Chapter 3 #3
Winslow’s mouth tightens. “The donor requires that all grant recipients enroll in and successfully complete their courses. Dropping out without donor approval would forfeit the grant.”
“Rooke’s the donor, isn’t he?” I say.
Haven’s hand goes slack in mine.
Seventy fucking percent.
He owns her. Has owned her this whole time.
“That can’t be legal,” Haven says with a hollow laugh.
“Conditional grants are common, Miss Lee. Professor Rooke has been one of our most generous donors.” Winslow’s tone suggests this conversation is over, but Haven’s not done.
“Can you talk to him?” Her voice cracks slightly. “Ask him to…I don’t know, waive the requirement, or something?”
The dean’s crimson lips purse. “And why would I do that?”
The temperature in the room suddenly drops fifty degrees.
We figured out what we were going to say ahead of time, but I guess Winslow just crossed a line with Haven, because our plan goes to shit.
Haven drops my hand, walks right up to the dean’s desk, and plants both palms on the surface. “Because I’m sure you’d rather get me out of that class than have one of your faculty members on the front page of the Daily Hollow.”
Winslow arches a brow. “Careful, Miss Lee. I can revoke your grant as easily as Professor Rooke can.”
My hand twitches, wanting to curl into a fist, but I smooth it against my thigh instead.
“But you won’t, because you’re not a petty, narcissistic asshole like he is.” Haven pauses, then adds, “And I bet this isn’t the first time someone’s come in here to talk to you about him.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The air is frozen solid.
If I wasn’t stuck in place, I’d be backing up for the door right now.
Winslow watches Haven without so much as a blink, her ring spinning around and around and around.
When she finally stands, my knees want to buckle with relief…until she speaks.
“You will continue attending Professor Rooke’s class—“
“What? You can’t—“
All it takes is a raised finger, and Haven falls silent.
“I will speak to him, but it’s ultimately his prerogative.” Winslow’s already reaching for a file on her desk. “In the meantime, you will attend his class, and you will keep up your grades if you wish to keep your funding.”
“For how long?” I ask when it’s obvious Haven’s used up all her courage.
Winslow’s jaw tightens. “I’ll address this once Professor Rooke returns from leave.”
“Leave?” Haven’s voice is too sharp, but neither woman seems to notice. “Where is he?”
The look Winslow gives her could strip paint. “That’s none of your concern, Miss Lee. Now—“
“Look, Mrs. Winslow,” Haven cuts in.
“Miss,” I mutter.
Haven glances at me, frowning, then back at Winslow. “Miss Winslow,” she corrects. “Things have been…rough, okay?” Spots of color appear in her cheeks, and my stomach tightens.
She’s so far off script, I don’t know where this is even going. How much she’s willing to reveal. But I swear, if Haven tells Yolanda about the three of us, what we did—
“When I got here, I was living out of a fu—out of a car. To say the other kids weren’t welcoming is an understatement.
Then you force me to take this—“ she waves her hand dramatically, and I swear it looks like she’s about to cry “—messed-up class that triggered every childhood trauma I have, and now…”
She breaks off, whipping her head away and pressing a hand over her mouth.
“My father just died, okay? I need time to process.”
“Robert Lee,” Winslow says quietly, shaking her head. “I knew I recognized that name.” Her eyes dip briefly, like she’s pissed off at herself. For what, though? Not making the connection?
“Please, if I can just have a few days to—”
“I can see just how grief-stricken you are,” Winslow cuts in dryly.
Haven’s tearful expression fades. “Guess I’m still in denial.”
“You should visit the counseling center. We have campus therapists available around the clock. Now, if there’s nothing else…?”
Yeah. About a thousand fucking things.
But Haven looks like she’s about to start throwing gas on this dumpster fire, and you couldn’t pay me to stay in this office a second longer.
Riversiders don’t snitch. Not even when they should.
I pull Rooke’s keys from my pocket and set them on her desk. “These are his.”
Winslow stares at the keys as if they’re a dead rat. “I’m not a courier service, Mr. Jordan.”
“I know, but…”
She picks up the keys with obvious distaste. “I’ll see that he gets them.”
“Thank you.”
We turn to leave, and just as I reach for the door handle, I hear Winslow mutter something under her breath.
“Un-fucking-believable.”
When I glance back at her over my shoulder, she’s staring at the keys in her hand with a dark look. “Good day, Mr. Jordan. Miss Lee,” she says, without looking up.
As soon as we’re in the hall, Haven spins to face me, face scrunched up with fury.
“Seventy percent?” she whisper-shouts. “Seventy fucking percent?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“How?” There’s panic swimming in her blue eyes. “If he says no—”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
I don’t. But I’m not about to admit it.
“I need to find Melissa,” Haven says suddenly. “I’m sure she won’t mind taking notes for me. I can keep up my grades without sitting through Bastian’s smug lectures.”
I nod. “If his class is canceled, she might be back at the sorority house.”
We start walking, Haven slipping her hand into mine, the other touching the butterfly pendant around her neck.
“Where the fuck is he?” Haven murmurs.
I’ve been wondering the same thing. It’s not like Rooke to disappear. He’s always watching, always there, always three steps ahead.
Except that one day I had to take his class for him.
Feels like a lot changed after that. What if he’s lying low, planning something? Some kind of…punishment?
The thought makes me want to smoke weed until I pass out.
“At least we don’t have to deal with him today.”
But Haven doesn’t sound relieved. She sounds frustrated. “I want this over with. I want to know if I’m staying or dropping out or—“
“You’re staying.” I stop, turning to face her. “Even if he won’t let you drop his class. Even if you have to sit through every lecture. I’ll be there.”
She adjusts the strap of her tote, head tilting to one side. “You won’t be his TA anymore, Kai.”
“Don’t give a fuck. I’ll sit in the back like any other student. He can’t stop me.”
“Pretty sure he can,” she mumbles.
“Well, he won’t.”
She stares at me for a long moment, toying with the butterfly.
“We’re so fucked,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I press my forehead to hers. “But at least it’s you and me.”
There’s a sound from the door nearest us in the hallway—quiet, deliberate. Not mechanical. Not the building settling. It sounds a hell of a lot like weight shifting from one foot to the other.
We both turn to look, freezing when we see the name on the gold plaque.
B. ROOKE
Winslow just said he wasn’t here. So why the fuck do I get the sense he’s leaning against the inside of the door, smiling at our pathetic plans as he makes his own?
Because I’m paranoid as shit, that’s why.
Haven shivers. “Let’s go,” she whispers, tugging on my hand, the hand clamped on her tote bag’s strap white-knuckled.
I let her lead me down the hall, but my head drags around, eyes locking on Rooke’s door.
We thought all it would take was being a little brave, and we’d be out of his web.
But something tells me all this struggling is only wrapping us tighter.