CHAPTER 21
Lila
A couple days later, all my attempts at focusing on creating an outline for the sexual education workshop go out the window.
Pressure weighs on me as self-doubts creep in. What if I’m not good enough for this?
I can’t concentrate, even though Haniyah said I’d have to send her a first draft by the end of the week; otherwise, the workshop won’t fit into my internship schedule. But an hour goes by, and I have only written three bullet points that don’t even make sense.
My thoughts drift to Ginny. I helped Reed look for a dog daycare place yesterday, and we found one just five minutes away from campus. He was hesitant to leave her there for so many hours in a place full of strangers, but he told me Ginny had made some doggy friends when he went to pick her up.
Unfortunately, Reed’s cute puppy isn’t enough to make me feel better today.
My head starts pounding when someone pulls out the chair next to mine at the library.
“Hi, cutie,” Karla whispers, sending me a reassuring smile. “Rough day today?”
Since we’re in a secluded corner of the library and there’s no risk of getting caught talking, I let out a loud sigh. “That’d be an understatement. Tell me yours is going better?”
She sets her laptop on the spot next to mine. “Not really. I’m finishing up a research paper to submit to the Youth Counseling Expo. You’ve heard of it, right?”
I nod. It’s one of the most prestigious conferences in the psychology world—being invited as a speaker would be a dream come true. My papers are nowhere near good enough, though, so I’d rather not disappoint myself with their rejection.
“They’re accepting grad students this year, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m struggling with this damn paper, though.” She bites her bottom lip, thinking. “Do you think you could ask Dr. Abner to review it for me? See if it needs work?”
I hesitate. “He’s busy with his research, but maybe you could send him an email.”
“Oh, okay.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Anyway, what are you working on?”
“It’s, um, a workshop type of thing for my internship.”
Telling people about my internship with Reed still doesn’t come naturally, even if it’s Karla. In our years of friendship, she’s never judged me or made me feel like I was more or less than anyone else. She doesn’t treat me any differently because of my grades or academic opportunities, and she didn’t bat an eyelid when I told her about the internship. So why do I feel so nervous now?
Karla leans over to read my screen. The handful of words written on it, anyway.
“Oh, wow.” Her eyes widen. “They let you run workshops? Lucky. My internship supervisor has me reviewing last year’s reports, as if that would help me learn something.”
“Maybe you can talk to her. Ask her to give you more meaningful tasks?”
But she shakes her head. “It’s whatever. I just want to graduate and move on.”
Something prickles the back of my brain then. “Didn’t you apply for a summer internship?”
If I remember correctly, Karla was also going to apply for the summer camp internship I ended up missing.
She lowers her gaze, studying her chipped black nails. “I didn’t get it, so…”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” I really didn’t. She never brought it up again, and I assumed it was because she had gotten in, had an amazing time, and didn’t want me to feel bad. “Well, I’m sure your internship will get better soon. At the very least, you’ll have some experience to add to your résumé.”
“Yeah, I guess.” She eyes my laptop screen again. “How’s working with Dr. Abner, anyway? Is he as smart as they say?”
His hands on my hips.
My head on his lap.
His lips on my hair.
I clear my throat and hope my cheeks aren’t burning red.
“He’s great.” I give her what I hope is an easy and totally-not-nervous smile. “His feedback is invaluable, and the kids love him. Seeing him in action is out of this world.”
She returns my smile. “You’re very lucky to be working with him.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I turn my attention to my laptop. “Your paper isn’t going well, then?”
She lets out a long sigh. “I’ve drafted the methodology section, like, six times. I’m about to give up and get some chai.”
My phone buzzes, and I take a quick look just in case it’s Reed with news about Ginny. “I can give it a quick read for you if you’d li—”
His text pops on my screen, the last person I thought would contact me or I wanted to hear from, and air whooshes out of my lungs. Not because I’m ecstatic that he reached out, but because what the fuck ?
“You okay?”
I’m aware that I haven’t finished my sentence. That Karla is waiting for me to remember how to string words back together. That she probably thinks something’s wrong with me. That—
“You look pale right now. Do you need some water?”
I gulp, wondering who might be having the time of their lives with my voodoo doll right now.
“I’m…” I start, but I don’t know how to finish.
My fingers tighten around my phone, as if trying to break it so he has no way of contacting me again.
The fire in my stomach roars back to life. I’m here to work my ass off, to make my dream career happen for me, not to entertain cheaters.
“Sorry,” I finally let out. “I’m having a weird week.”
“I get it.” She waves me off. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m making a quick run to the coffee shop in a bit.”
I give Karla a small nod and, without a word, go back to the outline I’m definitely not finishing today. But not before shoving my phone in the deepest pocket of my backpack, all while begging my panic levels to come down.
I must be dreaming.
Because there’s no way Oliver, my ex-boyfriend whom I haven’t talked to or heard from in almost a year, has just texted me.
Oliver: Lila, we need to talk. ASAP. I’m serious.
He’s going to sue me. There’s no way he isn’t.
Why else would he text me out of the blue so many months after our breakup?
My parents are going to kill me. And that’s not even the worst part of it. Because sure, the thought of disappointing the people who love me the most in this world feels like a punch to the gut, but if Oliver sues me, I could get expelled from my MA.
Kicked out of Warlington University.
Three months away from graduating.
Twenty more minutes go by, and it becomes clear I’m not getting any work done today. With an uncomfortable heaviness on my chest, I say goodbye to Karla, lock myself in the nearest bathroom stall down the hall, and practice my breathing techniques for what feels like hours.
It doesn’t work.
***
Reed
Lila is anxious today. I could tell she wasn’t acting like her usual self the second she stepped into my office at the youth center a couple hours ago, but I didn’t press.
Now I want to.
She’s chewing on her bottom lip nervously and won’t stop twisting the flower pendant around her neck. I don’t think she even realizes how many times she’s sighed since she sat down at the desk across from mine.
“You all right?” I ask her when I can’t take it any longer. “Do you need help with your outline?”
She stops chewing on her lip, glancing up at me. “What? Oh. No, I’m okay.”
I level her with a no-bullshit glare. “I can tell you’re worried about something.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Lila.”
She shrugs tiredly, her gaze falling to her screen again.
Very well.
“So, you’ll sleep on my lap, but telling me what you’re worried about is where you draw the line?”
That gets her attention.
“That’s not fair,” she mutters at my bold statement.
“Just tell me what’s wrong, Lila. Please. I want to help if I can.”
Her shoulders rise and fall with an uneven breath, and her fingers move to the flower pendant around her delicate neck again. Stop looking at her goddamn neck.
“Oliver texted me. My ex.”
My body freezes.
Her ex.
The fucker who cheated on her.
“I don’t want to get back with him, obviously ,” she rushes to add, oblivious to the tension and relief locking my body into an overwhelming prison.
Tension because I don’t want that boy breathing in her direction any more than I want to be punched in the face. And relief because hearing Lila say she doesn’t want to date him again brings me a confusing sense of peace I have no right to experience. I reel in it anyway because I’m a selfish bastard.
“He said he wanted to talk to me, but I don’t know what he could want. It’s stressing me out so much on top of everything else going on.”
If the way she’s pressing her lips into a thin line is any indication, she’s not sharing the whole story. She has the right to keep as many details as she wants to herself, but that doesn’t mean I can’t press some more. Especially when seeing her like this is killing me.
“What else are you stressed out about?” I ask, my voice gentle.
“Just…everything, really.” She shakes her head, a blonde wave falling over her shoulder. “I’m still not done with my thesis, and then there’s the workshop. I want to do a good job for the kids, but I don’t know if I have what it takes. I want to graduate this semester, and it’s just… The pressure is getting to me.”
“I understand that, but you’re on the right track—a track you’ve been on for the past six years. I’ve seen your academic records.”
Her fingers fall from her necklace to place that same long strand of hair behind her pierced ear. “That doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. I can still fail my master’s.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You won’t fail,” I repeat. “You’ll nail your thesis because you’ve got what it takes. As for the workshop, I told you we’d work on it together. I don’t care if the outline you send me is messy. Do you think my first drafts are good? Because they’re everything but.”
The pain in her eyes kills me. “Are you saying that because you actually believe it or because you work with my mom?”
I thought I’d seen a slight change in Lila’s attitude, so her question surprises me. Although, if I think about it, backsliding into former habits when life gets stressful isn’t unheard of; especially for people like her, who tend to overthink and worry about unlikely scenarios. But I don’t have it in me to be frustrated with her; when it comes to Lila, I only want to be patient.
“We’ve talked about this, remember? Your mom has mentioned you over the years, but—no offense—I wasn’t interested. Talking about my family isn’t something I like to do, so whenever other people talk about theirs, I tend to zone out.”
I don’t know why I’m telling her this. All I know is that I need her to understand, and opening myself up to her doesn’t feel as daunting as it does with everyone else.
“One day, I saw that article you published about childhood trauma. Your mom shared it, and I clicked on it.” Her eyes stay locked with mine. “It was a fucking masterpiece. I couldn’t fathom how such a young mind was already so bright.”
Her cheeks redden. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
The way she says it, I know she isn’t fishing for compliments or playing any fake-humble games. Which is precisely why it worries me.
But I decide to save that conversation for another day.
“We’d seen each other a couple of times before the awards show, you and I,” I continue, “but we weren’t friends. So yes, I talked to you that night because your mother asked me to. I wanted to do it, don’t get me wrong. But offering you the internship was entirely my own doing. I wasn’t going to do it until you mentioned that other internship you didn’t apply to. Your parents had nothing to do with it. Why are you planting all these ideas in your own head when you know the truth?”
I’m not expecting her next words.
“Because I’ve convinced myself that I don’t deserve this.”
Silence stretches between us as I fight the urge to pull her into my chest, just like I did that night on my couch.
I lean back in my chair, which groans with my weight. “What is it that you think you don’t deserve?”
“All of this. Being here. Taking someone else’s spot. Having been accepted into my MA. Getting the internship when I behaved so immaturely. Being a youth counselor.”
“Why do you feel this way?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” She crosses her arms. A shield. “I grew up in a loving family—you know my parents. We lived comfortably and had access to healthcare, education, and everything else. Most kids who need counseling don’t grow up with such luxuries. I might be good at counseling, but I feel like I don’t have what it takes to truly help them because, no matter how much empathy I have, I don’t know what it’s like to be in their shoes.
“And then what happened with my ex. I should’ve handled things differently, like the adult I’m supposed to be. But I lost my mind instead, and I can’t move on from it no matter how much time has passed. I’m consumed by guilt because I haven’t told my parents; I’m too embarrassed to do it. They’d be so disappointed in me because the Lila from two years ago would’ve never done any of this. I don’t… I don’t know who I am anymore, and it scares me. Why am I getting all these great opportunities in life when I’m such a mess?”
Her breathing is uneven, agitated, and her glassy eyes are an open door to the turmoil lashing inside of her.
And I hate every fucking second of it.
Because she’s wrong.
“You’re missing a key aspect here, Lila—your past decisions and mistakes don’t define you. Not when you learn from them.”
Her throat works down a swallow as a single tear rolls down her cheek. She dries it immediately.
“Your parents will understand what you did, even if they don’t agree with your choices. They love you, and that’s not going to change just because you slashed a cheater’s tire,” I continue. “Feeling guilty for the opportunities you have isn’t uncommon. Asking yourself, ‘Why me and not literally anyone else?’ when something good or bad happens to you is a normal reaction but also very unproductive.”
What I don’t tell her is that I would know.
What I don’t say out loud is that, still to this day, I wonder why I had to grow up with abusive parents.
Why I never got adopted.
Why, out of thousands of foster kids who dream of going to college, I was one of the very few to beat the odds and graduate.
Why I made a name for myself when others didn’t get a chance to.
“I don’t know how to stop,” she mutters so brokenly it takes everything in me not to hold her. “I have no right to complain because I have a good life. I’m so thankful for my family and my good health and everything else. I just feel like… I don’t know. Like I haven’t done anything to deserve this life. It was just… handed to me. I lost friends at school because they kept accusing me of thinking I was better than everyone else when I have never felt like that, but maybe… maybe I’m a selfish person, deep down. Maybe I can’t see the real me, the real Lila others want to knock down a few pegs for a good reason.”
The rawness of her pained words slices my chest open.
“You were lucky to be born into your family, sure, but nobody chooses what family they get to be born into,” I say softly. “Your parents fought hard to make sure you had a happy and easy life. I’m sure you’ll do your best to ensure your future kids face as little suffering as possible. That’s what we should do for future generations.”
I tell myself the thought of Lila having children with an imaginary man doesn’t make me want to rip his imaginary head off.
I’m losing my mind.
“And like I said, one past mistake doesn’t define you. You clearly feel terrible about what you did, but you’ve also punished yourself enough. Don’t let others define you. Lila, you are one of the most selfless people I know. By far.”
“I’m not—”
“You started volunteering at the soup kitchen at thirteen,” I remind her, recalling her résumé for her internship application. “You’ve also helped at the women’s shelter, at the animal shelter, and now here. That’s more volunteering experience in ten years than most people get in their entire life—including me.”
Her eyes meet mine again, innocent and vulnerable. “I don’t need you to praise me for it. I did it because I felt called to.”
“I know. I’m just reminding you that you’re doing an outstanding job at helping people in need. You’re not a terrible person because of what you did to your ex, no matter how out of character it was. Sometimes we can’t control our emotions, but we can control how we deal with the aftermath. You don’t have to suffer through life to get good things, Lila. That’s not how it works. You’re incredible at what you do, and the children love you. Your selflessness and kind heart are making the world a less shitty place. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
“And it’s not even about your volunteer work. You’re a joy to everyone around you. No matter who you’re dealing with, you always offer them kindness and patience. Offer us . You weren’t talking to a wall that day at my office after Cameron and Sean’s fight. I was here, listening to every word. Using them to stay afloat during a difficult moment because that’s what you do, Lila. You make everything better just by being you.”
She chews on her lower lip, those glassy eyes never leaving mine.
“Do you really mean that?” she whispers.
“Every word.”
Silence stretches between us until she breaks it in the most unexpected way.
“This may be totally inappropriate, but I really want to give you a hug.”
I don’t think about it before I nod.
She crosses the distance between our desks. I don’t get the chance to stand from my chair before her body crashes into mine, her arms wrapping around my neck in a sealing hug that allows me to really breathe for the first time in my goddamn life.
My arms lock around her middle of their own accord, closing the space between us because suddenly, if a piece of paper fit between our bodies, it’d be too big of a gap.
In this moment, surrounded by her warmth and her sweet scent, everything disappears.
I don’t care if someone walks in and sees us like this.
Having her in my arms is worth every risk.
When she pulls away—too soon—the softness in her beautiful face as she looks at me kills me.
“How do you always have the right words to keep me calm?” Her fingers graze my neck. “Who keeps you calm, Reed?”
You, angel. You keep me calm.
But I say nothing. Because, for once, I don’t think I’m making a huge mistake as one of my hands travels the length of her spine, earning me a delicious shiver.
For once, I don’t think of the consequences of wondering what it would be like to have her on my lap, with her legs wrapped around my hips, and show her how crazy she makes me feel.
For once, crossing the forbidden line between us doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all.
It sounds like fate.
And I suspect she feels it, too, when her thumb starts caressing the bare skin on my neck. When those soft lips part and her breath quickens.
I need her.
And I want her to need me, too.
“Reed…” She whispers my name, and it’s never sounded so fucking sweet.
Gently, I rest my forehead against hers, our noses grazing because our lips shouldn’t. She willingly presses closer to me when I give her hips a squeeze, and it takes everything in me not to lower her to my desk and devour every inch of her skin.
“Do you feel this too?” she asks, her voice charged with heat. “This pull between us?”
Fuck yes.
“We shouldn’t,” I rasp out. “I’m your supervisor.”
But my body doesn’t listen to my brain as my mouth inches closer to hers.
And then, all my inhibitions shatter when her lips brush mine. Soft, caring, painfully fleeting.
I groan at the feather-like touch when she pulls away. She’s teasing me, and I’m only too happy to play the game. My hands tighten on her body, the situation behind my zipper growing with every second.
I’m about to pull her into my lap when a knock on my office door makes us pull away as if we’re on fire.
Lila’s eyes widen on me, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, her cheeks bright red.
What the fuck have we just done?
“Sit at your desk,” I instruct her quickly as I try to sort out the tent in my pants before this situation gets even worse.
I almost kissed my intern. Our lips fucking brushed. I was about to pull my friends’ daughter into my lap like some moron. Goddammit.
Lila sits down in record time, pretending to work on her laptop again. I clear my throat and call out, “Come in.”
Haniyah enters my office with her usual kind smile, completely oblivious to the heated scene she almost walked into. “Reed, Lila. Working hard, I see.”
Lila glances at me like she wants the ground to swallow her in this moment. I share the sentiment.
Han starts talking about an upcoming meeting, but I can’t focus for shit. Not when Lila and I have just crossed a line we’ll never come back from.
And the worst part? I can’t bring myself to regret it.