She cried all that night.
Now it was her first day of teaching as an adjunct professor, and she was nervous as she stepped into her classroom. The students were settling in their chairs, mostly freshmen, hoping her class was a blow-off course. She steeled herself to be honest and disabuse them of that assumption. A month ago, she’d been excited to take on this challenge, but now, it seemed secondary to her father’s death…and all its implications. Having spent her life trying to belong, she found herself alone in the world.
“Okay, okay,” she said to the students, dropping her backpack on the floor near the lectern. Stadium seating, two hundred students staring back at her, she felt a thrill. “Settle down.” Flipping on the projector light, the screen behind her lit and revealed a series of handwritten questions. “This is Psych S-1, Introductory Psychology. If that is not the class you signed up for, please recheck your schedules or seek out your academic adviser.”
She folded her arms and waited for the inevitable five to twenty students to leave the room. She gave them a moment, scanning the crowd to get a feel for the class. That’s when she saw them. Marnie Somerville MacLain, her husband, Dane MacLain, and Lucas Sullivan, who held the hand of a gorgeous woman whose long red curls framed a smiling, impish face. All of them surrounded a brooding Caleb Smith, who was hunched in his chair, looking as if he were trying to hide in plain sight. She gave him points for not wearing dark sunglasses, but whatever he was up to, it would have to wait. She had a class to teach.
As the door closed behind the departing students, Francesca stepped to the lectern’s microphone. “Let’s talk about feelings. Ah, I can see half of you cringing, but that’s shorthand for what psychology is about. The scientific study of the human mind and its functions, especially those affecting behavior. So…feelings.” She pulled out her iPad and synced into the projector’s wifi connection. A black-and-white photo of Sigmund Freud smoking a cigar appeared on the projector. “The master of all things psychoanalytical. Does anyone know his name? I’ll give you a hint, he’s credited with saying ‘sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.’”
Eyes dancing with amusement, Marnie was sitting next to Caleb. She’d managed to transform herself from a Goth cat burglar into a coed—two braids, a flower-child headband, lots of blue eye shadow, and chomping on gum. “Oh, I know!” Marnie raised her hand, and patted Caleb’s arm with her other one. But he refused to be drawn into her excitement. “Freud!”
Caleb arched a brow and met Francesca’s gaze. “Didn’t he come up with the idea of transference?”
Francesca gritted her teeth, unwilling to be provoked in front of her students. “That’s correct. Transference. A process…” She held her hand out, indicating Caleb. “Your name is?”
“Caleb.” He narrowed his eyes, brooding again.
Francesca wanted to smack him upside the head. What was he doing here? He’d destroyed her world, and now he wanted to destroy her future? “Caleb, why don’t you tell us what transference is.” Let him squirm before two hundred eager students.
Caleb smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s when your girlfriend has daddy issues and thinks you’re the version of daddy she can make love her.”
When Marnie punched him in the arm, Caleb didn’t deign to acknowledge the blow. Marnie, however, shook out her hand, grimacing.
Francesca continued to simmer, but was too aware of her audience to reveal her upset. “Actually, Caleb, it’s a little more complicated than that. Not everything in life is black-and-white. Sometimes…there are mitigating circumstances.” Like when the daughter doesn’t know her father is a crime boss, or her fiancé a FBI agent. “Anyone else want to try?” She noticed Lucas Sullivan had tuned them out and had his iPhone in hand, scrolling.
“You.” She pointed at Lucas. When he glanced up and saw her staring at him, he lifted his brows. “Yes, you. Your name?”
“Lucas.” He glanced at Caleb, as the redhead next to him suppressed her laugh.
“Tell us about transference, Lucas.”
Sullivan made no attempt to hide his Googling it. “It says ‘a phenomenon characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another.’ And then goes on to say it’s ‘an inappropriate repetition in the present of a relationship that was important in a person’s past. Usually childhood.’”
Caleb narrowed his eyes, cracking a small smiling. “Exactly.”
He is so self-satisfied. She wanted to scream. Is that how he saw the last month? Francesca suffering from transference? That’s why they almost died, why her father was murdered?
“Do you know what else Freud said?” Francesca swiped her iPad and the new quote appeared on the overhead projector. She pointed to Marnie. “Would you be willing to read that, please?”
Marnie cleared her throat, her discomfort evident, but she read it anyway. “‘He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.’”
“Would anyone like to explain what Freud meant when he said that?” Francesca scanned the room of two hundred, and not one hand raised. She glared at Caleb, happy to see his smile had faded. “It means secrets will come out. Sooner or later, the truth will be known. Because we, as humans, need to be known.” The room was silent. So upset she could barely breathe, Francesca swiped her iPad with trembling hands, changing the slide. “Moving on,” she said.
For the next forty minutes, she presented her lecture, her assignment, and then grabbed her backpack, hoping for a quick getaway. She should have known better. Caleb, with the finesse of a linebacker, walked her out of the class, down the hall, and outside into the crisp New England air. A red sports car was illegally parked outside the hall, and campus police were directing a tow truck to pull it away.
“Let me guess.” Francesca grimaced up at Caleb. “The dean’s car.”
“No. Impound, but I was in a rush. I figured it would be easier for them to just come get it.” Caleb was walking beside her, staring at the walkway. This was the first time she’d been this close to him since he’d dropped her off two weeks ago. She’d missed his scent, his size beside her. She even missed his scuffed boots. “Where are you going?” he said. “And…and can I come, too?”
He surprised her with his hesitancy. She feared he’d found a use for her again. “What do you want, Caleb? Why are you and your cronies trolling campus?” Caleb looked over his shoulder, prompting her to glance over hers. The three of them were watching, but keeping their distance. “What are they doing?”
“They’re being stupid and won’t leave,” he said. When she stopped walking, and put her hands on her hips, he sighed. “They’re conducting an intervention.”
“For what?” she said. His closed his eyes and seemed to be restraining himself, as if she were being difficult, but none of this made any sense. “Will you for the love of all that is holy talk to me?”
Caleb opened his eyes and nodded. “I took a leave from the FBI and spent the last two weeks transitioning out of my undercover status and setting up the new Fed in my place. I cashed out, Francesca.”
She shook her head. “So…what are you doing now?”
“Trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”
“And them?” She tilted her head, indicating the increasingly restless threesome who were inching their way closer to her and Caleb.
“They made me come…to talk.” He was having a hard time meeting her gaze and holding it, and Francesca’s instinct was to help him out, soothe him through this leap of faith he seemed to be making. But he’d hurt her, and if he didn’t have the courage to speak with her, to deal with the damage he’d wrought in her life, she was better off walking away now, before he could hurt her again.
“So talk.”
“You have time?” His expression was intent, and he seemed to be holding his breath.
It made Francesca think he was loo
king for more than talking, and as much as she craved what he could make her feel, she’d been seduced once already by this man, and it had cataclysmic repercussions. She was a psychologist, dammit; she could do better, would do better than to fall into the same trap. And yet… “I have two hours before my next lecture. We could go back to my apartment.”
“I’d like that.” His smile dripped of relief, triggering her fear. If she were going to have it out with Caleb, it suddenly became abundantly clear, it would have to be away from her bedroom.
“Why?” It had been two weeks of silence, and he’d just admitted he had to be forced here. To talk? She should have said no. But she missed him, wanted who she’d thought he was. As soon as she acknowledged that, she felt like kicking herself. She was doing it again, longing for a version of Caleb that didn’t exist. “You should go.”
“I love you.” The words spilled out of his mouth, fast, forceful, filtered through his damaged throat.
She was afraid. “I don’t want pretend anymore, Caleb. I deserve real.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, turned his head left and right, searching for what? Danger? Was that still his life?
“You’re wrong,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I pretended to be something I’m not, but you didn’t. I fell in love with you. Your kindness, strength, intelligence, your empathy, Francesca. You wanted so much to belong, you forgave a father who didn’t deserve you. You spent your days connecting with hurting children, and now students. You accepted me—someone feared, obeyed, but never loved. Well, I want to belong, too. To you.”
She shook her head, overwhelmed and on the cusp of crying. “You’ve had pretty words for me before. What do you want from me, Caleb? Because honestly, at this point, I can’t handle much more. I’m done.”
Caleb pulled his hands from his pockets, holding them palms up. “You.”
Francesca’s chin quivered, and there was nothing she could do about that, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t strong. She had to be strong. “Why should I trust you again?”
“I wouldn’t…but I want you to.” He stepped closer. “I want a lot of things, and that’s new for me.” A breeze worked a lock of her hair free and blew it across her face. Caleb tucked it behind her ear, unable to hide his hand’s trembling. “I’ve spent my life running. At first from danger and hunger, and then memories. Working with the FBI was in the service of good, but it was living a lie nonetheless. A person can get lost. When I met you, I was lost.”
Francesca understood what he was offering, and it scared her…because she wanted it so much. And because she feared it wasn’t real. “You said it yourself. We’re strangers.”
Caleb nodded fast, lips pursed. “That’s the thing. I’m a stranger to myself.” He lifted his arms, indicating his body. “Is this me? Or is the tuxedo-and-scotch guy me? I don’t know who I am.” He stepped closer, mere inches from her, and tilted her head up with a fingertip. If he kissed her, she told herself, she’d never be able to resist. And the thought had her licking her lips, wondering if he were about to kiss her. “Francesca, you have a knack for seeing the best in people. I’m hoping if you look at me long enough, maybe I can start seeing myself the way you do.” He frowned, his anxiety marring his expression. “The way you used to.”
“What’s in it for me?” She turned her back on him, afraid she’d reach out and touch him. “I’m no one’s prop. If you want an adoring stare, you can rent one online.” Afraid of her weakening resolve, she stepped away from him, needing distance if only to think clearly.
Caleb took her hand, tugged her into his arms. Then he kissed her.
It wasn’t the body-weakening, soul-searing kiss she was used to. It was new. Different and confusing. She inhaled his scent, and her eyelids dropped as she concentrated on the relief she felt to be in his arms again. Melting for him, kissing, giving as she received, mouths merged and hungry. She trembled, and when he broke the kiss and buried his face in her hair, he crushed her to his chest as if fearing she’d run.
“I love you, Francesca. I love you. Tell me what I have to do to make you love me back. For the first time in my life, I know what I want, but have no idea how to get it. I want you.”
Francesca leaned back, searching his gaze. Could she believe him? Or was she seeing what she wanted? She loved him, and he said he loved her back. Had her father twisted her so badly she was incapable of accepting love?
His fingers curled into her back, not letting her go. “Take a chance on me, Francesca. Love me. And I promise I will always love you. I promise you will be the center of my life…to my dying day, and then…” His gaze dropped to her lips, and Caleb revealed such heartbreakingly beautiful longing, she found herself inhaling sharply. “Then I’ll haunt you from heaven if that’s what it takes to be with you. Together—happy maybe, maybe not, but like you said, we’ll be a team, Francesca. And that’s a promise.” His famous “promise.”
“Well,” she said. “Since you promise.” She would take a chance on love. On Caleb. She’d risk more pain, betrayal, and unhappiness because she loved him, and because not being with Caleb had been a misery.
“Yeah?” Anxiety strangled the word, making it sound gravelly and threatening. Yet Francesca knew to the tips of her toes Caleb would never hurt her again, not if he could help it.
“Yeah. I’m starting to recognize the man I knew. Maybe you’re not such a good actor after all, and maybe what makes up a person is the parts they can’t hide. The truth has a way of being known.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes. “I’ve been miserable without you.”
“I was always near. I will always keep you safe.” He held her tightly.
The protective shell around her heart cracked, and the smile on her face came unforced. “Just ten minutes ago I thought we were hopeless. Then you promised.”
“To keep you safe?”
“To love me forever.” Her smile widened, and then a laugh bubbled up. Caleb squeezed her again, pulling her off her feet and twirling her around. Her kiss stopped his antics, and then neither was smiling. Caleb grabbed her backpack and her hand.
“How much time did you say we have?” His smile was primal, exciting, and exactly what she wanted to see.
“Two hours.” Francesca waved to Marnie, flashing the engagement ring she’d never taken off. His friends applauded and whistled until Caleb gave them the finger, and they stopped, laughing, walking away to give them their privacy. He draped his arm over her shoulder, leading her toward her apartment.
“Two hours won’t be enough,” Caleb growled.
She sighed, smiling brightly. “A lifetime won’t be enough.”
He stopped, pressed a fierce kiss to her lips, and then took her hand, tugging her cross campus, running toward happiness, toward a future filled with hope, secure in the knowledge no matter their challenges, they loved each other…and that would be enough.
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Acknowledgments
I want to thank Vanessa Mitchell, my dear editor, for making me a better writer. And I’d like to acknowledge my team at Entangled Publishing for their hard work on this series, and extend my undying, never to be forgotten gratitude.
About the Author
Kris Rafferty was born in Massachusetts, the youngest of four in a rambunctious Irish-American family. Obsessed with books early on, she even remembers her first library adventure of bringing a book home. She wrote her first story when she was six and never stopped. She received her BA at U/Mass Boston, married the love of her life, and has three perfect children. She earned her 3rd degree black belt, plays piano, loves road trips, and is a fanatic for warm-water ocean. If she’s not writing, she’s reading. Ms. Rafferty lives happily ever after in North Carolina.
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