Chapter 37 Avalynne
AVALYNNE
Ijolt awake to the sound of a door opening. For a moment, I just lay there, trying to get my bearings. Firm cushions press against my back as sun-woven shapes play across the ceiling above me.
Finally, my groggy mind figures it out. I'm still in Professor Thatcher's office. I must have dozed off waiting for him to return.
I should get up, but it's so warm and cozy under this blanket that my body demands I stay put.
Wait.
Where did that come from?
Slowly, I push myself upright, letting the blanket pool around my middle. I spot Father Ezra in the doorway.
"Avalynne," he tells me, worry pinching his brows as he steps inside the room. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you? Xade told me Georgina …" He grimaces, like he can't bring himself to utter the words. "Are you all right?"
"I am. No thanks to you," I say, anger torpedoing through my middle.
How dare he show up now, like he's not walking over the corpses of hollow promises and false assurances to be here.
"I wanted to …" he swallows, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. "If I had known … "
"I don't want to speak with you," I snap. I don't want to play this game of easing his conscience.
He stops walking. Hurt scrunches the corners of his mouth. "Avalynne, I'm so sorry."
"Apology not accepted."
"Avalynne." My name is a whisper, and I look past Father Ezra to find Professor Thatcher walking through the door, a steaming mug of coffee in each hand. He watches me with that same inscrutable expression he often wears. It makes certain I can't tell what he's thinking.
"Is everything all right?" he asks, his gaze darting between Father Ezra and me.
"Father was just leaving," I tell him.
He exchanges a look with the priest. Father Ezra runs his tongue across his teeth.
"Yes, of course," he swallows. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do."
Father Ezra strides past Professor Thatcher and leaves. Thatcher closes the door behind him.
"How are you feeling?" he asks me with a thin smile.
"I'm okay," I say, determined to ignore Father Ezra's intrusion. The aroma of the coffee wafts in my direction, and I nearly sigh as Professor Thatcher offers me a cup.
"For you," he remarks as I push myself up and accept it.
The mug warms my fingers as I take a sip.
Mmm.
Cream. Sugar. Bliss.
"You're being nice," I remark.
Taking a sip of his coffee, he raises his dark eyebrows at me and murmurs an equivocal mm-hmm.
"Too nice," I add.
His mouth tips with the hint of a smile. "And that's a bad thing?"
"Just suspicious," I mumble to my mug. "But thank you for the coffee."
He looks at me pointedly, and it's like being back in class beneath his microscope, waiting for the inevitable assault of questions. "I meant what I said last night, Avalynne. I care for you."
I say nothing. I can't. It hurts too much to believe him yet.
He strides to his desk before a bundle of black material sails through the air toward me, landing on the cushion at my side.
"You may, however, want to retract your previous statement about my niceties," he remarks.
One-handed, I unravel the mysterious wad of fabric, disentangling a pair of black joggers and a matching top. Both are obviously for someone else—someone taller and man-sized, currently drinking his coffee at his desk.
"Clothes?" I side-eye Xade.
"Running gear," he explains. "For whenever you're up to it. Call it walking gear for now, though."
"Oh." I sigh down at the pile. "You're right. I retract all statements about your perceived niceties."
He rolls his shoulders and discards his mug on the desk. "Glad to hear it."
"Why?" I ask the clothes.
The question is deeper.
Why me?
Why now?
Why does anyone ever go running voluntarily?
The annoyingly athletic man to my left snorts. "Well, it's my duty to make sure you don't melt into my couch. Plus, we have a bet to settle once you're feeling better." His charcoal eyes find mine. "Strawberry ice cream and sprinkles, if I recall."
Fuck. Me.
"How could I forget?" I sip my coffee.
My stiff limbs protest the idea of anything more strenuous than sitting here, sipping my breakfast. But the idea of going outside is growing on me. The smell of the earth, the warmth of sunlight, I didn't realize how much I craved the outdoors until I had been deprived of it for a week.
I cut my gaze in his direction. "Let's call it running gear instead."
He tsks.
"Don't baby me, Professor," I warn.
He sucks his teeth.
"It's been a week," I push.
He looks pointedly at my back.
"You don't get to decide this," I tell him. "I decide when I'm ready."
He sighs, and we both know he's going to lose this debate. "Are you sure?"
"Don't go easy on me, Xade."
He looks at me in that oh-so-professorial way of his. "I'm worried about you, Avalynne."
"And I appreciate that, I really do, but I don't want to be coddled. I want to feel normal. I want to remember what being outside feels like. And I want to enjoy my one little slice of freedom in this place. I want my life back."
He frowns at me.
"I'm up for it." I leave the rest unspoken, the words that spell out that my wounds are healed, even if the scars are still fresh.
"If you need to take a break …" he begins.
"And let you win?" I huff. "No, thanks."
He blinks at me. "I'm serious, Avalynne."
"As am I. I'll tell you if it's too much, okay?"
"Fine. Then get dressed." He stands abruptly and strides toward the door.
"Now?" I glance at the clock on the wall above the mantle. "It's barely five thirty in the morning. It's practically a sin to be up at this hour."
Thatcher clucks his tongue, his hand curled around the open door.
"Life's full of sins, Avalynne," he tells me. "Let's hope this is just our first of the day."
I swear on everything, it's too early for whatever fire he just sparked in my belly.
He shuts the door behind him, and I force my stiff limbs to move.
I shrug off the blanket, stand, and peel off my habit before slipping on the joggers and long-sleeve shirt.
Both are too big, and I roll up the lip of the joggers and knot the shirt at my middle.
I finish dressing, sliding on my socks and shoes, before calling for Thatcher.
He enters, eyeing me with a half-frown as his gaze settles on my footwear. "We'll have to find you running shoes, but they'll do for now."
He gestures with one hand for me to follow him.
"I don't need running shoes to win against you." I tease.
He rolls his eyes. "So confident for someone so short."
"And so overly optimistic for someone so old."
He snorts and shakes his head.
I follow him into the hallway and match his brisk pace downstairs and into the cloister. As we start outside, the first hint of dawn crests the horizon, sifting through the frost-laden trees. Wintry air slices my cheeks, and I instantly miss the warmth of his office.
"We better get moving, or we're going to freeze to death," Xade drawls.
I cross my arms, hugging myself as my teeth worry my lower lip.
"What happened last night?" I ask him as we walk. "Did you speak with Reverend Mother?"
Something in his jaw ticks as he stares straight ahead.
"We exchanged words," he answers, his upper lip curling over his teeth. "She will not touch you again, and you will not return to the basement. Your belongings have been moved, permanently, to the upper levels."
Instinctively, I rub my back, massaging the scars there. Xade's gaze slides to me, and something flits across his features—a grimace, maybe—before he shutters it. Once we're outside the cloister, he begins to stretch. I mirror him.
"So, where am I supposed to sleep now?" My words come out with a yawn.
"Next to me. "
What did he just say?
His statement lands squarely in my chest. I manage a bark of laughter, but it dissolves and dies into an awkward cough after he glances over at me with that same enigmatic expression I can't decipher.
I look away first.
I can't imagine kissing him, let alone sleeping with him, yet he said …
I'm going to suffocate.
"As fun as this is," he remarks dryly, side-eyeing me, "please keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, Avalynne. I meant in the room next to mine."
God have mercy and end me now.
Mortified, I follow him along the stone path. Snow flutters down from the dove-gray skies, spotting the ground. Wordlessly, he tugs a hairband from his wrist and ties his hair. He offers me one as well, and I follow suit.
"Ready to pony up that bet?" he asks as we continue to walk and stretch. "Didn't you say something about ice cream if you won?" He waves the idea away with one hand. "Nevermind. You aren't going to win."
"First of all," I retort, peering over at him as I touch my toes, "I am going to win. But in the unlikely event that I don't, what was your wager?"
The corners of his mouth curve into a catlike smirk as he stands. "Oh, mine's remained the same."
I huff out a breath, trying to remember. Then I stand, too. "You didn't confirm anything, Professor. You said, and I quote, I'm sure I can think of something I'm dying to try."
Amusement gleams in his eyes like I've said something funny. I don't get the joke.
He deflects.
"Let me take you to the mainland if I win." His words hang in the crisp morning air.
The mainland.
Away from here.
"I thought I couldn't leave Saint Margaret's." I cough on the words. "My grandfather said—"
He waves dismissively. "Well, he isn't going to find out, is he?"
"Okay," I agree, a smile tugging at my lips. "It's a deal, then. Wait. Can I change my wager? I want to go to the mainland and get ice cream."
He laughs. "Deal."
The wind gusts, sending more snow drifting from the tops of trees to the ground. Xade points ahead of us at a winding trail that disappears into the surrounding thicket.
"This way," he tells me. "Follow the trail. First back to the convent wins."
Then he starts running, and I scramble like a newborn giraffe trying to catch up. At first, we follow the trail side by side, and I'm hyperaware of everything the man does—the steady ebb and flow of his breath, the even cadence of his steps, the way he looks straight ahead as he runs.
If he's affected by me, though, he doesn't show it. He strides effortlessly, gliding over the path rather than on it. Meanwhile, my thighs, my lungs, my, well, everything burns.
We race for what feels like miles until cold sweat slicks the back of my neck, and I think we must be nearing the finish line because if we aren't, then I'm going to be finished.
Sidling next to me, Xade trips and then slows before he stops running. He bends over, his hands finding his knees.
Oh no?
Hold on. This is my chance.
I'm going to win!
I dig deep, willing my feet to get it together.
I sprint around a turn, nearly skidding off the trail as I do, and push myself even faster, my arms pumping frantically at my sides.
Finally, I spot the end of the trail and the convent looming ahead.
Triumph sparks in my chest as I focus on the stony, snow-shrouded spires piercing the sky.
Come on! I think. Just a bit farther.
My lungs sear behind my ribs. Still, I grit my teeth and propel myself even faster.
I can taste victory, and it's strawberry ice cream and sprinkles.
Almost there …
A presence materializes beside me.
What the … Xade.
Of course it's him, effortlessly closing the distance. I surge ahead, but my legs are soft noodles beneath me. He takes the lead, looking positively un-winded as he wins and slows to a stop at the front of the convent.
I curse the loss before I skid on slick gravel and nearly fall. Before I can hit the ground, Xade is there, catching me. His arms wrap around my waist as we collide.
"You okay?" he asks, teetering back on his heels with a rumbling chuckle.
"I'm okay," I reply, breathless.
"Go with me to the mainland today," he murmurs, lifting my chin with his thumb as snow dusts his dark hair.
"Today? Like a date?" The thought is almost laughable.
"Yes," he answers, dusting snowflakes from my cheeks. "Exactly."
A shaky laugh escapes me.
"I didn't imagine you as the dating type," I manage.
His expression hardens. "Please don't tell me what I am when it comes to you."
A twinge of guilt burrows into my gut.
"Okay." My throat is tight. "A date then."
He exhales and steps away from me, freeing his hair from his ponytail and snapping the tie around his wrist.
"We should go change," he tells me, starting toward the convent. "Then we can go."
"What about classes?" I ask, following him.
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Class is canceled."
"You can't just do that whenever you feel like it."
He winks. "Watch me."
That wink. That smile. My bones melt.
We walk beneath the stone portico and stomp off the slush clinging to our shoes before we enter the convent. Xade steers me up a flight of stairs and down another long corridor before he stops, pressing his palm against a closed door.
"Your new room," he tells me. "I'm just down the hall on the right." He points behind his shoulder. "Come get me when you're ready."
"Wait," I say as he turns to leave. "Don't I get a consolation prize or something?"
He turns around and arches an eyebrow at me before his gaze falls to a lock of hair loose from my ponytail. Slowly, almost methodically, he steps forward, reaches out, and hesitates—as though he's holding himself back—before he gives in and brushes my hair behind my ear.
"There are no participation awards in my world, Avalynne." His fingertips hover over my hair. "You're either in or out, but I desperately hope you're in."
My lungs forget their purpose, and I drown in the moment, lost to it.
There's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead disappearing into his hair.
And that familiar scent that he always brings, well-loved paper with a bite.
And the snow dust melting on his broad shoulders.
He breaks it with a single step away from me.
"Now, get dressed," he says before he starts away again. "We have a date."
As he walks away, I slip inside my new room, closing the door behind me, and back against it. For a long minute, I let it hold me upright.