Chapter 40
Savannah
He called my mom.
He’d called my mom, and apparently, from what I could tell after the shock of seeing her outside my classroom, he’d told her it all.
My mother, who had worked every day of her life to become the best in her field, was told that her husband not only allowed grade altering in the university that he was so proud of and pompous about, but that he knew they were covering up injuries and paying students to keep quiet about it, and that he was using a professor that I trusted to spy on me.
And that professor stepped over the line yesterday.
After being told all that, she got on the next flight.
Dante Spence must have had a death wish, because right now, he was the common denominator as to why my parents were so pissed off.
He made his way over to me, the back of his hand lightly brushing against mine. I almost pulled away from him because my temper was at an all-time high.
But then I realized he called my mom for me.
He was standing ready to face down the dean of this university for me.
“Why the hell couldn’t your grand gesture be flowers?” I muttered as I took his hand.
“Because you wouldn’t love me if I didn’t risk it all,” he murmured back.
“Maxwell.” Mom looked Dad over from head to foot. “That suit was in the donation pile, not the keep pile.”
Dante didn’t stifle his laugh in time; he shut up when both my parents switched their attention from each other to him.
“Eliza,” Dad greeted. “You look stunning, as ever.” His eyes flicked to mine. “So much for your golden rule, Savannah.”
“What’s—”
“Shut up.” I dug my elbow into Dante’s side.
“What brings you to town?” Dad asked Mom as if we weren’t here, his eyes never once taking in my sculpture.
Mom glanced at Dante. “I received a call from a concerned student about grade altering, falsified injury reports, under-the-table payouts, and—” she smiled, and it was colder than hell — “the fact that you told my daughter that she was not fit to attend this university.”
Dad winced at the last part. “Things were said in anger—”
My mother’s laughter cut off anything else he was going to say. “Really, Maxwell?”
“Eliza, is this the best time?” my dad asked her wearily. “I update you every week when you call to see how Savannah is.”
“You do?” I blurted.
She looked at me with exasperation. “You’re my daughter, Savannah. Of course I want to know how you are.” She looked away. “You won’t talk to me, so I talk to your father.”
I looked at Dante, who said nothing. “I didn’t know that,” I admitted. I also wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
“Maxwell, there seem to be some things you left out of your calls,” she declared. Her gaze swept the shed. “Did you know this art professor you had spying on her tried to make a move on her yesterday?”
Dad paled as he looked me over from head to toe. “What? Are you hurt? What happened?”
“It was okay, Dante walked in and put an end to the conversation.”
“It was not okay,” Dante said clearly. “Not okay at all. I had to convince her to let go of a mallet, a weapon she was holding in case she needed to defend herself.”
“Savannah . . .” My dad looked devastated. “I didn’t know—”
“And why would you?” my mom asked him. “Have you lost control entirely?” She tsked. “Really, Maxwell? You let Bobby Ray Sutherland dictate to you?” She looked offended at the thought. “You are one of the most intelligent men I have ever met, the fact that you could not—”
“This is a legacy school,” Dad interrupted coldly.
“This is an institution built on tradition, politics, and money. The very old kind of money that doesn’t move with the times.
Changes cannot be made overnight.” He looked behind him and strode to the door, closing it firmly.
He cast a sharp look toward Dante. “You repeat nothing you hear, do you understand me?”
“Sir.”
Dad looked at me, his look just a touch softer. “Same for you.”
Mom was watching him, calculating every movement, every word spoken.
“I’m doing my best,” he said, and he suddenly looked tired.
“This isn’t something that can be cleaned up in a few years.
Every semester, I uncover another layer.
” He looked over at me, concern in his eyes.
“I don’t know who to trust; I thought Yates would be perfect.
You always talked about him when you were in his class, he enjoyed teaching you .
. .” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t ever suspect anything about him. He said your work showed promise.”
“Promise?” Mom looked at the sculpture. “The glasswork — her cuts are clean to the point of surgical.” She smiled at me. Actually smiled. “It’s a true pity you faint at the sight of blood, your hands are quite skilled.”
Dante’s hand squeezed mine. “The NCAA could uncover it within months,” Dante spoke up, eager to return to the main concern. He shuffled his feet; obviously, this wasn’t his desired outcome.
My dad was already shaking his head. “Grade altering gets a fine, perhaps a suspension for the coach. Alumni donations, they’re called donations for a reason.
How the Academic Association distributes that money is up to them.
They’ve technically done nothing that is worth risking the students at this school for, yet.
” His attention was only on Dante. “Yet.”
The silence fell around us, and I didn’t know what to say.
“One sniff of this, of who leaked a story, your future is gone,” Dad told Dante. “Possibly Slater’s, Matthews’s — theirs too. Guilty by association.” Dad looked at my mom with a shake of his head. “The impulsiveness of youth.”
“The impulsiveness of youth?” I repeated, pissed off on principle. “Those youths aren’t part of this legacy, yet they’re the ones who will suffer! You’re the dean. This is on you to fix, Dad. There shouldn’t be excuses!”
“I am not the bad guy in this story. I know it’s easier to blame me, but this isn’t all on me.”
“Yates is,” Dante said coldly. “Not letting her do a course she wants? That’s on you too.”
Dad shook his head in exasperation. “I do not need parenting advice from you.”
“You need it from someone,” Dante countered. He looked at my mom. “Both of you.”
“I do not need the quarterback of the program lecturing me on my daughter,” my dad snapped.
Dante snorted. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He shook his head in disgust. “You thought I was in on it?” Dante guessed. “I’m the quarterback. The highest profile on the team. You thought I was part of it.”
Dad licked his bottom lip, exchanging a look with my mom. “I doubt everyone. It’s not personal.”
“It’s personal to me,” I said loudly. “Of course it’s personal to him! It’s personal to every single person whose future is at stake because you can’t control your athletics department!”
“Do you know how bad it is?” Dante asked him quietly. “How easily they remind me I can be benched at any time if I say something. How quickly they’ll remove me from the team.”
Dad looked pissed off. “Have they lost their minds? Half of our donors would tie themselves to the gates in protest. You won the championship, do you know how much revenue that brings into this school?”
“They don’t care,” Dante ground out angrily, and I knew he was struggling to keep calm.
“They don’t care that I know. They only care that I know how easily they can take it all away, from me, from anyone on the team.
” He ran a hand over his jaw. “And not just me. They even reminded me of my hopes to get my mom, sister, and nephew out of my hometown.”
“Blackmail?” My dad looked at Dante with interest. “They’re threatening you?”
He shouldn’t look so excited at the thought.
Dante nodded. “It stinks. You’re not helping anyone within that program by staying quiet.”
“I need proof,” Dad mumbled, his eyes narrowed as he thought about it. “Get it on tape.” My dad looked too serious to be joking. “Record it, bring it to me. If you can prove it, I can use it.”
“He’s a student,” Mom reminded Dad. “This is risky. You said it yourself, this is their future.”
Dad didn’t look away from Dante. “You’ve never seen this boy play, Eliza,” Dad said.
“Every quarter, he plays with risk.” He looked down at our joined hands.
“Look at this right now. He’s standing here, ready to fight me, the dean, on behalf of your daughter.
That’s not only ballsy, it’s risky. He’s a student, yes, but he can do it. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dante didn’t even hesitate, and my stomach plummeted.
Mom gave us both a look. “Maybe . . .”
“I assume you told your roommates?” Dad asked Dante, barely fighting back the sigh when he nodded. “Don’t trust anyone else. It’s not worth the risk.” He looked at me. “Savannah—”
“I hate all the functions, the lunches, the galas, especially now I know what’s happening. I’m really not that good at faking it.” Not the right time to raise it, not the right subject considering everything, but it was all or nothing.
Dad nodded as he looked away. “Yes, I know. Pity, you were the only reason I got through most of them myself.”
I thought about how many times I'd assumed the worst of him.
“You could have told me this,” I reminded him.
“My intention was for you to never be anywhere near this. Why do you think I gave you an art shed to work in? To keep you away from it all.”
Dante looked between us. “So . . . she can keep the shed? Her project?”
“It’s—”
“I mean,” Dante said, cutting my dad off. “She was ready to defend herself against her professor yesterday, your guy, I’d say she’s more than earned it.”
“No one is taking Savannah’s art away from her.” My mom’s voice held just a hint of impatience. “You gave her the art shed, really, Maxwell?”
My dad flushed. “It was a joint decision,” he mumbled almost incoherently.
“Mom?”
Mom looked at me, her gaze soft. “I want you to be happy. Art makes you happy.” Her gaze flicked to Dante. “And sports people, apparently.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. A compliment and an insult all in one sentence.