Chapter 23

“Hey.” Megs swallowed hard, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

“Hey. I called, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

Megs’ heart picked up speed. He’d called her? “I didn’t know. My phone was charging.” It sounded lame even to her own ears. This had to be about the last audition. She should’ve told someone she wasn’t planning to attend, but after what happened with Oscar, she didn’t feel like it.

Not that she wasn’t willing to confront the issue. She was. Eventually. But with everything else going on in her life at the moment, she didn’t have the strength to stand up to Oscar’s cajoling.

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “I was worried. You weren’t in class, and then when you didn’t answer—”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve texted back.” She motioned at the mess of boxes. “It’s been a lot.”

Her mom took this as her cue to exit. She mumbled something about needing to get back to the movie and left them alone in the front room.

Gideon shifted on his feet. “When do you move out?”

Should she invite him in? She wasn’t dressed, and she didn’t have any idea what he wanted. “Monday. Why are you here?”

Gideon pushed up his glasses, ignoring the bluntness of her question. “You didn’t show up for the audition.”

"Because I'm not doing it.” Megs crossed her arms over her chest. She thought back to that moment with Oscar in the corn maze. How every compliment Oscar had given her, every word of encouragement, every invitation was instantly soured by him leaning in close. Had any of it been real, or had he only been searching for his own romantic storyline?

She looked up at Gideon and was already formulating her arguments for when he inevitably said “you’re too good to quit” or “you can’t give up on this,” but what left his mouth left her slack-jawed.

“Matt told me he tried to kiss you in the corn maze. He wasn’t thinking about the fact that he’s the gatekeeper for you making a lot of money and securing a narration contract, and that’s on him. It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Megs’ throat worked. The tears that had been sitting behind her eyes during the entire movie broke free and puddled. She swiped at her eyes. “I did the exact same thing to you.”

Gideon looked affronted. “No you didn’t.”

Megs groaned and stepped over a line of boxes to sit on the couch. “Yes, I did. You told me what your boundaries were, and I crossed them.”

“Megs, you’re not my boss. You didn’t—”

“Don’t pretend I didn’t do anything! I heard you in the maze! You told Alli there was a complaint filed against you.” She dropped her head in her hands.

Gideon rounded a stack of crates and sat in the chair across from her. They sat a few moments in silence, besides Megs trying to swallow her tears and not break out into full on sobs.

Finally, Gideon said, “There was a complaint filed, but it was filed before—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “It was filed before that moment in the classroom.”

That moment. When Megs accidentally killed the lights and kissed him. Her stomach dropped through the bottom of the cushion she sat on. If the complaint had been filed before that . . . then everything she’d told the Title Nine coordinator was superfluous. That woman hadn’t given her any indication that she didn’t know what Megs was talking about.

Gideon rubbed his hands on his slacks. “The claim has been dropped anyway. I think the professor who filed it had a problem with me meeting with students one-on-one, and Jen—the student who was listed in the claim went in and cleared things up.”

Megs’ mouth went dry. Gideon thought a professor had filed the claim? He thought Jennifer was the student in question? They hadn’t told him, then. The claim had been filed by a student and she had been the student listed as the victim. They wouldn’t tell her who had filed, but Megs had her money on Jennifer. She’d seen them together in the parking lot, and after all her efforts to capture Gideon’s attention, that must’ve rankled.

In the office, she’d told them how she’d lied to Gideon about not being a student, then how she’d kissed him without consent. She told the coordinator that Gideon had clearly stated the boundaries. He’d repeatedly informed her that he would not engage in a relationship with a student, and Megs had ignored it.

They’d expelled her immediately. Gideon must have seen that she was off his roster. Maybe that was why he’d been so worried about her tonight. Maybe . . . Megs cleared her throat and looked around for her tea. She’d left it in the bedroom. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

“Megs, about what happened—”

“You didn’t need to apologize, Gideon. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who couldn’t—” She shook her head and tightened her grip on the blanket. Who couldn’t stop thinking about you. Who couldn’t maintain an ounce of self-control. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Gideon had seen her text to Haley. She’d kissed him when she shouldn’t have. He knew how she felt, and if he felt the same way, he needed to be the one to admit it. Though how he could have feelings for her after she stomped all over his boundaries was beyond her. Either way, her heart couldn’t handle another rejection, especially not after he had every reason to want to keep his distance.

“I know Matt screwed up, but I still think you should do the audition.” Gideon’s voice was low.

Megs shook her head and curled her legs up on the couch. “I’m just sick of it. I’m sick of trying to make acting happen only to find out that I’m not the right height, or I have the wrong eye color, or the progress I thought I was making wasn’t real because the men at the top only want to get with me. And I’m not lumping Oscar into that category, I get that people make mistakes, but I have a good job. I’m moving into my own place, and I just think I need some time.”

Gideon considered. “Megs, if you’re telling me that you honestly don’t want to do this narration, I’ll believe you. I’ll leave, and I won’t push you on it, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“How would you know if that’s true?”

Gideon leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “I told you. I’ve been paying attention.”

Megs’ insides felt like a lit sparkler. You do this thing with your fingers where you mimic them sometimes, like you want to know what it feels like to move like another person. He was a good teacher.

She couldn’t tell him she didn’t want to do the narration. Of course, she wanted it. But wanting it had always been the problem, hadn’t it? “I already missed the audition, Gideon.”

Gideon pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat. “We can record it right now.”

Megs barked a laugh. “Here? Do you see how not sound-treated this room is?”

“Do you think Matt will care? He might be an idiot when it comes to real-life women, but he cares deeply about his fake ones. All he wants is for this manuscript and this series to come to life.”

“Gideon, I’ve barely talked to anyone today. My voice isn’t warmed up, and I don’t think I can lower it for—”

“I’ll do it with you. I’ll read Nathan’s lines.”

“And Oscar would be okay with that?” She shot him a skeptical look. Why was he so insistent she submit something? Especially crappy audio where she wasn’t even voicing both characters?

“I just—” Gideon straightened and set his phone on the table. “I want him to hear you before he makes his decision.”

Megs held his gaze even when the tips of her fingers started to tingle. “It’s late, Gideon.”

“It won’t take long. I have the script right here.”

“Why do you care so much about this?”

Gideon drew a slow breath and exhaled. “Because you’re good, Megs.”

Megs’ throat tightened. She wanted to say that didn’t matter. That no matter how good she was, things weren’t going to work out for her and acting. She wanted to tell him Oscar had plenty of options for this narration, and it wouldn’t matter if she submitted. She wanted to tell him no.

But something in his eyes forced every argument back, and the only word that came out of her mouth was, “Okay.”

Why do you care so much about this? The question echoed in Gideon’s head. “Because you’re good” was the most obvious answer, but he could’ve replied with others that would’ve been closer to the truth. Because you doubt yourself and you shouldn’t. Because you want it, and you deserve to get something you want. Because even though you won’t admit it, you care about this.

Because even though I can’t admit it, I care about you.

That was the last thing he could say to her right now. Not only because he was still her professor, but after what Matt did in that corn maze? Gideon couldn’t do the exact same thing to her now. She needed to know that his opinions regarding her talent and worth came without an ulterior motive.

He stood and pulled up the recording app on his phone, then opened to the script. “I’ll press record, and then we can read off of this.” He sat next to her on the couch and showed her his screen. “Is the text too small?”

Megs shook her head. “I can read it.” Her face was clean and she had no makeup on. Not that she wore much anyway, but her eyelashes looked soft without mascara, and in the dim light of the lamp, her skin looked almost dewy.

She pulled her arms from the blanket and wrapped it around her middle. “You’ll read Nathan’s lines?”

Gideon nodded and pressed record, then swiped back to the manuscript. “Ready when you are.”

“This might sound terrible, Gideon.”

“It won’t.”

Megs drew a breath as she read over the first sentence. When she started narrating, it felt like every molecule of matter in the room paused its vibration.

“‘Nathan. after all this time, you just show up out of the blue?’ He looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and longing.”

She paused for Gideon to take the next line. "Elena, I had to see you. I had to explain."

Megs continued, “She took a deep breath, trying to hold back her tears. ‘Explain? Do you have any idea how much pain you caused? How many nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering what I did wrong?’ Nathan’s voice cracked.”

Her voice sounded heartbreakingly vulnerable, and it took Gideon a moment to remember it was his line. "I never wanted to hurt you, Elena. But I had my reasons for leaving."

“Elena's anger flared. ‘Reasons? What reasons could possibly justify leaving without a word? Leaving me to pick up the pieces of my broken heart?’ Nathan stood up, taking a step toward her.”

Gideon sat up a little straighter. "It wasn't about you, Elena. It was about me. About the demons I was fighting. I thought I was protecting you."

“She threw out her hands in frustration. ‘You left me, Nathan. You left and didn't say a word.’ He dropped his head, his voice filled with regret.”

Megs’ delivered the lines with angst, but not too much that it wasn’t believable. She was obnoxiously good at this. "Because there was too much to say. I was scared, Elena. Scared of how much I loved you. Scared of how much I could hurt you." He sucked in a breath, surprising himself with the energy behind those lines. I was scared. Gideon felt Megs’ eyes on him and stared at the lines of text more intently, pretending he didn’t notice.

She continued, “Elena's eyes filled with tears. ‘You should have trusted me, Nathan. Trusted us. We could have faced those demons together.’ Nathan reached out, gently touching her face.”

"I know. And I'll regret that decision for the rest of my life."

Megs took over, her voice sinking into the intimacy of the scene. “Elena tilted her head, and as Nathan's mouth pressed closer, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the pulsating energy between them. His lips pressed against hers in a searing kiss, obliterating the dam of pent-up desire she’d built brick by brick and sending fire through her veins.

Elena's fingers tangled in Nathan's hair. Their tongues danced with reckless abandon, and she couldn’t pull him close enough. Couldn’t press her body against his hard enough.

‘I’ve waited too long—’ Her breath caught in her throat as Nathan dragged his hands over her and lifted her from the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he buried his mouth against her neck.”

They sat there inspecting the screen of his phone until Gideon remembered to stop the recording. But pressing the red button didn’t kill the charge that had built up between them like static. If anything, it only made it worse.

Gideon shifted a few inches away from Megs on the cushion. “That was perfect.” He saved the file and labeled it, then attached it to an email to Oscar.

“You’re submitting it without editing?” Megs asked.

He paused. “Is that okay?” She hadn’t made any mistakes, and he didn’t relish the idea of listening back to himself. He’d done that plenty on his first audition and still hadn’t recovered from the trauma.

Megs dropped her eyes and tugged the blanket back over her shoulders. “You’re the expert.”

Gideon rested his phone in his lap. “It was good, Megs. The audio quality won’t be perfect, but that’s not really the point.”

She nodded, and he pressed send, then stood from the couch. “Thank you.” Megs looked up through those soft lashes, and Gideon was suddenly a hand warmer exposed to oxygen.

He wanted to tell her he’d wanted that kiss in the classroom. He’d been practically begging for it. He wanted to tell her about his plans for December sixth, how he was already working on an alternate final schedule. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful and funny, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Instead he turned to the door and mumbled, “See you in class.”

“Goodnight, Gideon.”

He pulled on the door handle. “Goodnight, Megs.”

Gideon woke the next morning feeling like he’d slept in a matchbox. That or chewed through a pound of carrots in his sleep. He rubbed his jaw and rolled out his neck then checked his phone. There still wasn’t a message from Matt. Disappointing. He’d hoped to hear back instantly after sending Megs’ audition to him.

If Matt didn’t see that she was right for this book, he was deluded. Gideon’s voice wasn’t terrible to listen to, but Megs had the background. When she voiced her characters, Gideon forgot he was listening to a piece of fiction. That was the highest compliment he could think of.

Gideon made a quick trip to the gym downstairs, then showered and dressed for his ten o’clock class. He’d finally gotten an email from his department head, and she said she could meet with him briefly before she took her lunch at noon. He still didn’t know what he was going to say or how he’d explain the situation.

He still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t done something wrong, even though on paper he couldn’t think of a rule he’d broken knowingly. He only knew that he couldn’t judge Megs’ work with the way he felt about her now. He’d have to trust his superior with the rest.

The world glittered with frost when he walked out to his car. The moisture made the roads slick, but it was almost worth it to live in a magical version of the world for a few hours before the sun melted the ice crystals.

Gideon wasn’t ready for winter, but for once he felt like he’d actually experienced fall. He had Matt to thank for that. Hiking in the burnt yellows and oranges and drinking cider by an open fire had elevated his life, even if it was more effort to make it happen. He wondered what else he was missing out on because he’d gotten out of the habit of looking past his normal routine.

He parked in his usual spot, taught his class, and then had forty minutes before he needed to walk down the hall for his meeting. Gideon sat at his desk and opened his teacher portal. He hadn’t finished putting in his notes for the midterms, but he did have them all written up at this point. He pulled up his portal and began copying and pasting.

Though he had feedback for Megs, he wasn’t going to enter it. That would be part of his upcoming meeting. He pulled out a protein bar and took a bite, then continued down the rows. Erik was going to be thrilled with his grade. Almost ten points higher than when he’d taken this class for the first time.

Gideon was almost finished with his bar when he realized he’d reached the end of his student list. He frowned. None of the rows were missing midterm grades, which didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t entered in any feedback for Megs.

He changed the filters and scrolled through his student list. Then, he started again at the top. When he reached the bottom a second time, his mouth went dry.

No Megs. Her name and record had been removed from his student roster.