“There has to be another way. Has to be. Because if you do this, if you’re doing this, if you’re having an affair, then I know that no matter what, you won’t be happy. Because you’re not like that. Because it doesn’t sit right with you. It can’t. You’re a good man. You’re not like all the other men that I’ve known. You’re different. You’re special. You’re a man who stops to help a strange girl on the side of the road. You’re a man who listens to her life story. Who walks that girl back home and then changes her life. You’re…”
“I’m what?”
I twist and twist his hoodie between my fingers and reply, “Someone’s dream man.”
My dream man.
“Did you talk to her?”
That’s the first question she asks as soon as she arrives.
Helen.
She’s late.
I’ve been waiting for her for the past fifteen minutes. And given that I was reluctant to come here, to this hotel bar, in the first place, I want to point it out to her.
I actually want to stand up and leave because I can imagine why she was late.
The only reason I don’t though is because as soon as she takes a seat beside me, she grabs my hand. She turns her worried brown eyes up to me and asks about her. “Did it go all right? What did she say? Did she already tell someone?”
Bronwyn Littleton, my sister’s best friend. The artist.
I free my hand from hers, wrap it around the tumbler of whiskey I’d ordered while waiting and take a large swallow. I’m not a big drinker by any means; being blessed with an alcoholic father has always curbed my urges, but I do indulge on occasion.
And this is one such occasion.
“No, she didn’t,” I reply.
“Are you sure?”
Turning away from her, I stare at the rows of colorful liquor bottles in front of me. “Yes.”
“Okay. But is she going to?
I clench my teeth. “No.”
At last, Helen sighs beside me. “Thank God.” She shakes her head, resting her elbows on the bar. “Jesus, I’ve been so worried.”
My hand tightens around the glass. “I know.”
I know she’s been worried.
She’s always been this way. Worried about her reputation, worried if someone saw us. If they know something.
If they’re going to tell.
I guess being rich comes with a fuck-ton of paranoia.
Putting her delicate hand on my bicep, she says what she has said numerous times to me since yesterday. “I know you didn’t think it was a big deal, Con. But it was. She’s a student. A student under me. I’m her guidance counselor. But more than that, she’s from my town. I used to babysit her. We know each other. Our families know each other.”
Babysit.
Jesus Christ.
That’s how young she is, isn’t she?
So young that Helen used to babysit her.
My ex-fucking-girlfriend used to babysit the girl who saw us together yesterday.
I take another swallow — this one bigger than earlier —of the whiskey before saying, “Then you should’ve known. You should’ve known that she’d never say anything.”
“But she’s still a student. She’s still young. And she could’ve easily drawn the wrong conclusion about what she saw and —”
“Wrong,” I cut her off, glancing at her.
Her face warms at my interruption. “You know what I mean.”
I sweep my eyes over that face, smooth skin and sleek cheekbones, before turning away. “She’s different.”
I’m not sure why I said that.
Where the compulsion came from to defend her. To defend a girl who has done nothing but provoke me, aggravate me, ever since I arrived at St. Mary’s.
And it’s not as if Helen is wrong: Bronwyn Littleton is a teenager.
She’s still young and impulsive.
Far too impulsive for her own good.
I want you to kiss me…
“Even so, I’m glad she didn’t say anything,” Helen says, breaking my dark, agitated thoughts. “Although I’m still worried about tomorrow’s session. It’s going to be awkward and —”
“You’re not going to say a word to her.” I shut her down quickly, my hand on the tumbler tightening further.
“But —”
“Not one word,” I command. “I told you I’d take care of it and I have. So just…” I sigh. “Let it the fuck go.”
“And I thank you for that. Although I still don’t understand why you were the one who wanted to talk to her. I could’ve just as easily done it myself. But anyway, thanks for taking care of it for me.” She squeezes my bicep, smiling slightly. “For us.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I clip.
I didn’t.
I didn’t do it for her reputation and neither did I do it for mine.
I did it because if I hadn’t, then Helen was going to.
In fact, she was ready to.
As soon as she realized that we’d been ‘caught’ by a student and who that student was, Helen wanted to run after her. She wanted to make absolutely sure that Bronwyn kept her mouth shut. That she never ever breathed a word of it to another human being. Especially to anyone at the school or back in their hometown.