracking down your birth parents, I might be able to give you some advice.”

  David blinked. It took him a moment to figure out how Bell could even know about that. Then he remembered it was a detail he’d mentioned to the admissions department, describing it as part of his motive for enrolling at Harvard, versus any of the other great universities back home or in the States—that he’d wanted to be in the general area for the personal research project.

  Still, how could Bell help
with that?

  The professor seemed to read David’s mind. “Like I said, let me know if I’m overstepping here, as it’s not my intention. Your project just piqued my interest, because I understand how important it is to know one’s roots. My wife and I adopted two of our children, one of them as a teenager. He had no idea where he’d come from. It took a significant toll on his mental health and started to cause him problems both at school and at home. So, we attempted to track his family down. We were successful in the end, and it made a world of difference to him. Put simply, I know a thing or two about the sort of work that goes into a project like this, and I might be able to offer some suggestions for starting points, depending on how much info you already have.”

  David gazed at Bell, a swell of gratitude rising in his chest. “That would be pretty amazing, actually. I could use all the help I can get. It was a closed adoption, so I’m not sure where to start. I’ve already tried submitting my name to the Adoption Reunion Registry, but I doubt much will come of that. What I really need is access to my original birth certificate, but—”

  “Since it was a closed adoption, you’d have to file a court order to get it,” Bell finished. “And even then, it’s unlikely a judge would grant you access. Not unless it was an emergency situation—for example, for health reasons.”

  David nodded, having already come to that conclusion during his preliminary research.

  Bell leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach and gazing thoughtfully at David. “What I would suggest instead is doing an ancestry DNA test. There are companies out there that offer the service. They have massive databases, and while they might not match you up directly with your parents, there’s a good chance they could bring up a third, second, or maybe first cousin, sometimes even grandparents or a nephew. Either way, it should be a more fruitful route than the legal one.”

  Hope surged in David, unlike any he’d felt in a long time. “Thank you,” he managed. “You have no idea how much that advice means to me.”

  He’d heard of DNA testing but hadn’t realized it could be such a viable option for tracking down family members. Now his hands were itching to get back to his dorm room and submit his genes to as many services as he could afford.

  “You’re more than welcome,” Bell replied with a warm smile. He glanced at his watch. “I think I’ve kept you for long enough.”

  He rose slowly from his chair and gestured toward the door. David stood with him and made his way across the room, half of him wanting to thank the kind man again a hundred times over. The other half wondered whether Bell’s soft spot for adoptees had played a stronger role in his decision to appoint himself as David’s mentor than David’s . . . dazzling intellect.

  A wry smile formed on his lips. Either way, it didn’t matter. This meeting had been surprisingly productive.

  At the threshold, Bell gave David one last crinkled smile, then closed the door, leaving David standing in the now-crowded hallway. It took a while to gather his thoughts, until he finally remembered his phone. He drew it from his pocket and switched it on.

  Holy hell.

  Swiping past one missed call from an unknown number, David saw that there were ten messages. All from Zeke. Plus one missed call from him. David’s chest grew tense as he started scrolling through the texts. This wasn’t normal.

  “An utter embarrassment.”

  “A shambles of a son.”

  “A miserable failure.”

  “Nothing will change.”

  “I’m just not good enough.”

  They became gloomier the farther David scrolled, but before he could get to the bottom, a voicemail notification popped up. He tapped the screen and anxiously pressed the phone to his ear.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you with this, David,” Zeke croaked, his voice so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable. “But you’re the closest friend I have here. I can’t bring myself to tell my family . . . I’m too much of a coward. At least, this way, someone knows about my decision in advance. I’ve honestly”—he choked up—“been thinking about this for a while. Though it’s not something I ever actually saw myself doing after working so hard to get to this point in my life. But I’m just not cut out for it. Not cut out for any of this. I’m going to leave, David. For good. So, farewell. Please tell my family I loved them.”

  The message cut out, and David stared at the phone in shock.

  “Tell my family I loved them?”

  Realization crashed down on him like a bucket of ice water. Hitting the callback option, he bolted for the nearest exit.

  8

  Katy

  Katy barked and growled. She was tired of letting Connor drag her around the stage. She wanted to go sniff the lights instead. It was time for a gentle reminder of who owned whom.

  She dug her hands and knees stubbornly into the floorboard slats and refused to take a step farther. When Connor turned and looked down at her with a frown, she tossed him a sullen look.

  “Come on, Dopey,” he chided, tugging at her leash.

  The leather belt tightened around her waist, and she growled again. Ugh, he was just being annoying now. It was bad enough that she’d been assigned the role of a dog. What kind of stupid warm up was this?

  Connor increased his pull on her leash, and she had no choice but to move forward. But she was done letting him lead this show. And of all names to choose, he had to pick “Dopey?” Typical.

  The moment the other actress approached and started talking to him, she saw her opportunity and pounced. She caught the edge of his shirt in her mouth and yanked, just hard enough to interrupt their conversation. Unfortunately, Connor stepped away from her at that exact same moment, and there was a loud tearing sound, followed by a high-pitched scream. Connor tumbled dramatically to the ground, and clapping erupted from the audience chairs.

  Katy glanced at Connor, gauging the damage she had caused. He had stopped screaming like a girl—thank God—and was looking at her disdainfully. She realized that she had made a real tear—at least two inches—up the side of his lime-green shirt. She grimaced. While the guy was a pain to act with, and he’d definitely had that coming since he not-so-accidentally brushed her butt during a Shakespeare skit, she still felt a bit bad.

  “Seriously, Navarre?” he asked, frowning. “Do you know how much this shirt cost?”

  Katy gave an apologetic shrug. “Five dollars?”

  The other actress, Jessica, snorted a laugh.

  Katy patted Connor on the shoulder. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry about your shirt,” she offered, as their club advisor, Mrs. Clarke, took to the stage. For some reason, the thirty-something-year-old blonde woman’s lips seemed permanently lemon-puckered whenever Katy was around.

  “That was unnecessary,” Mrs. Clarke remarked, glancing at Connor’s shirt.

  Katy sighed. “I’m sorry. I was just getting into the role and got a little too excited.”

  “Yeah, no worries, Mrs. Clarke,” Connor chimed in, his face breaking out in a grin. “I’m not really mad. Katy’s estimate was actually close.” He plopped an arm around Katy’s shoulders, pulling her close like they were best friends.

  Katy mentally noted that if it tried to brush her butt on the way down, he’d get more than a torn shirt next time they did a skit.

  “Well, I’d still prefer you avoid personal property damage in the future,” Mrs. Clarke continued, her disparaging brown eyes returning to Katy. “Not all your partners will be as forgiving as Connor.”

  Katy sighed again. “Okay. Sorry,” she muttered in a monotone. “I’ll avoid causing ‘property damage’ next time.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Clarke replied, an annoying smugness to her tone, before turning away to the other students and clapping her hands. “All right, next improv group up, please!”

  Katy scowled at the woman’s back as she removed Connor’s belt from her waist. She really had no idea what she’d done to offend Mrs. Clarke, but the teacher clearly had a stick up her
butt.

  Shoving the belt into Connor’s hand, she slipped from his grasp and made her way toward Cassie, who was sitting on a stool at the sidelines.

  “What is it with her?” she grumbled.

  Cassie gave her a sympathetic look. “I know, right? She’s a witch.”

  “I hardly even know her,” Katy said. “It just baffles me.”

  She sighed and slipped her phone out of her pocket, navigating to David’s number. She’d stopped by the Wolf Club earlier this morning, but David hadn’t been in, so she got his number from one of his housemates, a guy called Julian. Judging by how insistently he’d tried to chat her up, even while she was asking for the phone number of another man, and by the fact that she’d been wolf-whistled out of the place by a couple other guys, Katy couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been right about David being one of a kind, at least in that house. But maybe there was a different circle of friends that he hung out with. Who knew?

  She hadn’t been able to get through to David on the phone yet, probably because he’d been busy all day, much like her. And she’d suddenly gone all tongue-tied when it went to voicemail, so she hadn’t left a message.

  She hit dial on his number, wanting to try again, now that she had a free moment.

  But she instantly hit a stumbling block—the call didn’t even ring out. Maybe he was already on the phone with someone.

  She lowered the phone to her lap. She could text him, she supposed, even if it felt less personal. It was probably more practical, given their busy lifestyles.

  She pulled up the keyboard and paused, her thumbs hovering over the screen. Her mind went back to his tall, handsome figure, standing outside in the dark, carrying Cassie like a true chevalier.

  And she suddenly didn’t know what to say again.

  Seriously, Katy? It’s just a text!

  “Hi . . . ” she began. “You brought my friend back safely last night. We just wanted to say a proper thanks . . . Could you text me back? We’d like to meet up with you.”