Chapter 13
OFF LIMITS
JAHLANI
The funny thing is, Jahlani knows how inflexible Professor Jackson is and she still finds herself in his office the following morning. He outright refuses to transfer Roman to his group.
During the next lecture, she feels his presence more than ever. Her skin heats, and when he looks at her, they hold eye contact for a strangling amount of time. At the end of the lecture, as everyone files out, the hairs on her neck stand up.
She watches him making his way toward her, and her mouth dries. She remains rooted when several students suddenly crowd her with questions. She inhales, pulling her eyes from his.
From her periphery, she sees his jaw tick, and his hand tighten on the strap of his bag before he shakes his head, moving out of the auditorium. She lets out a slow exhale, turning her attention to the girl in front of her.
It’s suffocating, really.
The hold that he has over her. His words. The guilt gnawing at her because she exploded on the wrong person. She exits the room, feeling more exhausted than usual, when her phone vibrates with a message from her cousin, Trent, inviting her out for drinks.
She gets ready to decline when he calls her name. Her eyes shut, and her shoulders tense when he moves in front of her. His eyes lack their usual lightness, dark shadows resting underneath his eyes, and his mouth is set in a firm line.
Jahlani scratches her forehead, letting out a deep exhale as she looks at the cracked pavement.
“Roman, I—”
“I have a daughter,” he says, his voice hoarse. Jahlani’s eyes meet his light green ones, her breath hitching.
Daughter. He has a daughter.
“What?” she asks, stepping back slightly to look at him.
“I have a daughter. Her name is Lucy. She’s two. She’s my everything—and she’s sick,” he says, his eyes darting away momentarily before meeting hers again.
He pauses, inhaling deeply, before shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I can’t help her. At least, not in the way I want to, so I’m in school to get my degree to make a better life for her.
So, sometimes I’m late because I’m up at night with her or have to work, and sometimes I’m on my phone because I’m checking to make sure she’s okay.
And sometimes I say ridiculous things around you because I’m attracted to you and you’re off limits,” he says, stepping closer.
“You’re off limits, and it makes me crazy. ”
She makes him crazy. His daughter is sick.
She was wrong about him.
He’s not like them.
Jahlani shakes her head, her skin flushing hot, feeling her chest start to pinch with tension. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I tried,” he says, his voice even lower.
“You assumed the worst and wouldn’t let me get a word in.
” He exhales, rubbing his jaw. “I don’t go around broadcasting my personal life.
I don’t tell people, because it’s a hard conversation to have.
I don’t want her to be used as an excuse.
I was wrong. I should have been on time.
I should have been ready. My daughter being sick isn’t enough to excuse my actions and for that, I’m sorry. I have to own up to that, right?”
Wrong. So fucking wrong.
Jahlani’s fists ball and she feels her stomach roll. “But this is—this is—I—”
Beyond anything she could have fathomed. Life-altering, game-changing information.
Because he’s been genuine this whole time.
She assumed that he was another lazy, well-off student using his parents’ money to get by.
Using her to get by.
She steps forward, the warmth of his fingertips brushing against hers, getting ready to say the most useful phrase known to mankind, but she hopes will help temporarily soothe the wound she had opened with him.
“Roman, I had no idea. I’m sor—”
“Is everything alright here?”
Jahlani takes several steps back, turning to face Professor Jackson before looking back at Roman with wide eyes. His entire body stiffens, but his eyes remain fixed on Jahlani’s until Professor Jackson is next to her, briefcase clutched to his side, a stoic look over his features.
Roman’s eyes slide slowly to Professor Jackson, and he gives him a tight-lipped nod.
“Just had a question for Jahlani, Professor.”
Professor Jackson lets out something between a huff and a grunt, folding his arms across his chest.
“Next time, ask during the lecture and not after class is over when Ms. Jones is trying to get home, Mr. Hayes.”
Jahlani’s stomach plummets at his cold tone, and she opens her mouth to say something, but Roman beats her to it, his gaze sliding back to hers.
“Right. My apologies. It won’t happen again. Have a good night, Jahlani.”
Jahlani purses her lips, watching his figure retreat down the pathway until he becomes a blur. She turns to face Professor Jackson, opening her mouth, then closing it when he arches a brow. She looks in the direction that Roman just walked off in before looking down at her watch.
She might be able to catch up with him.
“I have to catch my shuttle. Have a good night, Professor Jackson.”
She doesn’t give him a chance to reply, a light jog in her steps as she moves toward the student parking lot. She isn’t even sure what car to look for. She isn’t sure about a lot of things most days, least of all Roman Hayes.
I have a daughter. She’s sick.
Jahlani is panting by the time she makes it to the parking lot. Pressing a hand to her chest, she draws in ragged breaths.
“Shit.”
Her phone vibrates in her hand again and she sees it’s another text from Trent. She looks once more around the parking lot before walking toward the shuttle, deciding to take Trent up on his offer—Roman’s truth ringing sharp in her ears.
The bar Trent drags her to is an edgy, industrial space nestled in the heart of downtown.
The interior is an eclectic blend of raw materials—exposed steel beams stretch across the high ceiling, and concrete floors are polished to a sleek, reflective finish.
The walls are a mix of red-painted brick and matte gray panels, giving the space a modern yet gritty vibe.
Large, black metal light fixtures with exposed bulbs dangle overhead, casting a warm, amber glow across the room.
The bar itself is a striking centerpiece.
Long, blackened steel with a glossy finish that contrasts with the matte gray countertop.
Behind it, rows of neatly arranged bottles glow under soft, ambient lights, while bartenders move with practiced precision.
Bottles being lifted, ice rattling as it’s poured into glasses, and the quick, sharp snap of cocktail shakers as they’re flipped and shaken with added flair, blend with the soft pulse of music and chatter.
It’s a nice change of pace for her, and she finds her shoulders relaxing as they slip further inside. Trent guides her to a booth in the back before leaving to grab drinks.
“Jahlani.”
She looks up at the sound of her name. “Teryn, hey.”
Teryn’s red locs cascade in loose curls down her back, the light blue fabric of her dress flowing effortlessly over her shoulders. She tosses her bag onto the table and slides into the booth across from Jahlani with a relaxed grace.
“Didn’t think you’d be here,” Teryn says, her voice casual but laced with curiosity. “I thought you hated bars.”
“Yeah, well, Trent invited me,” Jahlani replies, her eyes scanning the room for him. “I needed to get out of the house.”
Teryn nods and starts to pick at the chipping nail polish on her fingertips. Low music filters through the speakers, but it’s not enough to fill the growing silence between them. Looking around the space, she sees couples dancing, talking, and laughing.
Unburdening themselves.
Which is what she came here to do, not sit here in uncomfortable silence with her estranged cousin. So, fuck this, she thinks.
“Teryn—”
“Jahlani—”
They both meet each other’s eyes and Teryn gestures for her to continue.
Jahlani sighs, straightening in the booth. “Look, I’m sorry about everything. I feel terrible about not reaching out.”
Jahlani’s mind floats to four years ago, when she finally left. She didn’t tell anyone that she had no intention of returning. It would only take her two years, she told them.
Teryn tilts her head. “Did we do something to you all those years ago?”
Jahlani thinks about how she wishes she had the ability to go back in time. If she could, she knows that this is something she would do over in a heartbeat. She would learn to open her mouth and speak up. To communicate.
To let Teryn know that she was having a hard time with her parents and didn’t know how to do anything but leave.
Jahlani shakes her head. “No, God no. It’s complicated.
It’s mostly to do with my parents and everything that happened after my dad left.
” She extends her hand across the table, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutches Teryn’s tattooed wrist. She looks into the dark tint of her eyes. “You did nothing wrong.”
Teryn hesitates, then slowly folds her hand into Jahlani’s, offering a small, watery smile. “Damn, I wanted to stay mad at you for longer.”
A quiet laugh escapes Jahlani, but the moment lingers.
Teryn shakes her head softly. “I could have reached out too, you know? The phone works both ways, so I’m sorry. Wow, I’ve never cried in a bar before.” She waves a hand over her face, blowing out her cheeks. Jahlani laughs, handing her a napkin.
Jahlani slides out from her side, then moves to wrap her arms around Teryn, a gentle vanilla scent emanating from her.
A deep voice laughs from the side. “You’re hugging. I knew my trap would work.”
Teryn rolls her eyes as they unwind from one another. Jahlani arches a brow at the three shot glasses in Trent's hand before reaching out to grab one.
“To family,” Trent says.
“To family,” Jahlani and Teryn echo as their glasses clink, and they tip their heads back to drink.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Trent says, laughing.
Jahlani nods. “I’ll grab us another round. What’s it called?”
“Green tea! But get it from the guy in the white shirt. He’s the best one.”
“That’s not very specific when there’s more than one, T.”
“He’s got the craziest eyes, like this super, intense green.” He gestures with his hands, pointing to his face rather aggressively and it makes her laugh.
Jahlani shuffles through the crowd until she reaches the counter. She looks over the menu to occupy herself.
“What are you having?” a voice asks. And maybe it’s music or the thrum of the alcohol seeping through her system, but the familiarity of his voice doesn’t register at first.
“Three green tea shots and—” Her finger glides down the menu in her hand. “I don’t know, what can you recommend?”
She looks up blinking rapidly as she absorbs him in front of her. Her eyes roam over his features, her lips parting, and the longer she stares, the more her head seems to empty.
Which seems to happen a lot these days whenever he’s around.
“Roman.”