Seeds of Betrayal (University of Mountain Springs #2)

Chapter 1

TARA

If you want to know the exact moment my life imploded, it wasn’t when the sprinklers went off in the geology department.

It wasn’t even when they went off while I was secretly making out with my brother’s best friend against a display case of priceless fossils.

No, it started during spring break, when I learned my entire childhood had been carefully curated to protect my “delicate” emotions.

I’d been upstairs unpacking when I heard raised voices from Mom’s study. Troy rarely fought with Mom, so I’d crept to the top of the stairs, concerned.

“I need you to be civil at dinner tonight,” Mom had been saying. “Your father’s trying, Troy.”

“Trying?” Troy’s laugh was bitter. “Like he tried when he was sleeping his way through the faculty? When he was ‘networking’ at conferences while you worked two jobs to keep us afloat and I basically brought up Tara?”

“Lower your voice! Tara’s upstairs—”

“Yeah, still thinking Dad was away doing research. Still believing all those postcards and stories we fed her. God, Mom, do you know how much I hate that we lied to her? That we’re still lying?”

“She was only a child. She’s not like you, Troy; she’s soft. Delicate.” Mom’s voice had softened. “We agreed protecting her from the truth was better than her knowing her father chose…another path for a while. He’s been back for years. It’s high time now for you to let it go.”

Troy sighed. “I know. It’s for the best. It would break her.”

Yeah. Ouch.

I sat at the top of the stairs, my world tilting sideways. Years of careful explanations about Dad’s “important sabbatical research” - all lies. A fiction crafted to protect their fragile daughter who couldn’t handle reality.

They thought they were protecting me. Like my optimism is some kind of weakness. Like pretending the cracks in our family didn’t exist was the same thing as fixing them.

But here’s the thing about lies, they don’t protect you. They break you when you least expect it. When you’re least prepared to put the pieces back together.

I still haven’t told them I heard them that day.

How do you even start that conversation? Hey, remember when you decided I was too weak to handle our family falling apart? Well, surprise - I know now. And I’m pissed.

The hurt remains heavy in my chest. They thought they were protecting me, like somehow being optimistic made me weak. Like I needed sheltering from the truth. But I’m not their naive little girl anymore, and I am done being protected.

They could have told me.

They should have.

Which is why, three months later, I’m giving unauthorized campus tours instead of the official ones my brother arranged. Troy had pulled strings with Student Services, insisting the job would be perfect for me.

He might have been right, but that’s not the point.

“This is way better than the actual tour,” one of the freshmen whispers. “She makes everything sound interesting.”

I straighten my shoulders, grinning. Turns out I love explaining things to people - exactly why Troy thought I’d be perfect for this.

But my stubborn ass has other plans this summer.

No safe campus jobs. No more big brother pulling strings.

I want to work at Luzia, where the nightlife crackles with an energy that has nothing to do with anyone’s expectations.

Still, when one of these lost freshmen compliments my rainbow-striped sweater dress (which does look particularly cute with my glittery combat boots), how can I not help?

I’m a simple girl - compliment my outfit and apparently get a full unauthorized campus tour.

Besides, I’m already procrastinating checking my emails about the Luzia job.

“And this is why UMS is actually one of the first carbon-neutral campuses in the country.” I gesture to the living wall cascading down the Environmental Sciences building. “See, the plants change color with the seasons. It’s pretty cool. The entire building basically breathes.”

“Oh my god!” The redhead in the group suddenly grabs her friend’s arm. “Oh my god, look.”

They all turn in perfect unison, like a highly choreographed K-pop move-it’s sort of impressive-and dissolve into not-so-subtle giggles. I follow their gaze and my stomach does a complicated flip.

Oh boy.

Alfie Spencer.

My brother’s best friend slash roommate. You know the one who I mentioned I made out with two nights ago?

Yeah.

To make matters worse, he is looking unfairly good for a Sunday morning in fitted black jeans and a t-shirt that shows off his tanned, toned arms. He’s jogging up the geology building steps, heading to the research lab where he’s going to be based all summer.

“Do you know him?” one of them asks, still mid-giggle fest. “I wonder if he does tours.”

“I’d let him take me on a ride,” says another.

They all break out into a fit of fresh giggles.

My mind flashes traitorously to Friday night.

To his hands gripping my waist, the firmness of his chest under my palms. It was a stupid night, one of those nights where everything spirals out of control.

But it’s been two days and none of us have heard anything about the.

..sprinkler incident. So, I think we’ve managed to get away with it.

“Uh, sort of,” I manage, my voice higher than usual. I clear my throat, trying to sound normal. “He’s a geology student. Very serious. All about rocks and... stuff.”

The girls exchange knowing looks at my obvious fluster. I’m saved from further interrogation by Professor Bam’s voice.

“Miss Hawkins, I see you’ve found some strays.”

Thank God.

I spin to find her watching us, coffee cup from CC’s in hand, looking like she can’t decide whether to be impressed or concerned. She’s been my favorite professor since freshman year - one of the few who doesn’t seem to mind when I get overexcited about random scientific tangents in class.

“They were lost!” I protest. “I was helping them find the admissions office.” And possibly with a few facts about our carbon footprint reduction. And maybe one brief interlude about the growth chambers in our research labs.

“Well,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee, “since you’re already playing tour guide, you might want to tell them about the secret tunnel system under the library. The official tours always skip the best parts.”

I grin. This is why she’s my favorite.

Renewed with a story from my favorite professor, I continue to procrastinate. All my problems will be fixed once the Luzia email comes in.

Maybe.

After saying goodbye to the teens touring campus, I pull my phone out, checking it for the hundredth time today.

Still nothing. The supermarket on 8th Street glows through the summer dusk.

I might as well pick up ingredients for dinner, something to celebrate with when (if?) the email from Luzia comes in.

Alex always says I’m being optimistic, but I prefer to think of it as manifesting success.

I’m debating between actual pasta and instant ramen (I’m a college student; don’t judge) when my phone buzzes. My heart leaps into my throat when I see the sender: Luzia Management.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” I whisper excitedly, nearly dropping both boxes. The elderly woman examining the pasta selection gives me a concerned look that suggests she’s questioning both my sanity and her choice of grocery store.

I set the boxes down with trembling hands and open the email:

Dear Ms. Hawkins, We are pleased to offer you a position as bartender at Luzia, starting this week…

“YES!” I actually jump up and down, causing the pasta boxes to rattle. The elderly woman hurries to the next aisle, wondering if this is what’s wrong with young people these days.

I scan the rest of the email, grinning so hard my face hurts. They want me to start Thursday! My first real job, at the fanciest club in Mountain Springs. Not some safe campus position, not some carefully arranged opportunity, but something I got all on my own.

I grab both boxes of pasta and some totally out-of-budget ingredients—because screw it, this is a celebration—and float to the register. The cashier raises an eyebrow at my enormous smile, wondering what could possibly be this exciting about spaghetti.

I could call Alex, but she’s still settling into her fancy internship. I could call Troy, but I already know exactly how that conversation would go - lectures about safety and responsibility and how that tour guide position he arranged is still available.

No. This moment is only for me. Proof that I can make my own way, forge my own path.

My phone buzzes again with a text from James, my new manager.

James Kelley

Can’t wait to have you on the team! Bring your I-9 docs tomorrow for paperwork.

I do a little shimmy right there on the sidewalk, almost falling over my own feet. A man walking by grins and gives me a thumbs up; my happiness is that infectious.

Tomorrow! My first real shift at Mountain Springs’ most exclusive nightclub. The job is competitive for everyone staying over summer because apparently the tips are insane.

And, of course, I text Alex. I can’t resist sharing the news. She replies quickly.

She programmed in her own name, obviously. We came up with "Very Bestest Friend Forever" one night when we were wasted. It's corny and we know it, but we keep using it because it's true.

Alex the greatest VBFF

OMG YOU GOT IT!! My best friend is going to be the hottest bartender in Mountain Springs! Also, pls learn to make a spicy marg for when I visit.

Already got the YouTube tutorials lined up

That’s my girl! But seriously Tara, I’m so proud of you. I’ve been gone like a day and you’re already doing cool things!

I miss you already.

And Freddie

But you too.

I miss you too, VBFF

My apartment feels wrong without Alex’s terrible music bleeding through the walls. It’s only been twenty-four hours since my best friend left for her internship in California, but the silence is already getting to me.