Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Alexia
If I thought Rhys punching Craig at the picnic was a low point, I'm about to be sorely mistaken.
I get to campus early two days after the picnic. Leon's back in the ward, recovering. I've been staying at Aria's beach house, and while I haven't had to worry about avoiding the guys, I've had plenty of quiet to worry about what's waiting for me at work.
The department's quiet at this hour, just the cleaners and a few PhD stragglers who never really left the library the night before, and for about twenty minutes I let myself believe today might just be an ordinary day. Assignments to hand back. Concepts to teach.
Then I see the group gathered outside the tutorial room, and the way they all stop talking the second they clock me coming down the corridor spells something very not good.
Craig's already inside when I open the door, arms crossed, standing a little too close to Professor Pollack's shoulder, and something about the set of his jaw tells me he's had all weekend to rehearse for this.
“I'm not co-teaching with her.” He says it to Professor Pollack, not even acknowledging I'm in the room except for that.
“Not until this is sorted. She's been telling half the department she was instrumental in my research.
Now she wants joint credit on it. That's not just a colleague dispute, that's theft.”
“That's not what happened.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I never said any of that!”
“Funny, because three separate people have come to me with the same story.”
“Then those three people are lying, or misquoting me, or—” I know I shouldn't say this, but fuck it. “They don't even exist.” Yup. I said it. “Craig, this is insane. All I ever asked for was to be able to list you as a reference. That's it.”
He sniffs. “That's not how I remember it.”
“Then your memory's rewritten itself very conveniently. Wouldn't be the first time, would it?”
His jaw tightens. Something ugly flickers behind his eyes before he smooths it back into wounded professionalism. “This isn't about that.”
“Isn't it?”
“Alexia.” Pollack's voice cuts across both of us, all semblance of the understanding mentor gone. “This is exactly the kind of exchange I need you both to not have in front of me. It only makes things look worse.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Worse than what, Professor? I genuinely haven't done anything.”
He sighs, looking tired. “That's what the review is for. I need you to understand, this complaint isn't nothing. I have to take it seriously.”
“Do you believe him, sir?” I can hear my own voice starting to shake. “I know you have to go through with the review, but, do you believe I would do this?”
His shoulders drop and he looks away. “I can't answer that.”
I sigh, bitter disappointment coating my tongue. “You didn't have to.”
Craig, behind him, has the audacity to actually smile.
“This is a serious accusation, Alexia.” Pollack doesn't quite meet my eyes either, and that scares me more than Craig's face does. “I need to look into it properly.”
I don't get the chance to say anything else, because that's when my phone buzzes, a text from Graham, from the fellowship applications office.
Heads up, someone's sent an anonymous email about you. Also something about “conduct unbecoming.” It's being investigated. I'm sorry. It doesn't look good. Thought you should hear it from me first.
I read it twice. Then a third time, waiting for the words to rearrange themselves into something less catastrophic. They don't.
“Professor Pollack.” My mouth's gone dry. “Do you know anything about someone sending an anonymous report about me to the fellowship's applications office?”
His expression shifts, and I know before he says a word — this conversation with Craig was only ever the first half of what he'd called me in for.
He doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. “I'm sorry, Alexia. You're being placed on suspension while the complaint is reviewed. It's procedure. It doesn't mean anything's been decided.”
I look around the still-empty classroom, knowing I'm about to have to walk past all of them when I step outside.
“My class—”
“We have a replacement.”
“Oh.”
He purses his lips, like he's deciding whether to tell me what else is on his mind, then pushes through anyway.
“I should tell you that your employee counsellor, Rhys Pham—”
Just the sound of his name has me almost gasping for air. “Yes?”
“Has also been suspended. Effective this morning,” Pollack says carefully, as if everyone is being recorded.
“Assaulting a colleague, in front of the entire department, tends to get noticed rather quickly.
Especially when it's not the first time he's gone after Craig.
There was a formal complaint about a month ago — a threat, apparently, nothing physical at the time, but it's on file. This is being treated as an escalation. A pattern.”
Oh my fucking god.
Rhys is leaning against his car when I get to mine, waiting. How he managed to find my car and get the park next to it should surprise me. It doesn't.
My heart squeezes in my chest. I haven't spoken a word to any of them since the hospital — they stayed until Leon was cleared, but I kept my distance, and they respected it. Now he's here.
“You threatened him?” I don't bother with hello.
“Yes.”
“Why would you—”
“Because after he left you at the bar while there was an active attack going on, I needed to make something very fucking clear to him.” His voice is even, controlled.
“That he was not to come near you again.
Not outside of work. If he couldn't be trusted to keep you safe on a date, he doesn't get to be anywhere near you, full stop.”
We weren't on a date, I think about yelling, but honestly, semantics.
“And now you've punched him. In front of eighty people. And you're suspended.”
He shrugs. “I knew it was going to happen even before I punched him.” I expect him to look angry, but he almost smiles. “Turns out saying it once wasn't enough to make it stick. He wanted to learn the hard way.”
“Rhys—”
“If you think I regret it. Even for a second.” He straightens off the car, and there's nothing soft in his face now.
“You don't know me. You don't know any of us.
You can say it's over between us as many times as you need to say it.
We'll be ready when you're ready to come back to actually sort this out. All of it.”
I don't have anything to say to that.
“Are you right to drive,” he says instead, gentler now, “or do you need a lift to Aria's?”
I frown. “How do you even know that's where I'm staying?”
He almost laughs, except there's nothing light in his eyes. “You think I'd threaten and then punch a colleague over not taking care of you, and then not know myself where you're sleeping at night?”
I don't have an answer for that either.
“Get some sleep, Alexi.” He's already turning back to his own car. “I'm not going to be happy if next time I see you, it looks like you're not taking care of yourself.”
Aria's beach house is like someone reached into my brain and built the perfect place to disappear to. It's cosy and bright and smells divine.
I'm three glasses deep into a bottle of sav blanc before I'm ready to tell Aria and Betty what happened today. Unfortunately, after three glasses, I'm not making the best sense.
“My head is just — it's so confused.” I stare at them through the glass.
“I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I want.
I don't know if what I did was right or if I've just blown up every good thing I ever had.” I tip the glass into my mouth.
“Also, Craig Pedler is a pile of stinky rhino doodoo.”
“Firstly, yes, he is. And secondly” — Aria's hand finds mine on the couch — “you take all the time you need to work out what you actually need, not what you think you're supposed to want. These are massive decisions, Alexia. Nobody expects you to have it sorted in a few days.”
“Speak for yourself, bestie,” Betty says, sprawled sideways across an armchair with her wine glass balanced on her stomach. “I expect her decision by tomorrow night. I've got a bet running.”
“With who?” I ask. “Can I get in on it?”
“With myself. It's that you can decide all you want, but those men are not going anywhere.” She points her glass at the enormous bed visible through the open bedroom door.
“Now, look at that custom, ginormous bed. That is a pyjama-party bed just waiting to happen. We are sleeping on the Mothership tonight, ladies, and there will be face masks.”
“The Mothership?” I ask, not sure if I heard her correctly or if I've had one too many glasses of wine.
Aria rolls her eyes. “It's what the guys call our bed. Custom made, big enough to fit a small village. There were... issues... in the beginning, over the sleeping arrangements.”
I rest my chin on my hand. “Why didn't we ever think of doing that? We just had a Google calendar. Sleep was soft pink. Other... nocturnal activities was purple.”
Betty rolls onto the ground, groaning as she tips her wine into her mouth. “How did I end up having the most boring sex life between the three of us?”
Aria and I glance at each other and fall into a fit of giggles.
I go back to the house the next morning for a change of clothes, and the second my key's in the door I realise how much I've been dreading this.
“Hello?” I call it into the hallway, half hoping, half not sure what I'm hoping for. “Anyone home?”
Nothing. The kitchen's empty. The lounge room's empty. I stand in the middle of the silence for a second, realising there isn't going to be an answer to my call.
“Yeah,” I say, to no one. “I guess that's something I'm just going to have to get used to.”