CHAPTER 3
Reed
T he first time I met Lila Callaghan, I didn’t actually meet her.
Grace had mentioned her during our first work meeting, as every proud parent would, but I barely paid attention. I caught that she was a psychology student because I, too, have a BA in psychology, but that was all.
At the risk of sounding like a class-A asshole, tuning out of conversations when people start talking about their families is second nature to me. I’ve learned that the less interested I look and the fewer questions I ask, the less likely it is for them to ask me about my personal life in return.
Small talk isn’t my thing; least of all when it involves my family.
I didn’t really know anything about Lila Callaghan until she briefly caught my attention a year ago. I was mindlessly scrolling through social media one afternoon when Grace’s post caught my eye—specifically, the article linked to it.
So proud of my daughter for all her grand achievements at just twenty-two years old. At the risk of sounding like an annoying mom and embarrassing her to death, I wanted to share her latest article—“Effects of Childhood Trauma in Late Education”—winner of the Warlington Research Award and published in the Warlington Science Journal . Her dad and I couldn’t be prouder!
Before I knew what I was doing, my finger clicked on the link. And then I was redirected to one of the most stunning pieces of academic writing I’d read in my goddamn life.
I scanned every line, thirsty for the next word, the next concept, the next conclusion. I didn’t need to reach the last page to know that her understanding of the subject was beyond her years and education.
Lila’s work would put most MA theses to shame.
Despite my momentary amazement with her brain, I closed my browser and left it at that. I never brought her up in a conversation with Grace while we discussed our next book. Nor did I go out of my way to search for Lila’s information, because I had more pressing matters at hand.
When I met her in person for the first time a few months later, we exchanged a total of two words— hello and goodbye —just like the second and third times we’d been in the same room.
She’s always avoided my gaze, never looking particularly interested in my presence, even though I spot her at each and every one of my open lectures. Why, though, I was never curious enough to ask.
But now I am intrigued.
Because why the hell is Grace and Cal’s daughter holding a kitchen knife next to a car with a busted tire?
“This isn’t what it looks like,” she blurts out, an anxious glimmer in her eyes.
Unimpressed, I raise an eyebrow as I rest my arm on the rolled-down car window. “You’re telling me I didn’t just see you stab a knife through that tire.”
Her throat works a swallow. “Nope. Must be an illusion.”
My eyebrow arches even higher.
“Fine.” Her shoulders deflate with a heavy sigh. “This is exactly what it looks like. But for the record, I already feel terrible about it. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because I don’t do stuff like this.”
He . Interesting.
“Good to know you don’t vandalize cars on the regular.”
When she throws me a glare, it takes everything in me not to smirk.
“I’m putting the knife away now,” she says, slowly walking toward her trunk and placing it inside a cardboard box. She keeps her hands high where I can see them as if I were a cop.
I’m officially amused.
“Great. Now that my tires are safe from your stabbing impulses, will you get inside my car?”
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s raining.”
“I’m already wet,” she points out. My eyes dart to her damp T-shirt for a millisecond before I remind myself who I’m talking to. “And I have my own car. I can just drive away. In fact, I probably should because, you know, the tire.”
I scratch my jaw. “You know what’s funny? I’m actually on my way to join a work call with your mom to edit her next book.”
Her glare only intensifies. “I didn’t take you for a snitch, Dr. Abner.”
“It’s Reed for you.” I unlock the passenger door in an invite she doesn’t take. “Get inside the car, Lila. Please.”
“No, thanks.”
The thing about Lila and me is that we don’t know each other. We don’t seek each other out, interact, nothing at all. In fact, it wouldn’t be the first time I got the impression that she wasn’t my biggest fan. Not only because she always avoids eye contact and never joins us when her parents invite me over for dinner, but also because she attends my every open lecture but still refuses to talk to me about my research or ask me any questions—just like earlier today.
It doesn’t surprise me that she’s hesitant to get in the car with me. What does surprise me is that I’m the one getting out of my car, the fabric of my shirt clinging to my skin as the rain falls over me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice laced with skepticism as she eyes my chest so quickly, I think I’ve imagined the movement.
“I want to talk to you.” I try not to focus on how much I tower over her or why that matters in the first place. “Specifically about why you’ve just slashed someone’s tire.”
Guilt shines in her face. “I think I lost my mind a little.”
Light rain keeps falling, but neither of us seeks cover.
“You said he deserved it. Who’s he?” I press.
Normal people don’t go around slashing other people’s tires—certainly not smart ones with a supportive family—and I won’t leave without knowing why.
Lila looks around as if she expects someone to jump out of the bushes at any moment, before her hazel eyes find mine again. “Dr. Abner, I really don’t think—”
“Reed,” I cut her off.
She ignores me. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to have this conversation right now.”
That makes me frown. “Elaborate.”
The impatience in her eyes tells me I should know the answer without having to ask. “Because you’re a professor and I’m a student. We aren’t supposed to interact outside of academic matters.”
There’s a nervous edge to her voice I don’t quite understand. “I’m not your professor. And if you want to get technical, I only teach a couple PhD seminars. I’m mostly a researcher.”
I have the feeling she already knows this, but all she does is shrug.
When she shivers, I decide I’ve had enough.
“You’re going to get sick.” I consider grabbing my jacket from my car until I realize it wouldn’t make a difference. She’s already soaking. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me everything. Just let me know if you’re in some kind of danger or if someone did anything to you.”
“I’m okay. Well, I’m not okay , but I’m not in danger. I…” She swallows, hugging herself. “It’s my boyfriend. Ex -boyfriend. I just found out he cheated on me, and then he said some pretty nasty things, and I didn’t take it very well. Hence the tire stabbing and…other things.”
“Nasty things?” I echo, my stomach twisting with unfamiliar worry.
She waves a dismissing hand. “It’s not important.”
“What other things did you do?”
“I may or may not have hidden raw fish in his underwear drawer and thrown his toothbrush in the toilet. He doesn’t pay me back on rent, so technically, it counts as payback. Right? It’s not a crime.”
“The tire thing might be, though.”
She pales. “You’re going to report me?”
Absolutely not . I cross my arms, widening my stance. “If you say he deserved it, I believe it. I haven’t seen a thing.”
Her shoulders sag with relief. “Really?”
“As long as you promise me no more tire slashing,” I say, my voice serious. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how important it is to take control of your emotions during stressful times.”
Grace mentioned Lila is currently doing her master’s in counseling. Of course she doesn’t need the reminder, although today it may seem differently.
The rain picks up, almost drowning the gentle sound of her voice. “Wait. Does this make me a criminal ?”
I choose to be honest with her. “What you did could be considered vandalism, but you’re hardly a criminal. He could press charges if there’s any kind of evidence against you. You said he wasn’t paying you any rent money? Something tells me you definitely won’t be getting that money back if he finds out about the tire.”
“And here I thought you were going to send me straight to the police station.” There’s a hint of playfulness in her voice.
“I’m a busy man. But I’m sure you can get there by yourself.”
“For sure. I’ll be on my way.”
She bites her lip, trying to force down her smile, and I find myself unable to look away.
Only when she clears her throat, her expression sobering up again, do I come back to my senses. “Can I ask you to not—”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I assure her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “You’re not a child, and you’re also not my business. As I said, I didn’t see a thing.”
Her nod is short, stiff, and she somehow looks more on edge than before. I’m about to ask her if she’s truly all right, if she needs anything from me at all, when she says, “I’ll see you around, Dr. Abner. Thank you for…your intentional blindness.”
She gets in her car so fast, I don’t have time to remind her to call me Reed. Not like it would matter, anyway.
Lila Callaghan has been ignoring me since I started working with her mother two years ago, and she has no reason to stop now. Nor do I particularly want her to—she’s a student, not to mention twelve years younger than me and my friends’ daughter. Aside from making sure she’s okay when she’s clearly in distress, nothing should tie me to her.
And nothing will.