Chapter Thirty-Six Aurora
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aurora
I poked at the food on my tray, trying to look like I was eating so the girls wouldn’t ask.
Didn’t work.
Layla leaned forward, eyebrows drawn. “You okay? You’re quiet.”
Jennie snorted softly. “She’s always quiet.”
“Yeah, but not this quiet,” Aly said, frowning. “Something’s off.”
I glanced up, then back down at my tray again.
The sleeves of Joshua’s jacket were too long, covering half my hands. It still smelled like him, soap and something sharp underneath.
I hated that it made me feel safe.
Jennie reached out, brushing a crumb from my hair. “Your boss give you the night off or something?”
I shook my head slowly.
Wrote the word down on my notepad with my left hand, crooked, uneven letters.
Fired.
The table went silent.
Layla blinked. “Wait—what? Why?!”
I shrugged.
Aly’s mouth opened, ready to curse, but Jennie touched her arm to stop her.
Her eyes softened. “Because of your arm?”
I nodded once.
Didn’t add the rest, that the manager said I couldn’t carry trays or deal with ‘customer demands,’ that it was a ‘business decision’.
Didn’t add that I didn’t even try to fight it. Didn’t add that the second he said it, a part of me felt… relieved.
Layla leaned forward, whispering, “What are you gonna do now?”
I didn’t know.
So I just smiled, small and shaky. And signed, I’ll figure it out.
But as I looked down at the jacket again, at the way the fabric swallowed my hands… I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.
Their voices blurred together. Offers, suggestions, sympathy, one after another.
Layla leaned forward first, soft but determined. “Rora, listen, I know someone at a café near downtown. They’re hiring.”
Jennie jumped in, “Or my parents’ school! They always need assistants; you’d be perfect.”
Aly nodded so fast her hair fell into her face. “Literally, we’ll find you something better; you don’t need that disgusting club anymore.”
I just sat there.
They didn’t understand.
They didn’t know what it was like to lose everything in a single night because of someone else’s one mistake, if I could even call it a mistake.
I shook my head. Once. Hard.
No.
Layla’s smile faltered. “Rora—”
Another shake.
I pushed the tray away, the clatter echoing a little too loudly.
I didn’t want help from people who weren’t the reason I lost everything. If I needed to face this, I’d face the person who started it.
I grabbed my bag and stood up, ignoring their protests, their worried eyes following me until the cafeteria door swung shut behind me.
The cold air outside hit my skin like a punishment.
And there he was.
Joshua.
Sitting in his expensive car with Alex in the passenger seat, both looking as if they owned the world.
My heart started pounding so loud I swore they could hear it. I clenched my jaw and crossed the lot before I could overthink it.
Each step heavier than the last.
Then—
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound of my knuckles against his window sliced through the cold air.
Alex glanced up first, brows shooting up before nudging Joshua. Joshua’s head turned slowly, and when his eyes met mine through the glass, he froze.
I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his hand dropped from the wheel.
He didn’t expect me.
Good.
If he was the reason I lost my job, if he was the reason I was standing there with nothing left, then he was going to look me in the eye and take some accountability. I was tired of just keeping my mouth shut and letting him get away with it.
He rolled the window down halfway. Cold air and silence hit us both in the face.
Joshua’s jaw was tight, unreadable. Alex’s eyes flicked between us, catching the tension instantly.
I didn’t waste time.
I yanked my phone out, screen shaking in my hand, and opened the message from my boss.
“We’ll have to let you go. With your injury, we can’t keep you on schedule. Good luck.”
I shoved the screen toward him. My voice cracked around the single word that somehow made it out.
“Y-you.”
His brows pinched together, lips parting slightly. He didn’t need me to explain.
He knew.
He knew.
His throat worked as if he were swallowing nails. “How much?”
I blinked.
“...What?”
His hand flexed around the steering wheel. “How much do you want? To make up for it?”
The world tilted.
He said it so easily, as if that was what I was worth. Like I was some broken thing he could patch up with cash.
I felt my chest cave in a little, the sting building behind my eyes.
Money. Of course he’d think money would fix it.
He took away the one thing I had left, my independence, the one piece of me I built with shaking hands and exhaustion, and he thought he could just buy it back.
My hand trembled as I lifted it to sign.
Alex’s head turned toward me instantly, his expression cautious as he read my movements.
“She said,” he began slowly, glancing at Joshua, “money doesn’t fix everything. You already took her voice, her peace, her job… you don’t get to buy your way out of that, too.”
I kept going, tears spilling faster than I could blink them away. Alex hesitated but still translated, quieter this time.
“She said you don’t understand. You don’t get it. You can’t keep hurting her and think throwing money is the same as being sorry.”
Joshua’s breathing changed, slowly at first, then heavy. His fingers flexed, knuckles white. And for once, I didn’t care if he was angry. I didn’t care if he yelled, shut down, or walked away.
He needed to hear it.
He needed to know that what he broke couldn’t be paid for.
“Y-you ruined—” I tapped my chest once, clutching the fabric of my shirt. “D-don’t fix… with wallet.”
His jaw flexed, chest rising and falling unevenly. Alex glanced at him, waiting for whatever explosion was coming.
But it didn’t come.
Joshua exhaled once, long and low, then finally spoke, voice rough, low enough that I almost didn’t catch it.
“Mine after class.”
I blinked. What?
He looked right at me, eyes cold but steady. “Let’s find you another job.”
Find me another job?
After everything?
I wanted to scoff.
But he wasn’t mocking me. Not this time.
His expression wasn’t pity or arrogance; it was… guilt. The real kind. The kind that doesn’t know what to do except try.
Still, I couldn’t trust it. Not yet.
So I just nodded once, barely and stepped back from the window. He didn’t say anything else, just kept watching as I turned and walked away. But my chest was pounding, my head spinning with his words.
Mine after class. Let’s find you another job.
Part of me wanted to believe him. The other part knew better. Because every time I thought Joshua Lockhart was changing, he’d prove me wrong.
—
When the elevator doors slid open, my stomach did a full somersault.
I still didn’t know why I agreed.
Maybe because part of me needed closure. Or maybe because I didn’t have anything left to lose.
I knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately.
Joshua stood there, dressed down, no jersey, no attitude, just… Joshua. Comfortable in sweats and a plain black shirt, hair pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it too much.
He didn’t say anything, only stepped aside to let me in.
I slipped off my shoes and glanced up. Papers.
Everywhere.
On the table. The counter. Even the floor. Pages printed, circled, scribbled through, highlighted in red and blue, and God knows what else.
I blinked, confused, until he spoke.
“The crossed-out ones are far and full-time.”
His voice was calm, low.
“I circled the ones I figured you might be interested in.”
I turned toward him, eyes darting between the mess and his face. He didn’t meet my eyes, just leaned a hand against the table, looking almost… nervous.
He’d done all this before I even came. Before I even believed him. He was actually trying.
My fingers tightened around my phone.
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I just walked closer, scanning the pages.
Bookstore.
Tutor assistant.
Library aide.
Even a research intern for the psychology department, remote, part-time.
Jobs I didn’t even think someone like me could have. And then, softly, almost as if he were afraid to break whatever silence had settled between us, he said,
“You don’t have to pick one today. Just look. We’ll figure it out.”
We’ll.
I sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table. The air between us was quiet, soft, still, except for the faint scratch of a pen and the sound of paper shifting.
Pages were spread everywhere. Job titles. Pay rates. Locations. Some with messy circles, some crossed out so hard the ink bled through.
I pulled one closer and started typing on my phone, opening each listing, scanning qualifications, and filling in little boxes that asked for names and resumes.
He sat across from me on the couch, head tilted down, jaw clenched in focus as if this were his own assignment.
Every few minutes, he’d reach out and drag another paper closer, eyes narrowing. Then his pen moved again, circle. Cross. Underline.
“Since you’re a genius,” he said suddenly, tone casual but his eyes still on the papers, “I’m sure you can do remote work in psychology.”
My fingers froze on the keyboard. I slowly looked up at him. He didn’t look back. He was still focused, scanning through the sheets, the corner of his mouth twitching with thought.
“My aunt’s husband owns a research company,” he continued, voice low. “They take interns sometimes. Mostly grad students, but I can talk to her. See if he’ll look into it.”
He said it like it was no big deal, like it wasn’t him trying to fix what he’d broken with something good. I didn’t know what to do with the warmth in my chest. Didn’t know what to do with the way he said I’ll talk to her, like my future was something he wanted to help rebuild.
So I just nodded, quietly typing my last answer into the job form.
He stood up suddenly, pushing off the couch with one hand. Papers fluttered from his knee onto the table, and before I could ask anything, he was already pulling his phone from his pocket.
“I’ll make the call,” he said simply, and walked toward the balcony doors.
I stayed on the floor, blinking after him. The line rang once, twice, and his tone changed the moment someone picked up.
“Hey, Auntie. Yeah—it’s me,” he said, leaning one hand against the glass door, back to me. His voice was low, steady, and professional. I’d never heard him sound so… polite. “I need a favour. No, not for me. For someone else.”
Someone else.
He turned a little, glancing over his shoulder like he was checking if I was still there. I was… still sitting on the floor, laptop open, pretending to scroll through job listings when really, every word leaving his mouth felt like it was echoing inside me.
“She’s studying psychology,” he continued. “Sharp. Top of her class, probably smarter than half your staff.”
A small pause, then the faintest curve at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah. I know what I’m talking about.”
He glanced back again. This time, our eyes met through the reflection in the glass.
“She’s looking for remote work. Maybe research assistance, data handling—whatever you’ve got open. I can send her resume if needed.”
He nodded a few times, murmuring a quiet thank you. Then, before hanging up, he said softly,
“Yeah… I owe her that much.”
The call ended.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned around. For a moment, he just stood there, watching me from across the room. The light from outside caught the wet strands of his hair and the tired lines under his eyes, but he still looked gentle.
“She’ll talk to him tonight,” he said finally. “Email me your resume, and I’ll send it. You’ll get an email if there’s an opening.”
I nodded, unable to stop the quiet hum that left my throat.
He came back toward the table, slow steps against the hardwood, and stopped a few feet away from where I sat. His phone was still in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen like he wasn’t done saying what he wanted to say.
Then, quietly, steady but almost nervous, he said it.
“Until you get the job,” he started, eyes locked on the stack of papers instead of me, “I’ll cover everything you need. Rent. Food. Whatever it is, tell me.”
I froze mid-scroll. My fingers stopped moving on my phone screen. He looked up this time, meeting my eyes fully.
“This isn’t me solving it with money,” he continued, his voice low and firm, “this is me making sure you don’t collapse or get thrown out before this job comes through.”
My breath hitched.
He wasn’t saying it like an offer.
He was saying it like a vow.
Still, I felt that same defensive twist in my chest, the one that always came whenever money entered the equation. Because money always came with power, and power always came with pain.
I shook my head slowly, hugging my cast arm to my chest. But he stepped closer, kneeling down beside the table so we were level again.
His voice softened. “Aurora, I’m not trying to buy my way out of what I did. I’m trying to make sure you don’t pay for it.”
He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before adding, quieter this time,
“Let me do this right. Just once.”
I didn’t answer right away.
I just stared at him, this infuriating, complicated boy on his knees in front of me again, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry or forgive him.
I was finally able to move, giving him a small nod. That’s it. Final. Okay, do the right thing.