Chapter 2 #2
And that had been it. Three years of occasionally seeing him around campus—in the quad, at the coffee shop, in the one other class we’d had together where he’d sat in the back and I’d sat in the front and we’d never made eye contact once.
I’d told myself I was over the crush. That I’d learned my lesson about charming guys who couldn’t be bothered to remember your name.
But every time I saw him, my stupid heart still beat a little faster.
Especially this semester, when I’d seen him around campus looking.
.. different. Tired. Something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before.
Still gorgeous—God, was he gorgeous, with his dark hair and those green eyes and the way he moved like he owned every space he walked into—but somehow more real. More human.
And now Professor Bam is telling me I’m going to spend days in a remote cabin with him.
“Rhi?” Professor Bam is watching me with concern. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” My voice comes out higher than normal. “I just—Carter Wolfe? Really?”
“You do know him then?”
“We had a class together freshman year. We were lab partners once.”
“Perfect! So you’ve already worked together.”
Worked together is a generous interpretation of what happened, but I don’t correct her.
“The thing is,” I say carefully, “Carter doesn’t really... I mean, he’s not the most reliable person. He misses a lot of classes. And I need this data to be good, Professor. I need this extra credit.”
“I know you do. And I promise you, Carter’s committed to this trip. I just met with him yesterday—gave him quite the talking-to, actually—and he’s taking it seriously. He needs this just as much as you do.”
Somehow, I doubt that. Carter Wolfe has probably never needed anything in his life, except a mirror.
I ask carefully. “What about my authorship?”
Because I need to know. Need to hear her say it.
“Your authorship isn’t in jeopardy, Rhi.” Professor Bam’s voice is firm, definitive. “You’ve done the work. Two years of fieldwork, data collection, literature reviews. This data is yours as much as mine. You’ve earned co-authorship, and that won’t change.”
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by guilt. Carter’s fighting to stay in school, and I’m worried about my byline.
But also—I’ve worked so hard. Given up weekends, holidays, sleep.
Spent hours in the field in terrible weather, calibrating temperamental equipment, reviewing data until my eyes blurred.
I’ve earned this paper. This is my ticket to grad school, to a real career, to the USGS or a volcano observatory.
“So Carter is...” I trail off.
“Additional field support,” Professor Bam says. “He’ll help with site checks, equipment transport, basic data collection. But the analysis, the write-up, the intellectual work—that’s ours. He’s getting academic credit for fieldwork, not authorship.”
Field support. Like an intern.
Like I’ve been for two years, except now I have to train the intern.
An intern who’s probably forgotten everything from that intro class. Who’s taking the spot that should have been Professor Bam’s.
“When does he—when do we—leave?” I ask.
“Day after tomorrow. I’ve already briefed him on the basics, but you’ll need to go over protocols, equipment, site locations.” She slides a folder across the desk. “Everything’s in here. You know this project better than anyone, Rhi. Better than me, honestly. You’ll be fine.”
You’ll be fine.
I want to believe her.
I take the folder, holding it against my chest like a shield. “Okay. I can do this.”
“I know you can.” Professor Bam smiles warmly. “You’re the most competent student I’ve ever worked with. Carter’s lucky to have you as a partner.”
Partner. The word feels wrong. We’re not partners. Partners implies equal investment, equal stakes, equal work.
I nod, but inside, my brain is already spiraling:
What if he messes up the data? What if he doesn’t take it seriously?
But I smile. Because that’s what I do. I smile and say it’s fine and swallow down every anxiety until I’m choking on them.
“Great,” I say brightly. “I’ll reach out to Carter today. Make sure he’s up to speed.”
“Perfect.” Professor Bam stands, extending her hand. “Thank you for being flexible, Rhi. I know this isn’t what we planned, but I have complete faith in you.”
I shake her hand and watch her leave. Then I let myself feel it.
I want to scream. My throat burns with it. Instead, I pull my ponytail tighter—so tight it hurts—and pack another pair of socks.
I’ve worked so hard. Sacrificed so much. And now I have to babysit someone who couldn’t be bothered to attend class, who’s only here because he needs a last-chance save.
And I have to be nice about it.
I pull out my phone. Find Carter’s number still saved in my contacts from freshman year.
My thumb hovers.
A message from my mom saves me from contacting him.
Mom
Sweetheart, Matthew stopped by the house today. He’s really hoping you’ll be at the Christmas Eve party. He misses you so much. We all do. Please reconsider?
And just like that, my decision is cemented.
I don’t care if Carter Wolfe is unreliable. I don’t care if he doesn’t remember who I am. I don’t care if I have to do all the work myself while simultaneously managing my stupid, inconvenient attraction to him.
I grab my phone and type out a response:
I’ve already told you—I’m doing fieldwork for Professor Bam. I can’t come home for Christmas.
This is important for my academic future.
More important than family?
Oh, Rhiannon, I’m very disappointed in you.
I stare at the message, feeling the familiar weight of guilt settle in my chest.
Then I silence my phone and go back to my packing list.
Thermal underwear. Check.
Wool socks. Check.
Extra batteries. Check.
Emotional armor for spending an entire trip with Carter Wolfe while pretending I’m not attracted to him? CRITICAL.
Because the absolute last thing I need right now—fresh out of a relationship with a controlling, manipulative man who made me feel small—is to develop feelings for another charming guy who won’t even remember my name.
I’m going on this trip to find myself. To prove I can set boundaries. To show my mother I don’t need her approval.
Not to moon over some frat boy who probably still doesn’t know who I am.
Even if he is unfairly, devastatingly, infuriatingly hot.
I add one more item to my list: Get over stupid crush on Carter Wolfe.
Then I highlight it in red and underline it twice.
I can do this.
Probably.