16. The Song Remains the Same
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
the song remains the same
ROMAN
“Where did you run off to on Friday night?” Logan asks, spinning one of my pens around his fingers. He’s made himself right at home in my office. “You missed Frankie and I doing Bohemian Rhapsody.”
Logan called to check on me after I left the party early. I could barely pick up the phone, not after what I did with his sister. To his sister. Even seeing his name come up on the call display sent me into a spiral. I tried to find distractions over the rest of the weekend: immersed myself in new recipes, went to the farmer’s market, and cooked enough to feed a small army, but nothing really helped.
“Felt sick,” I reply flatly as I avoid his gaze, staring at the email I’ve drafted to Frankie about swapping TAs.
It’s been blank for the past hour.
“I hope it wasn’t the food,” Logan sighs.
“No,” I murmur, closing out of my draft and shutting my laptop. “Had a little too much to drink. Didn’t want to be hung over the next day.”
“That was a good plan. Wish I’d thought of that.”
“Yeah?” I say with a wry smile. “Feeling a little rough?”
“Yep. Apparently, a few glasses of wine and one measly beer turns me into a husk of a human being these days.”
“That’s what drinking in your 30s will get you, and with a body like yours you’ll need at least six business days to recover.”
“It was fun, though. Worth it.”
“It was. Good food, good people, and from what little I heard of your duet, maybe even great music.”
Logan grins, leaning back with his hands cradled behind his head.
“I’m telling you, man, you’re looking at a future Grammy winner here. The first one Emerald Bay’s ever seen.”
I cock my head to the side, grinning at him. The thing I love the most about Logan is that he’s powered by a combination of delusion and the utmost confidence.
“What about Daphne Carmichael?” I ask. “Didn’t she win like three last year?”
“You mean your guilty pleasure?” Logan laughs. “I’ve seen your Spotify playlists.”
“Nosy fucker,” I chuckle.
Daphne was born and raised in Emerald Bay. She started singing at the Hi-Dive on karaoke nights, and eventually sold out stadiums. Even though I’ve been a fan for a long time, the only one of us who’s ever met her is Frankie. Apparently, they grew up together, but he never really talks about it.
“Anyway, do you really need a Grammy? Aren’t all those awards and accolades from academia enough?”
“Maybe combine the two for lectures,” Logan suggests. “A full concert on Durkheim.”
“I’m sure students would be super responsive to that,” I chuckle.
There’s a light knock on my door and I immediately shift into professional mode, furrowing my brow. I don’t have office hours scheduled this morning, but students tend to find their way here regardless.
“Come in.”
The door swings open and Imogen pokes her head inside. She looks startled for a moment when she sees her brother but she quickly shifts into a pleasant smile. Damn, she’s good. I could stand to learn a thing or two from her.
“Hey, Iggy!” Logan calls, spinning around in the chair. “How’s it going?”
“G– good– uh, yeah. It’s…” She clears her throat. “Just working on uh… something for Roman.”
Alright, maybe she’s not quite as good as I thought.
“Running her ragged already, huh, Burke?” Logan grins.
Oh my God , Imogen mouths squeezing her eyes shut as I shake my head. She’s about 500 shades of red right now.
“You might wanna rethink that turn of phrase there, Dr. Flynn.”
Logan shifts in his chair awkwardly, a little uncomfortable with the energy he’s added to the room.
“You’re right, that did sound kind of gross. Sorry, Iggy.”
“It’s cool, I can, uh… I can come back–”
“No, no, no. I’ve gotta get back to work anyway.” Logan stands up and heads for the exit, patting her on the shoulder as he slips by. “You look really stressed, though. You need to learn how to chill out.”
“Why do you have to say such weird shit?” Imogen hisses.
“I said I was sorry!” Logan calls back, already halfway down the hall.
“Sure,” she sighs, smoothing out her clothes. “Whatever.”
She’s dressed more casually today, in a pale-purple t-shirt that matches her hair and black leggings that cling to her thighs, leaving little to the imagination. An awkward, almost choking silence fills the air as she glances down at the floor, twisting a silver ring around her finger. She looks like she doesn’t know why she came in here; maybe she was compelled by the same thing that made me walk into that pantry on Friday.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, trying to cut through the awkwardness.
Her jaw twitches and she takes a moment to breathe. She’s got to be pissed at me for leaving her like that.
“Do you think I led you on?” Imogen asks.
“What?”
Led me on? Where did she get that idea?
“The other night in the pantry. Do you think I led you on?”
“I–”
She takes a step forward.
I was wrong. She’s not nervous, she’s pissed.
“Then why did you do it?” She asks. “We said we were going to be cool about this, that we were going to put it behind us. I want to know if you think that I led you on, that it’s my fault.”
This isn’t how I wanted things to go, and before I can make sense of it, I’ve already rounded my desk, taking up her hands in mine.
“Friday night was my fault,” I whisper, soft enough that she has to lean in a little to hear, and I catch a whiff of rich vanilla and something citrusy. That scent combined with the taste of powdered sugar has haunted me for two days.
“Imogen, I cr?—”
“Crossed a line.” She repeats my bottled words from the other night, glancing down at my hands in hers. “Yeah, you already said that.”
There’s a storm in her eyes, her face twisted up in an expression that fills me with terror. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but I have to end this. It’s the right thing to do.
“I can’t jeopardize your spot here, and I can’t lose my job.”
“You said that already, too.” Her gaze is steely and cold. “So, is that why you went down on me in my brother’s fucking pantry and then walked away? One last taste?”
In her eyes I’ve been flip flopping, unable to make a decision about whether or not this game continues between us, and she’s not wrong.
“I had a lot of time to think on the weekend, Roman, and I want to know what your problem is.”
“My problem…?”
“I’m not going to be treated like I’m just some dirty fucking secret.”
There are tears in her eyes, and suddenly I can feel a blade twist deep in my gut. I didn’t even think about what this would do to her, I just wanted her that night.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re fucking right you’re sorry,” she spits. “You say you’re afraid of the consequences, that we blurred boundaries, but we were cool, Roman. It was fine, even with the little bit of flirting we were doing. It didn’t have to escalate, but then you decided to have your little fuck it moment. So you want to end this? Go ahead and end it like you should have done before. For both of our sakes.”
She might as well have just slapped me in the face. I want to be angry, but with the truth laid bare, all I feel is guilt. I didn’t mean to do this. I calm my breathing, refusing to let go of her trembling hands.
“A transfer request is going to take a while,” I whisper. “I’m going to have to talk to another professor and see what I’m able to do.”
She gives me an indignant look.
“I’m sorry.” I say it as sincerely as I can. “I am, Imogen. If things were different?—”
“Just fix it. I can’t keep doing this.”
Her tone is venomous but her gaze is practically pleading. I feel an immediate compulsion to hold her and tell her everything’s going to be okay, that I can fix this for the two of us, and–
No.
Hell no.
I’m not making that mistake again. I don’t know anything about this woman other than her name, her kinks, and the way she tastes. That’s not love, that’s hormones.
“It’s like I said, it’ll take a while, maybe a couple of weeks. I have to figure out what to tell the department and we may have to have a meeting to discuss everything, but I’ll put the wheels in motion and let you know when we’re ready to take the next steps.”
“What are you going to tell them?” She asks. “The department, I mean.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“I’m sure I can think up some personal problem I have that would make the swap necessary. Frankie already thinks I’m a grumpy asshole, so it shouldn’t be too hard. None of it will fall on you.”
I flash her what I hope is an encouraging smile, but she only nods coldly in response.
“Alright, so it’s done then.”
“It’s done. I’ll send Frankie the email right away.”
And now I’ve got a secret to bury.
What a great start to the semester.
“Okay then. I’ll see you in class,” she says softly before shutting the door behind her.
I let out a groan and grab my laptop, opening it up to face the email I don’t want to write. Things could have been so much simpler, but it’s too late now; it’s time to figure out a way to dig myself out of this hole.
Frankie,
I need to have a meeting with you about Imogen.
“No. Delete.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, cursing myself as I try to come up with an explanation. Anything other than the truth. Maybe I can say I don’t need the help. I can grade papers and give lectures all on my own. I only have the one class after all, plus the two master’s students I’m supervising. But really, I can’t tell him I don’t need an assistant because I do. I even made a big deal out of it when my other TA quit, and it wasn’t for nothing. I’ve been slowly reintegrating back into the department since Christa, and there’s no way I could handle it alone. Not yet.
“I wish I’d never joined that app,” I mutter, sinking lower into my chair and staring at the cursor, blinking like it’s taunting me.
I need to stand up, move around and get my blood flowing. Maybe that’ll get my brain working. I slam my laptop shut, getting to my feet and heading for my coffee machine. This’ll be my third cup of the day. Or is it the fourth?
“Think of something, man. Think.”
The problem is it’s more complicated than just explaining away a TA transfer request. She’s Logan’s sister, and as long as she’s here, I’m going to have to see her every day. She’ll be at parties, karaoke at the Hi-Dive, in the halls. She’ll be here and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Nor would I really want to.
She’s woven into my life now, whether I like it or not.