Chapter 18 Deirdre #2
A familiar lump in my throat threatens again. It still feels so foreign to be loved the way Kieran does, but since August, I have grown into so much more than the sad, pathetic shell that I was.
Giving in to her, I peek at her through my fingers, whispering, “He…he stopped before I wanted him to. Said I needed rest. What kind of shit is that?” I giggle.
Claire’s grin morphs into something warmer. She leans closer, eyes twinkling, “That’s a man who knows the difference between wanting you and cherishing you. He knows how far to push you, more than you know how. You’re going to end up breaking another rib if he doesn’t put up some restraint.”
I groan and shove her lightly, but I can’t keep the smile from tugging at my lips.
She flops onto her back dramatically, arms spread wide. “Lucky. Meanwhile, I’ll just be over here having a hot date with instant ramen while you’re out there being worshipped like the queen you are.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You still have Gabe. I know the focus has been on me lately, but you two are okay, right?”
“Something’s changed about him since everything happened,” her voice drops to almost a whisper. “I think almost losing the person he considers a little sister really affected him. I mean, we were all walking ghosts. Maybe now that things are getting back to normal, he will perk back up.”
I nudge her shoulder. “Don’t give up on that man. He’s looked at you with stars in his eyes since the moment we walked into that club.”
“Enough about me”—she pauses and props herself up on her elbows—“promise me something, though?”
“What?”
“Don’t push yourself too hard. I know you want normal, I know you want him—but you’re still healing. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, especially him.”
Her words sink in, steady and grounding. I nod. “I promise.”
She grins again, satisfied, and then wiggles her brows. “Good. Now spill. Every. Single. Detail.”
I groan, flopping backward into my pillow. “You’re relentless.”
“Damn right.”
Claire wakes me up with all the grace of a caffeinated toddler. One second, I’m blissfully cocooned in blankets, the next she’s yanking the covers off me with a squeal.
“D! Come on, it’s Sunday. Our last free day before the chaos starts. Starbucks is calling.”
I groan, burying my face in the pillow. “Claire, we stayed up until two watching Grey’s Anatomy. My body is begging me for another five hours.”
We took Vincent’s day off very seriously. As in, we stayed in the dorm room, ate as much takeout as we could stomach, and drank wine while keeping up with tradition and binging one of our mutually favorite shows.
I am currently paying for that in lack of sleep and a slight wine hangover.
She laughs, entirely unbothered, and smacks my hip with one of the pillows I lost in the ambush.
“Nope. You’re getting up, you’re putting on something cute, and you’re walking across the courtyard with me like a functioning human being.”
Her insistence finally wins, as it always does, and twenty minutes later we’re bundled in coats and scarves, stepping out into the crisp January air. The cold slaps my cheeks immediately, blunt and bracing, and I tug my scarf tighter around my neck.
The courtyard sprawls wide before us, framed by stone buildings that look as if they’ve been standing for centuries, the dead ivy still clinging stubbornly to gray walls even in winter. The Gothic spires pierce the pale sky, their shadows stretched long over the cobblestone pathways.
Students are starting to trickle out of dorms, some dragging suitcases behind them, others balancing cups of coffee and crumpled schedules. It’s that quiet, anticipatory buzz that always settles before a semester begins—everyone returning from winter break, remembering how to belong here again.
Claire hooks her arm through mine, practically skipping as we pass clusters of students reuniting with hugs and laughter.
A few have their noses buried in syllabi already, muttering about reading lists.
I can not wait to see the look on the incoming freshmen’s faces tomorrow as they enter Kieran’s class.
I am sure he is sitting in his study now, drumming up new ways to torture his students.
“See?” she says, her breath clouding in the air. “This is why I wanted you up. Pre first-day-of-school energy. You can’t waste it hiding in bed.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“As we have established,” she shoots back, tugging me toward the glowing Starbucks sign at the corner of the quad. The smell of roasted beans drifts out as the door opens for another group of students, warmth spilling into the cold morning.
I shiver, quickening my pace, but there’s something comforting about walking across the courtyard like this—surrounded by history, anticipation, and the low hum of students returning to the rhythm of campus life.
Claire squeezes my arm. “Caffeine, cozy corner, and planning out our semester. It’s tradition. You can thank me later.”
And despite the ache in my bones from too little sleep, I can’t deny it feels good to be back here, alive, and drinking in the moment.
The line snakes almost to the door, filled with bleary-eyed students dragging themselves back to reality.
The hum of the espresso machines, chatter, and the faint smell of burnt caramel fill the air.
Claire and I shuffle forward. She looks way too chipper for someone who stayed up until nearly two in the morning with me.
“So,” she says, dragging out the word like she’s settling into a story she’s been dying to tell. “How’s the second day post fuck soreness? You’re still waddling like a baby giraffe.”
My head snaps toward her, scandalized. “Claire!”
She grins wickedly, lowering her voice. “What? It’s cute. The way you winced going down the dorm stairs earlier? Hilarious.”
“I’m not wincing,” I hiss, though I definitely have to shift my weight awkwardly when my thighs ache in protest.
“Oh, honey, you’re glowing like you’ve been plugged into the Christmas tree lights all weekend.”
I bury my face in the scarf around my neck. “Remind me again why you’re my best friend? Remember last semester, when you asked if I hated you? Yeah, I am starting to rethink my answer.” I elbow her in the side.
“Hate me? Ha. That’s impossible. At this point, I am going to be your future child’s aunt.
You can’t get rid of me.” She waves her hand dramatically toward the menu board.
“Lemme guess, you are going to order a venti vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso, which translates into ‘Please, God, I was thoroughly compromised by my ridiculously hot professor and need caffeine to survive the horny flashbacks.’”
I nearly choke on my own laughter. “Oh my God, keep your voice down!”
The guy in front of us glances over his shoulder curiously. I elbow Claire, harder this time, who just smirks like the devil and whispers, “Bet he’s jealous.”
When we finally make it to the counter, she orders her usual black, cold brew with extra espresso and sweet cream cold foam, like she’s immune to sleep. I mutter my latte order, cheeks still pink.
Waiting for our order, my mind wanders back to Friday night.
The tension between Kieran and me finally broke like a fucking dam, and every emotion we have felt the last six weeks came crashing down like waves.
I pull my phone out of my coat pocket and send a quick text while Claire is ranting about classes or my relationship, with her, who really knows.
Deirdre: So, I’m thinking of a schoolgirl outfit, Monday. What do you say, Professor?
Kieran: Play with fire, Miss Ravencroft. I dare you.
Smiling to myself, I replace my phone and attempt to act like I know what Claire is rambling on about.
Once we’ve snagged a booth by the window, Claire props her chin in her hand, watching me stir my straw into my cup. “You know, you’re lucky. Most people come back from break dreading syllabus week. Meanwhile, you’re out here starting the spring semester all…satisfied and eager for extra credit.”
I nearly spit out my drink all over the table. “Claire!”
Her eyes beam at me as she lifts her cup and takes a sip of her drink.
I press a hand over my face, groaning. “You are never going to let this hot professor fantasy thing go, are you?”
“Not until finals, maybe,” she teases. Then her expression softens, her voice lowering. “Seriously, D, for the first time since I’ve met you, you’re not just surviving, you’re actually living. He makes you light up, and I like seeing that.”
The sincerity in her tone makes me pause. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Yeah. He does.”
Claire leans back in her chair, grinning. “Good. Now, did you see the syllabus for Professor Tipton? We’ve got a mountain of reading to do, and I’m not about to suffer through it alone.
“Alone? You mean you want my SparkNotes version.”
She holds her hands up. “Look, I am just trying to get a jump start on the semester, like a responsible adult.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Responsible adults who close out nightclubs and gossip in Starbucks the next morning.”
“Exactly.” She raises her cup like a toast. “To new semesters and fresh starts.”
I tap mine against hers, as if we were clinking champagne glasses, warmth filling me as I sip. For the first time in months, the idea of moving forward doesn’t feel impossible.