“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “I’m trying not to think.”
He rolled onto his back and put his hands over his face. “You have no idea how much I want this right now,” he said.
I pulled his hands away from his eyes. “Then what are you doing?”
“God, I don’t know! Being the good guy, I guess.” He looked at me, anguish in his eyes. “You know I love you, Aub. I always have. But if I’ve got some crazy rebound thing going on…well…I don’t know. I’d hate myself if I hurt you. Can we give this some time? Maybe see how we feel after Reading Week?”
Wait, was he rejecting me? Oh my God, this couldn’t be happening! I tried not to overreact.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” I said, my voice strained.
“It is,” he said tracing circles on my cheek with his thumb. “I’m just not sure about the timing. And there’s something going on with you. I don’t know what it is, but you’re not yourself right now. I know we should not be doing this tonight.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I sighed in resignation, flopping onto my back.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” he said. He leaned over to kiss me tenderly once more. “I had a great time tonight.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
He crossed the room, stopping at the door. “Goodnight, Aub. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Yep. You too.”
That’s all I could manage before my throat tightened with restrained tears.
Chapter 12
Heart on Sleeve
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
(Othello, Act I, Scene 1)
WHEN I WOKE UP SUNDAY MORNING, the first thing I saw was my dress hanging over the chair in the corner. It would be going through the shredder. How could I ever allow the Double-Rejection Dress to touch my skin again? I wanted nothing to remind me of the events that had transpired the night before.
Lord, I was tired. I’d tossed and turned for three hours in the wake of Matt’s magnanimous decision to cock block himself, and I didn’t feel rested at all.
Glaring at the yellow carnations, I grabbed the entire bunch and dumped them unceremoniously into the garbage. I regretted the irrational impulse almost immediately, so I replaced them in the vase. I was being completely immature. Matt was right. If we’d gone any farther last night, we’d both be stewing in regret right now—probably for different reasons—but nevertheless, we’d both be sorry. I was lucky he’d had the self-control to pull the rip cord on the proceedings.
Why on earth had I behaved like that? Was I developing feelings for Matt beyond the easy friendship and sisterly love I’d felt for him for years? No, of course I wasn’t. I’d been reeling from seeing Penny and Daniel together, from discovering their engagement. I was beside myself with envy, pure and simple. I’d sought an ego-boost, and I was prepared to use Matt to placate my own wounded pride. I needed to apologize and clear the air, and I needed to do it now.
I ventured out into the living room. All was silent. Matt’s door was closed. On the kitchen counter beside the coffee maker, I found a note.
Aubrey,
I’ve gone to the gym to work out. Will probably
hang at Kap for a bit after. See you later.
We need to talk!
-M
As much as I wanted to talk to him and hash things out, I was relieved he wasn’t home. I could do with a few more hours to sort out my thoughts and bring things into focus. I’d have to tread carefully. I didn’t want to hurt Matt’s feelings or bruise his ego, and knowing my luck, now that I’d decided last night’s events were a terrible mistake, he was probably thinking it was all a wonderful prelude to a short engagement and fall wedding.
I spent the afternoon at the library, using my homework as a salve for my gaping wounds. An afternoon of intensive study was exactly what I needed. After four hours of reading and note-taking, with a little research thrown in for good measure, I repacked my bag to head home, proud of what I’d accomplished.
I arrived back at the apartment, weary and hungry, and was pleasantly surprised to find Joanna in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for what appeared to be a stir fry.
“Hey,” I said. “I thought you were going to see The Sound of Music with Stephen tonight.”
“No, that was last night. Remember, it was my Valentine gift?”
I actually hadn’t remembered. Jo was around so little, I wasn’t exactly plugged into her social life. I bit back a snarky comment. There was no need to make her feel guilty for actually having a successful love life and a boyfriend who spoiled her rotten.
“Oh, I guess I got my dates mixed up.”
“That’s okay. How was dinner? You and Matt went out, right?”
She gave me a pointed look, as if she thought I’d have some cataclysmic news to share. I was in no mood to share cataclysms.
“We had a nice time. He’s a good friend,” I said, emphasizing the last word, while hoping the events of the night before hadn’t completely ruined our friendship. “But I don’t want to talk about my night. How was the show? Were the hills alive? How did they solve a problem like Maria?”
“It was amazing,” she gushed. “The staging was incredible. I don’t know how they pulled off the first scene on the mountain top. It was super cool.”
I listened to her ramble on about The Sound of Music for a while, helping her slice veggies and prepare rice. It was nice to have her home. She was a breath of fresh air. She encouraged me to share dinner with her, and we ate together in front of the TV. We talked about inconsequential things, and as we chattered on about nothing in particular, I realized I was talking like this with everyone. A constant stream of trivialities and one-liners was all I seemed capable of sharing, confiding in no one. It couldn’t be healthy.
I’d feel stupid divulging my feelings for Daniel to Joanna, though. She was a lovely girl, but she was so level-headed. If I went out on a limb and shared the inappropriate crush I was harboring on my TA, she’d disapprove and tell me to smarten up. And she’d be right on the mark.
After dinner, I sat on the floor while Joanna sat on the couch behind me, styling my hair, one of her favorite ways to relax. I loved it when people played with my hair, so I wasn’t about to complain. Three different braid experiments, a couple of practice up-dos, and two hours of mind-numbing reality TV later, we were both partially brain dead and we called it a night. I curled up in bed to read some short stories for Wednesday night’s class. I’d been reading for about an hour when there was a gentle tap on my door.
“Come in,” I called out.
Matt entered, moving awkwardly to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked drained. I guessed he’d slept as badly as I had.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.”
I sat up, wrapping my arms around my knees.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Okay, I guess. I went to the Metro Reference Library to get some work done. You went to the gym?”
“I did. Kind of needed to blow off some steam. Played pool at the frat house this aft. I needed to chill with the guys.”
“Yeah, I get that. So…?” I said, not knowing how to begin. This was what I’d been afraid of. The awkward silence. The “how do we broach this topic” dance.
“Are we okay?” he asked.
His voice sounded so choked and tight, I thought he might actually cry. I held out my hand to him. “Come here,” I said. He took my hand and crawled up to sit beside me.
“Last night was pretty crazy. I’m not gonna lie; I did not see that coming. I don’t know what got into me, well, aside from a vodka and soda and three-quarters of a bottle of wine,” I said.
This was only partially true. I knew exactly what had gotten into me, but I wasn’t about to tell Matt I’d been using him to boost my own damaged ego, especially considering how soundly I’d failed.
“But I’m not blaming
the wine for my behavior. Leading you on like that was wrong.”
Matt tried to interrupt me, but I squeezed his hand and shook my head to stop him.
“Please, let me finish, I need to do this,” I said. “Matt, you are an incredible guy. Every day I wonder if things could be different for us, but the truth is, I’m scared to death that if things didn’t work out, I’d lose you. I’m not prepared to sacrifice our friendship for a little bump ’n’ grind, you know?”
He snorted. “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you last night,” he said. “Although I don’t think I put it quite so eloquently.” He laughed and kissed my forehead. “Aubrey. You’re one in a million, you know?”
“So I’ve been told,” I said, pressing my cheek to his shoulder.
“Hey, I mean it,” he said. Then he delivered his zinger. “Whoever this guy is, if he can’t see what a great woman you are, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“What—?” I said. “How—?”
He gently cradled my face in his hand. “This expression here? It’s very familiar. I’ve been seeing it in the mirror every day for the past two weeks.”
I gaped at him.
“Just say the word, sweetheart. I’ll kick his ass.” He pushed himself off the bed and moved to the door. “So, yes, we’re okay?” he asked, his hand on the doorknob.
“We’re awesome, cowboy,” I assured him.
You’re awesome, I thought. I don’t even come close to deserving you.
Monday morning. Five more days until Reading Week. This was manageable. I could do this. Again I was out the door and off to work at eight twenty. I would not think about Daniel. Thoughts of him ultimately led to thoughts of him with Penny—and them walking down the aisle, dancing their first dance, feeding each other cake. I refused to contemplate the honeymoon.
When I arrived at the office, the lights were out and Dean Grant was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d met Daniel for coffee at Wymilwood again. The Monday morning meeting seemed to be part of their routine. Thank God they weren’t meeting here. As the coffee brewed, I separated the mail, slipping Dean Grant’s correspondence into the plastic inbox attached to the wall outside his office door. I was about to sign into the student requests email account when the phone rang.
“Good morning, Victoria College, Dean Grant’s office, how can I help you?”
“Oh, thank goodness you’re there, Aubrey!”
It was Dean Grant. He sounded winded and a bit panicky.
“Is everything okay? I was worried when I arrived and you weren’t here. I hope you’re not ill. There’s a nasty bug going around.”
“No, no, everything’s fine. I do need your help, though. Do you have a pen and some paper?”
“Yes, go ahead. What can I do?” I wheeled my chair forward and leaned on the desk.
“Once we’re off the phone, I’ll need you to go into my office,” he explained. “Grab the extra keys out of the filing cabinet.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly, waiting for him to continue.
“The bottom right-hand drawer of my desk is a file drawer. I need you to find something for me.”
“I don’t know how comfortable I feel going through your desk. Isn’t that a bit—”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Aubrey. I trust you implicitly and I know you would never do anything to violate my trust. Will you help me?”
“Yes,” I agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Carry on.”
“Okay,” he said. “In that drawer, you’ll find alphabetized and color-coded files.” I smiled. Of course they were color-coded. The man had a serious case of OCD. “You’re looking for a file named ‘Davis, Shannon.’ I’m almost positive it’s red. It should be close to the front. Got that?”
“Yes.” I jotted the name down.
I knew all about Shannon Davis. She was a first-year Vic student whose family home had burned down over Christmas break. Her parents were struggling with the insurance company. Shannon’s second semester tuition fees remained unpaid.
“Once you’ve got the file, I need you to fax me everything inside it.”
I hastily wrote down the numbers he recited. “If you don’t mind me asking, where are you, Dean Grant?”
“I’m at the Bursar’s office. I was called along with the deans of all of the colleges on campus this morning and told to report directly here. Some funds were released to the university by the provincial government last night, and the bursar wants to earmark some awards right away. I think he’s afraid the premier might change his mind,” his said, chuckling darkly. “I’d like to get Shannon a bursary. The papers in that folder will help me to plead her case.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” I said. I wasn’t kissing his butt either. The man was so thoughtful.
“I’ll call you when I’ve received everything, then you can lock up my office and go about your morning.”
I agreed and hung up, using my keys to open the standing filing cabinet where Dean Grant’s extra office keys were hidden. When I entered his office, my heart clenched. Even though I had his permission, being in there without him still felt wrong. I crossed the office and sat at his desk, noting how odd it was seeing the room from this perspective. I opened the bottom drawer and began to flip through the neatly labeled files.
Before I could get to Shannon’s file, my eyes fell on one titled with large black printed letters: Daniel’s Court Case—Oxford. My breathing halted. I pulled the file out of the drawer slightly, millions of questions racing through my mind. Court case? Why had Daniel had to go to court? Had he committed some terrible crime at Oxford?
Dean Grant’s words echoed in my head. I know you would never do anything to violate my trust. Daniel’s criminal past was none of my business and certainly not my problem. Penny was marrying the felon, not me. And Dean Grant trusted me. I gritted my teeth, replaced Daniel’s file, and continued until I found the one with Shannon’s name on top.
Inside it was a newspaper clipping, a record of Shannon’s marks, and a letter written to the college from Shannon’s parents dating back to early January. Satisfied that I’d accessed the correct file, I faxed the pages to Dean Grant. A few moments later, I slipped the file back into its rightful place in the drawer.
I was about to return to my desk to await Dean Grant’s phone call when a small collection of family photos perched on the desk caught my attention. The largest one, a photo in a dark oak frame, showed Dean Grant and a lovely auburn-haired woman—his wife, I presumed—surrounded by three young men. One of them was Daniel. I guessed the other two must be his brothers.
The photo emphasized how alike Daniel and his father were—both tall and dark, broad-shouldered, and similarly handsome. One of the brothers was dark-haired like Daniel, but was taller with a dimple topping off both sides of his smile. The other brother was slighter and seemed to favor his mother’s fair coloring and features. They were all fabulous looking—especially Daniel, of course. In the picture, he looked like he had on Saturday night: clean cut and well-dressed. Hot in the extreme. Mr. GQ.
Gah! Screw off, Saturday night! I did not want to think about Saturday night. Not ever again.
I returned the photo to its spot and glanced at the others. And there she was. Penny, the femme fatale. Mrs. Grant-to-be. But…what the hell? She was being embraced lovingly, not by Daniel, but by one of Daniel’s brothers, the tall one. He was holding her hand out and facing the camera, showing off the engagement ring while she stared adoringly at him.
I fell back in the chair, the wind knocked out of my sails. Wasn’t she engaged to Daniel? I was so shell-shocked, I must not have heard the outer door to the office open because suddenly there was Daniel himself, standing before me in all his Dr. Hobo glory, his face clouded with fury.
“What are you doing in my father’s private office?” he demanded. “Why are you sitting at his desk?”
I grimaced, quickly sliding Dean Grant’s file drawer closed. “This isn’t what it looks like,” I s
aid calmly. “What I mean is, your father knows I’m in here. He wanted me to do something for him—”
“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that? Do I look like an idiot to you?”
Now I was pissed. I stood up. “No, I definitely don’t think you’re an idiot, but I guess I have overestimated your ability to be a good judge of character!” I shot back.
He clenched and unclenched his fists for a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket and swiftly dialing a number. He turned on his heel with a dark backward glance over his shoulder and walked across the room to look out the window.
“Hi, Dad? Where are you?” His voice was tight and controlled.
I crossed my arms and tapped my foot impatiently.
“Did you forget we were meeting this morning at Wymilwood at eight thirty? Yeah, I figured as much. Well, I’m here at your office. I came looking for you.” Daniel gave me another glare.
He listened to his father for a minute or so, and I watched as his eyebrows shot up, his lips straightening into a grim line. “Yes, she’s right here, in fact. Hold on.” He approached the desk, his hand outstretched to pass me the phone. “He wants to talk to you,” he said sheepishly.
I took the phone, and Daniel slumped down onto one of the chairs in front of the desk. I resumed my seat behind the desk. “Dean Grant?”
“Hi, Aubrey. Thank you so much for taking care of that for me. Everything came through fine. You can re-file Shannon’s information and lock up my office now. I’ll be back within the hour,” he said. “Oh, and this is all strictly fencepost, Aubrey. Shannon’s already been through enough. No need to stir up the rumor mill.”
“Fencepost” was Dean Grant’s code word for “Top Secret.” As a man who prized discretion above many other traits, “This is between you, me, and the fencepost” was one of his favorite expressions.
The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Page 10
