Chapter Two
OLIVER
T he library is empty by the time I close my computer. The few students that had come to make a start on their weekly readings have all left. Off to orientation week activities and wild parties.
I remember those days well. Back when I thought I knew what I wanted out of life. When I thought my work here would mean something. But those days are long gone, and all the years I spent working on my doctorate feel wasted.
Everyone knows the saying, those that can’t do, teach. Except that, I can do. My writing has won awards. My books have sold millions of copies around the world. I just chose to teach anyway. I thought I could make a difference in the lives of young creatives. Inspire them to write their stories, to sell their stories.
If my years as a postgraduate tutor taught me anything, I doubt I’ll be instilling motivation in anyone this semester. Turns out, most of the students that take Creative Non-Fiction are only in it because they have to be. Or because they need extra credit points and figure it’ll be an easy slide.
Honestly, those ones are right. There’s nothing compelling for me to teach them, no big ‘ah-ha’ moment. At least, nothing that will help them write a best-selling book. That shit is all hard work, little reward.
Dreading the start of semester next week, my thoughts shift to the money that landed in my bank account last month. I don’t want it. I certainly don’t deserve it.
Nobody holds a lottery ticket expecting to win, but somehow, I did. I won.
And I still haven’t spent a dime. It doesn’t feel real, but it also doesn’t feel right. The ticket was a cheap addition to a Christmas Hamper I won in a raffle. I nearly threw it out. But then I heard on the news about the unclaimed winnings. My jaw dropped when I checked the numbers.
Ten. Million. Dollars.
I don’t need it, and I’m sure there are far less fortunate people who do. I just need to find the best way to get it to them.
I gather my belongings from the desk, giving up my attempts to write a lecture plan for next week. Sliding my laptop into my satchel and stacking the books, I pick everything up. My mind is elsewhere as I trudge down the hall between aisles on my way out. The stack of books is unbalanced in my arms, teetering just like my desire to work at the university.
She hits me with full force, knocking the wind out of my lungs, and the ground from beneath her feet. Flying backwards, the petite blonde woman lands firmly on her ass while I lose my grip on the pile of books.
“Shit!”
I crouch down to pick up the books, before jumping upright. I’ll get them later. Right now, I need to distract my gaze away from the woman’s black lace panties.
I can’t … shouldn’t … won’t … look. No matter how much I want to. But then I hear her sob.
The sound does something weird to my insides. They twist in an unusual way, leaving my chest feeling hollow.
I drop to my knees in front of her, thankful that she has done what little she can to pull her dress down. The vision of her dress bunched around her waist is burned into my mind. I fight to hold back the incredibly inappropriate desire to plant my face between her legs.
The woman is crying for God’s sake.
I shake my head, running my hands through my hair in a desperate attempt to compose myself.
“Are you okay?”
Her hands inch away from her face, causing her glasses to fall into place over her nose. My hands twitch, wanting to reach out to her. Red bruising lines the bridge of her nose and her eyes are swollen. Puffy from what looks like hours of crying, not just the collision.
Seeing me reaching for her, she hiccups, shaking her head before hiding in her hands again.
“Please leave,” she whispers into her hands.
My heart does that weird twisty thing again and I know that I can’t leave her like this. I wouldn’t leave anyone on the floor like this, but there is something about this woman that calls to me. Like we are tied together by an increasingly shortening rope.
I shake my head.
“It goes against my very nature to walk away from a person who so clearly needs help.”
Her whole body slouches as I adjust my weight to sit down beside her. But she doesn’t crawl away.
“I’m Oliver.”
She sniffs before answering. “Madison.”
Her voice is raspy, whether by nature or due to the crying I don’t know, but it melodies in my ears. I want to hear her talk more. About anything. About everything.
“So, are you okay?” I repeat the question even though I’m not fully expecting her to answer.
Her shoulders shrug, but she pulls her hands from her face, wiping her eyes on her grey sleeves as she does. She is stunning. Blonde hair falls in gentle waves past her shoulders, and even with the bruising and puffiness, she is perfect.
“Not really.”
Her answer hits my chest like a hammer, the urge to make everything okay surging through me. Unexpected anger courses through my veins, my blood boiling that someone has caused this much hurt. This woman, Madison, is drawing every emotion possible out of me. Emotions I haven’t experienced in a long time. It’s concerning, but somehow endearing. I need to find out why my body has such a strange reaction to her. But first I need to help her stop crying. With each tear the hammer drives a nail deeper into my heart. I can’t stand her tears.
I push my boots into the carpet as the wave of emotion recedes.
“Do you … want to talk about it?”
For a second, she stares up at me. Her eyes blank as she blinks away tears. She closes them, shaking her head before answering.
“You know what, sure.” She sucks in a deep breath. “Everyone leaves. Everyone lets me down. I have only ever had my sister, but now she is leaving too. The one person I could rely on. Gone. Just like all the others.”
I have no idea how to respond. Instead, I stretch my arm around her, hovering my hand over her shoulder before finally settling it down. Her head falls to my shoulder. My pulse jumps as her hair settles down my back.
“Where is she going?”
“Sydney.” Wincing, she turns to look up at me. “I mean, I have nothing against Sydney, but she is only going so that she can be with her boyfriend and it just … I don’t know, it irks me that he is making her move.”
“Did she not get a say?”
“No. I mean, maybe? She is a florist, so she can work anywhere. He wants to be a journalist, and apparently Sydney is the place to be. So, they made the decision to leave.” Holding her hands up, she air quotes the word ‘they’.
“I get the impression you don’t like him?”
“What gave it away?”
She smiles. And everything else disappears. How much I hate my job, the all-consuming decision of what to do with the money, the books I left scattered on the floor. The library. Shit, the library. If she is a student …
Jerking my arm off her shoulders, I scramble away to collect the books lying around us. My rapid movement causes her to push to her feet. From my knees, I look up to see her holding my favourite book. It has to be a coincidence.
“What’s wrong?” Madison raises an eyebrow as she takes in my frantic state.
Piling the last book into my arms, I stand to face her.
“Are you a—” My throat squeezes shut, the word refusing to come out even though it’s crucial that I know the answer. I doubt it would put a stop to the confusing range of emotions still swirling through me.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. I barely believe in lust at first sight. But there is no denying that there is something special about Madison. Something I can’t look away from, pulling me towards her and holding me close.
“—a student?” The words finally force their way through my throat, and I choke as they do.
“Technically, not until next week.”
One knife lodges itself in my throat. Another hits my chest, and a third finds home in my gut.
Every inappropriate thought from the past ten minutes gathers in my brain, forming a storm I have no hope of controlling. A single word leaps out, and I grasp hold of it. I shouldn’t, but I do.
She isn’t technically a student. Yet.
But I can live with yet. I have to live with yet. Because if I don’t, I might crumble.
Madison doesn’t ask if I’m a student too. I don’t blame her. Although I’m young to be a professor, I’m visibly older than most students. The hair around my temples has a speckle of grey, and the smile lines around my eyes tend to stick.
I should ask her more, offer to get to know her. But I need to get us out of the library. Aside from the fact it will be closing soon, I can’t risk any faculty members seeing us.
“Do you want to go get a drink?”
There’s a glimmer in her crystal blue eyes this time she smiles. The corners of her eyes tilt up with her lips as she nods.
I’m glad the library is almost empty as we leave. No sneaky librarians poking their eyes around corners, spying on patrons. Madison stops to loan the book she won’t put down, and I fight the urge to ask her why she needs it. I don’t want to know.
At the campus bar, I choose a table for us in the back, angled away from the crowd that will no doubt begin to trickle in soon. We share a bowl of fries, and a pitcher of beer, and I can’t help but feel cosy. At ease in a way I haven’t in a long time. As though Madison’s sheer presence is enough to make me forget all my worries. All the worries that shouldn’t feel so terrible but somehow do.
“So, what do you do?” She asks as I pour the last dregs of beer into her glass.
I suck in a breath, worrying my lips. I don’t know what I should tell her. If I told her the truth, would she care? Before the pause drags too long, I blurt out an answer.
“I work at the university.” A half-truth, not a lie. It feels like a lie though.
A smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. Her eyes dart around the room before landing on mine.
“Are we allowed to be here? Together?”
My knee shakes under the table.
“Technically, only until next week.”
Her gaze darkens as she inhales before letting the air out of her lungs in a deep sigh. Licking her lower lip as she leans forward on the table, her hands reach across for my own.
“We better make the most of it then.”