Chapter 8 Names in the Dark #2
A flash of something that looked almost like desire flashed over his face before he hid it behind another sip of coffee. The moment stretched, charged with something neither of us wanted to name.
Finally, I broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“This.” I gestured around at the apartment, the breakfast, and the freshly-washed clothes. “You didn’t have to do any of this. I’m just a student in your class.”
“You’re not just anything, Melanie,” he said quietly.
The way he said my name made my chest ache.
“Then what am I?”
For a heartbeat, he seemed like he wasn’t going to answer. His eyes searched mine with an intensity that stole my breath. Then he looked away, that careful mask sliding back into place.
“Someone who needed help,” he stated. “And someone I’m glad I found before something worse happened.”
It wasn’t the whole truth. I could feel that. But it was all he was willing to give me right now.
“Thank you,” I said.
His hand moved across the counter, stopping just short of touching mine. “Anytime.”
The vulnerability of the moment was broken by Vex, who’d apparently decided the conversation had gone on long enough without anyone dropping food. She put her paws on my leg and stared at me with soulful amber eyes.
“She’s shameless,” Kian rolled his eyes. “Don’t fall for it.”
“But she’s so cute.”
“She’s a con artist. She already had breakfast.”
I slipped her a tiny piece of cheese anyway. Her tail wagged so hard her whole back end wiggled.
“You’re going to regret that,” Kian warned. “She’ll never leave you alone now.”
“Worth it.”
He shook his head, but he was smiling that soft, genuine smile I was quickly becoming addicted to.
I finished breakfast, and we cleaned up together in easy silence. Then reality crept back in.
“I should probably get you back,” Kian said, glancing at the clock. “Before your roommates send out a search party.”
“Yeah.” I pulled out my phone and winced. “Pretty sure Luz is already planning my murder.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Probably. She’s very protective.”
“Good.” He grabbed his keys from the counter. “You should have people looking out for you.”
The rain had eased to a fine drizzle by the time we got to Kian’s car. His SUV was sleek and dark, unsurprisingly spotless inside. The leather seats gave off a faint, warm, earthy scent.
Then Kian turned the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. Along with the unmistakable, sultry saxophone riff of Careless Whisper. I blinked. He went absolutely rigid.
In one swift motion, he jabbed the dial, killing the sound like he’d been caught committing a crime.
Silence.
Beautiful, mortifying silence.
My lips twitched. “Was that—”
“No.”
“That was definitely—”
“It was the radio,” he said too quickly, his ears going pink. “Random station. Static. It happens.”
“Uh-huh.” I bit down hard on my lower lip, trying not to laugh. “So you just happen to listen to smooth ‘80s heartbreak anthems on your morning commute?”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “No.”
“Really? Because it seemed like it was already queued up and everything.”
“Coincidence.”
“Right. A coincidence.” I leaned back against the leather seat, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “You know, I’m never going to be able to picture you without that saxophone playing in the background now.”
He groaned, rolling his eyes. “I should have let you walk home.”
“Too late. The damage is done.” I giggled. “Professor Ward, secret George Michael fan. This is going in my mental file.”
“You have a mental file on me?”
“Oh, absolutely. It’s growing by the minute.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Should I be concerned?”
“Terrified.”
He huffed something that might have been a laugh, and just like that, the tension dissolved. No longer the untouchable professor anymore, just a person with embarrassing music taste and ears that turned pink when he was flustered.
And gods help me, that made him even more attractive.
We drove in easy silence for a while, the rhythm of the windshield wipers almost hypnotic.
Eventually, Kian broke it.
“So what’s the plan after graduation?”
I glanced at him. “That’s abrupt.”
“Just curious. You’re in your final year, right? You must have thought about it.”
I absentmindedly toyed with my sleeve. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve always liked the idea of opening a holistic practice, somewhere people could come for herbs, energy work, maybe workshops.
But lately…” I trailed off, watching rain blur the world outside.
“I’ve felt like something’s pulling me in a different direction. ”
His hands tightened on the wheel, just slightly. “What direction?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know.” I laughed, but it came out hollow. “It’s like there’s something I’m supposed to do, supposed to be, but I can’t remember what. Does that sound insane?”
“No,” he murmured. “It sounds like you’re awakening.”
The phrase sent a chill down my spine. “Awakening to what?”
He was quiet for a long moment, brow furrowed like he was wrestling with what to say. Finally: “You’ll know when you’re ready.”
I frowned. “That’s extremely cryptic.”
“I’m a cryptic kind of guy.”
“So you keep saying.” I studied the way shadows played across his face. “What about you? How long have you been teaching?”
“Here? Eight years. Before that, I taught abroad. Private seminars mostly. Guest lectures.”
“So… forever.”
His lips quirked. “Something like that.”
“You don’t look old enough to have been doing this that long.”
“Good genes.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
The deflection should have annoyed me. Instead, it just made me more curious. Everything about him reminded me of a door left ajar; I could see light through the crack, but not enough to know what was on the other side.
“I listen to your podcast, by the way,” he said, changing the subject.
My brain short-circuited. “You… what?”
“Your podcast. I’ve listened to a few episodes.”
Heat flooded my face. “Oh Gods, when?”
“Recently. You’re very good.”
“I—thank you?” I was too flustered to form proper sentences. “I didn’t think you would listen to it.”
He tilted his head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. You’re all sophisticated, and it’s not like…” I trailed off, realizing how that sounded. “I mean, it has a decent following. About a hundred thousand listeners now, but I didn’t think it would be on your radar.”
“A hundred thousand is more than decent,” he said. “That’s substantial reach. You should be proud of that.”
“I am, I guess. It’s surreal sometimes.” I picked at the edge of my coffee mug.
“You make complicated things accessible,” he continued. “And you’re honest about your own struggles. That takes courage.”
I stared at my hands, unable to look at him. “I just… I don’t know. I started it as a class project in my freshman year. I keep it going in memory of my Aunt Reenie.” My throat tightened. “She died seven years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I touched the small quill tattooed behind my ear, in honor of her.
The car pulled up to my dorm, and through the rain-streaked windshield, I could see two girls from class perched on a bench. One raised her phone, clearly taking a picture. The other’s thumbs flew across her screen.
My stomach dropped. “Oh no.”
Kian followed my gaze, his expression darkening. “Friends of yours?”
“Classmates.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “This is going to be all over campus in an hour.”
He was quiet for a moment, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Melanie, if this causes problems for you—”
“It’s fine.” I forced a smile. “I knew what it would look like when I stayed over. I just…” I glanced at him, and the concern in his eyes nearly broke me. “I don’t regret it.”
Gratitude, guilt, and longing flickered across his face in equal measure.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with gossip because of me,” he frowned.
“I’m an adult. I made a choice.” I straightened my shoulders. “I can handle whatever comes.”
He studied me for a long moment, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. His number was written on it in neat, precise handwriting.
“If things get difficult,” he said, holding it out, “if you need someone to talk to about anything—the project, the gossip, whatever—you can call me.”
Our fingers brushed as I took it, and a dizzying warmth filled me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to thank me, Melanie.” His eyes held mine for a long moment. Then he glanced toward the bench where the girls were still watching, phones raised like weapons.
“You should go,” he said gently. “Before they get more material.”
I nodded and opened the door. Cold morning air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain and wet concrete.
“Melanie?”
I paused, half in, half out of the car
“What you’re feeling… the pull, the sense that something’s coming—” He hesitated. “Trust it. Even when it doesn’t make sense. Especially then.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant, but the girls on the bench were watching, documenting this moment to feed the gossip machine.
So instead, I just nodded and stepped out into the world. The card burned in my hand as I walked toward the building, and I forced myself not to look back.
Even though every cell in my body wanted to.