37. Then
37
THEN
Brooke sat in the hallway of the centuries-old dean of En-glish building. She didn’t actually know how old it was, but the draftiness sure fit the Victorian era she conjured. Or maybe all the blood had simply exited her extremities, taking up residence in her stomach to give herself an ulcer. Good thing she wasn’t going into medicine—that was probably not how things worked.
Brooke hugged herself tighter, crossing her legs and generally trying to shrink as much as possible. She’d never been called into a principal’s office before, and had feared that fate more than most things. On second thought, her high school principal was a kind old man who ended every morning announcement with, “Make it a great day or not, the choice is yours,” which everyone mockingly quoted to each other throughout the day.
Why was she even thinking of that? Probably because it was an easier thing for her brain to fixate on besides the reason she had been called in here. Her grades had absolutely dipped this term, but it wasn’t like she was failing anything, even though that C from Mhairi had felt just as bad. The only possibility was because someone had told them about Jack.
Chels would take that information to her grave. Kieran was reliably oblivious. But Rohan…they’d put him in a terrible position. He might’ve felt like he’d had to. And Mhairi? Brooke hadn’t seen her since lunch at the Sutherland’s the previous weekend, but their parting hadn’t been exactly warm. Mhairi was a professor; she absolutely could’ve been compelled to notify the administration.
Brooke hated the uncertainty swirling in her stomach. She pulled out her phone and texted Jack, her fingers shaky.
Brooke: Got called into the dean’s office. Freaking out.
She pushed some of the stray strands of hair that’d fallen from her ponytail back behind her ears. She could barely breathe, anxiety sending out tendrils of frost through her chest. Maybe she would only get a slap on the wrist, but it might be like a bee sting allergy—you didn’t know if it was deadly until it happened.
The door to the dean’s office opened and she about jumped out of her chair, but froze when Jack emerged. He barely had time to send her a pleading look before Dean Campbell ushered him down another hallway and turned to her. His red sweater vest was wrinkled, his wire glasses perched low on his nose as he said, “Ms. Sinclair,” with a stern clip. Brooke’s stomach curled in farther toward her spine.
She stepped into his office, cluttered with books and dust, and took the seat he pointed to. Dean Campbell closed the door firmly behind her and resettled in the chair behind his sprawling mahogany desk.
“We understand you’ve engaged in a relationship outside the boundaries of the code of conduct.”
Brooke tensed, not knowing if she should confirm or deny it. Jack had just been in here, so they clearly knew something. Was this the moment to plead the Fifth and call a lawyer? Her brain supplied the completely unnecessary information that she was in the UK and therefore there was no Fifth to plead.
“Uh…” she said stupidly, eyes darting around the room to the books in the shelves and the framed diplomas behind the desk, all while her chest threatened to rupture.
Rohan or Mhairi might have divulged their secret. But it could’ve been so many other people. God, she and Jack had been so irresponsible. So conspicuous . She had not refrained from making eyes at him in class one single time. She always lingered as the students filed out. Brooke and Jack had run all over Edinburgh that night taking pictures and had basically hooked up on the dance floor of the Caves. She mentally groaned as her list grew longer by the second. They’d been so fucking reckless.
“Jack came forward—”
“He what ?” Her voice came out two octaves too high while her stomach sank even lower. Jack . Jack had told them—even when he’d promised her he wouldn’t.
Her mind spun with How could he? , but it wasn’t a leap at all.
Of course he had. Jack had his own ass to cover. He cared about this job and finishing his master’s, and he was jeopardizing that by having a secret affair with a student. She was such a fool.
“We need you to make an official statement about the nature of this relationship. If you feel more comfortable telling a woman, I completely understand. If this was in any way untoward …” the dean trailed off, his eyes flicking around the room. This stoic boulder of an ancient man was exceedingly uncomfortable. It made her want to giggle. Or throw up. She was distinctly lightheaded.
Brooke took a deep breath and tried to focus. “No, there was nothing untoward. It was completely consensual. In fact, I pursued him.” She wasn’t entirely sure why she was defending Jack in this moment when she was so fucking pissed at him, but he’d never set a foot out of line, had never taken advantage.
The dean visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping.
Oh . This was all about image. About a harassment suit she wouldn’t be filing. The anxious energy drained out of her.
Of course that’s what the school would care about. She could make a statement, they’d have it all on record, and everyone could go on with their business.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“So, are we good here?” Brooke asked, already grabbing the strap of her bag, ready to get the hell out of this stodgy old room.
“Unfortunately not.” Brooke sank back into the chair, fear clawing its way to the surface again. “There remains the issue of bias.”
“Bias?” The angry look on Rohan’s face the day he’d caught Brooke and Jack together flashed through her mind.
“On Mr. Sutherland’s part.”
Her relief that they hadn’t implicated Rohan was short-lived. “Jack’s not even my TA.”
“Be that as it may, we cannot condone this type of relationship for the very reason that it is impossible to parse. You have the highest marks in the class, which is not condemning in and of itself, but it certainly raises questions.”
Brooke felt heat rise in her chest. “Is there some reason it would be shocking for me to have the highest grade in the class?”
She could tell she was going off the rails. That the best course of action in this meeting was to remain calm, to tell the truth and stop casting doubt on the relationship. Defensiveness wasn’t the way to go, but damn him, calling her intentions into question and insinuating she needed to sleep her way to the top. It got her all riled up.
The dean shifted in his seat. “Of course not, Ms. Sinclair, but there is no way for the administration to uncover how much extra aid you received outside of recitations and office hours, or how much information was provided to you before examinations that your peers did not receive.”
She raised her hands, palms out. “That’s not what happened here. Jack and I never talked about class. We just…” Fell in love was the end of that sentence, but it didn’t seem right for the dean of English Department to be the first one to hear of it. “We care about each other. There were no ulterior motives.”
“I am not intending to make accusations. I cannot prove our concerns one way or another.” Dean Campbell settled his hands over his belly. “As such, you will be required to retake the class. We will allow you to drop it without the usual penalties because of the extenuating circumstances.”
The world shrunk to the size of the dean’s bald, round head and the immovable expression she found there.
“Then I won’t have enough credits to graduate on time. I’m a candidate for a very prestigious writing fellowship this summer. I may never get an opportunity like that again.”
“I’m afraid that part is out of my hands. The course will be available again next fall.”
Brooke shook her head, her lips dry, her breath coming too fast. “I’m on a scholarship. If I drop a class, I won’t be a full-time student and I’ll lose my financial aid.”
“I do apologize for that, Ms. Sinclair, but we must maintain the integrity of the university.”