Chapter 45
Callum
“Thank you, love,” I said as I accepted a cup of tea from Gabrielle. The warmth seeped into my fingers. I held it like it might keep me afloat.
She didn’t say anything. Just gave me space.
I took a sip. Perfection. She’d come a long way. At least I’d been good for something.
“Formal inquiry is going forward,” I said at last, when it was clear she wouldn’t ask.
“They’ve put me on administrative leave.
Full pay, health insurance, the works. I can’t set foot on campus, talk to students or staff, or so much as send an email.
I am, for all practical purposes, persona non grata at Page College. ”
She nodded, her gaze steady. “How long?”
“Until they reach a verdict.” I took another scalding sip. “They’ll convene a review board. Gather evidence. Interview anyone named in the complaint.”
Gabrielle stirred her tea, though every sugar crystal had long since dissolved. “What was the complaint?” she asked, not looking up.
“A heavily redacted email. But it was enough.”
“What did it say?”
“From the bits I could actually read, it alleged we’ve had an ongoing relationship since spring term. That we’re sexually involved. That we spent spring break together. And more recently, two weeks in England. All of which is true. Not that I confirmed any of it.”
She was silent.
“They wouldn’t say who sent it, and they didn’t name you.
But whoever it was had an alarming amount of insight into our lives.
” I took another drink of tea. “The email was eloquent and polished. I suspect my family. James, most likely. He has both the motive and the cruelty. And enough detail to wound with precision.”
“It wasn’t James.” She looked away, burying her face in a long sip of tea.
I set my cup down. “If not James…then who?”
She hesitated, then placed her mug on the table. Her fingers lingered at the rim. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Please don’t get mad.”
My gut clenched. I swallowed, throat dry. “I won’t,” I said. Then added, because I had to, “Unless you tell me it came from you.”
Her mouth twitched into a pained smile. “Not me.”
A beat.
“It was Aunt Suzy.” Her voice was hollow. Then she looked up, eyes red-rimmed but dry. There was no apology in them. Just the bleak certainty of delivering a wound she couldn’t take back. “She’s the one who reported us.”
I blinked. Then reached for my cup—not to drink, just to anchor my hands.
“Your aunt?” I said slowly. A faint, incredulous laugh slipped out before I could stop it. “I thought she didn’t know.”
“She didn’t. But I guess…all the little lies I told, the half-truths—they didn’t hold up. She didn’t buy the classmate boyfriend story, so she started digging. She’s got tons of university connections. And she found you.”
I closed my eyes. Let the weight of it settle.
Of course.
“That explains why Dr. Singh took it seriously,” I said quietly. “Your aunt’s faculty at the University of Houston, isn’t she?”
Gabrielle nodded. “Education professor.”
“And you’ve known since…?”
“Ten minutes ago. I was literally on the phone with her when you pulled into the drive.” She looked up, pleading. “I’m so sorry, Cal. I know it doesn’t count for much, but I am.”
I don’t know how long I stood there—frozen somewhere between heartbreak and logic, between the urge to lash out and the certainty she wasn’t the one holding the knife.
She stepped—slowly, deliberately—toward me.
“What can I do to make this right?” Her voice barely carried the short distance to me. “I’ll go to campus, make a statement, talk to the review board—whatever you need. Just let me fix this. Please.”
I exhaled and looked toward the window. “You can’t fix this, Gabrielle.”
She flinched like I’d slapped her. But I kept going.
“Because it was never your mess to fix.” I turned back to her.
“I knew the risk. Knew it when I let myself want you.” I traced my fingertips along her jaw.
“Knew it when I kissed you. Knew it every bloody day after. I just…” My throat tightened.
“I thought if we were careful enough, smart enough, we’d make it through. We were so close.”
She opened her mouth, but I shook my head.
“No one’s dragging you into this. I won’t allow it. They’ll come for me, and I’ll take it. But you—” I laced my fingers through hers. “Your hands stay clean. Got it?”
Her tears brimmed on the ledge but refused to fall. “You think I’d let you take the whole hit for this? That’s not—”
“It’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
She steadied herself, voice trembling but stubborn. “You don’t get to decide what I can live with. I choose you, Cal. Even if it means choosing the fallout too.”
Silence. The kind that seeps into drywall cracks, baseboard seams, the marrow of old houses built on shifting earth.
I tried to memorize the angle of her jaw in profile, the wary intelligence in her eyes, the pale ring of baby-fine hair at her forehead.
Assuming, of course, that one day I’d be asked to reconstruct this moment in painful detail—for a committee, a tribunal, or some future version of myself.
Or for the version of her that survived whatever was coming.
She deserved more than memories. More than careful erasures, closed doors, and whispered I-love-yous in the dark.
I kissed the inside of her wrist. Let my lips linger a breath longer than necessary.
Then I looked up. “Take me flying, Gabrielle.”
She blinked. “Flying?”
“You heard me.”
“Now?”
“I’m on leave. It’s not like I’ve got pressing plans.”
She pulled back an inch, like she was checking to see if I was joking. “You mean in a—what did you call it—‘tin can with wings’?”
“Flying tin can,” I corrected softly. “But yeah.”
“Cal…” Her voice dropped. “You hate flying.”
“I do.”
She stared at me, trying to make sense of it. “Then why?”
I gave her the only truth that mattered. “Because fear doesn’t get to decide anymore.”