Chapter 17

A knot forms in my stomach as I stand before his closed office doors once more. This time, it's not from nervousness. It goes beyond that. It's like I feel the verge of something monumental happening and these are the few precious moments of calm before it hits. My heart is rattling like a runaway train behind my rib cage, and I clutch the small paper box tighter in my hand.

Heaving out a breath, I knock.

Knock. Knock.

"Come in." His voice is terse and serious, as usual.

I used to think it was cold and unfeeling, but now I know better. The baritone holds a hard edge but is filled to the brim with banked emotions. The icy man with the warmest touches and gentlest caresses. The one who wordlessly gave me his umbrella so I could stay warm while he walked into the frigid rain.

The quiet, selfless giver.

Opening the door, I find the man who's been haunting my dreams in a state of undress. Ryland faces away from me and I see his naked back, just for a brief second, before he deftly dons a fresh shirt. My mouth runs dry at the quickest flash of tanned skin and corded muscles, the ones I've suspected are underneath his tailored shirts and bespoke suits all along. He's so huge, all coiled power and banked energy.

He can easily overpower me.My thighs clench at the thought coming from nowhere.

"Sorry, I'm running late for a gala." His voice is a tendered scrape on my fevered skin and my core pulses, a bolt of heat settling in between my thighs.

"Professor, it's me, Millie." I'm proud of how steady I sound. Completely at odds with the roiling of my gut.

He freezes for a beat before turning around, his fingers quickly buttoning his shirt, hiding his broad chest from my view. I catch a glint of silver, a pendant of some sort, before that gets hidden from me as well.

"Yes?" His face is aloof. I shove the box toward him, and he frowns before taking it from me. "What's this?"

"Thanksgiving is coming up, and I was doing my holiday shopping earlier and saw this and thought of you…to thank you for your tutelage this semester and your support." When I was crying in your office. When you offered me your umbrella.

For seeing me.

I fiddle with the hem of my jean jacket. "I was going to give this to you before winter break, for Christmas, but with the weather and everything, I figure you can use it now."

Ryland stares at the package in his hand, his brows pinched, before opening the lid. He takes out the scarf I spent hours knitting—a navy cable pattern with a thick center twist. This is my third attempt. I started on the project after the disaster with the mittens.

I slide my fingers into the pockets of my pants to hide the redness on my fingertips. I poked myself so many times with the big needles as I hurried to finish it last night.

"I-It's cheap. Just a small token of thanks. For e-everything," I stammer and lie, watching his long fingers curl around the soft yarn, kneading the material.

"I figure it's cold and rainy and sometimes I see you without an umbrella." Standing so lonely in the rain, so I hope this gives you warmth.

I don't say those words. I know we can't cross this line. Unlike many things in the real world, this isn't remotely a gray situation. This is black and white. We cannot get involved. His reputation and mine, his career, and my future.

It's a nonstarter.

"The rain makes me feel alive," he murmurs, his fingers slowly stroking the scarf.

My heart hiccups at the longing in his eyes. "And you feel you aren't alive right now?"

He stills for a beat before resuming the stroking. "No. I'm merely living." He doesn't stare at me. "I sound like an asshole, don't I?"

"No. You're only human. Perhaps people from the outside only see your name, your net worth, but wealth doesn't equate to happiness, and sometimes…" I pause and bite my lip, waiting to see if I've offended him. He doesn't speak or move. "Sometimes, I think wealth comes with a price, with responsibilities and shackles average people don't see."

Ryland's nostrils flare and he slowly lifts his gaze. Penetrating. Haunting. Aching. The heat of his stare on me, like I'm the center of his universe, is so intoxicating. My fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to smooth the furrow of his brows, the lines around his mouth.

I whisper, "So, no. I don't think you're an asshole. I think you're someone who's tired of paddling in the deep ocean and wishing there was a life raft near you."

His eyes darken and glitter. He swallows, the Adam's apple of his throat bobbing up and down.

Maybe I can be your life raft.My pulse riots at the thought.

He clears his throat and sets the scarf down.

"Thank you," he replies, his voice gruff.

Ryland's gaze remains on me as he grabs a long scrap of black silk from his desk and wraps it around his neck—a traditional self-tie bow tie. His face is impassive, but his fingers tremble slightly as he attempts to fashion the fabric into something presentable. His motions are stilted, uncoordinated, and those piercing gray eyes of his flash in frustration, in anger.

I walk around the desk and stand before him, tentatively reaching out.

"M-May I?" I motion to the thick silk ribbon he's murdering with his hands.

Another second passes by, and those eyes of his grow darker as he gives me a curt nod.

Stepping forward until I'm a few inches before him, the first time I'm so close to him since that day in his office, I'm hit with his unique scent of nature and oranges, mixed with his own manly fragrance, and a hint of minty aftershave. Goosebumps form on my skin as I slowly loop the silk around his neck, my fingers grazing his heated chest, feeling the tension radiating from it.

We're standing so close and yet it feels so far apart. Our breaths mingle in the tiny sliver of space between us and my pussy throbs. I feel my nipples prickling underneath my thin bra, and I pray they aren't showing through the sweater. His breathing is harsher, louder, like he too is having a difficult time with this proximity.

I finish knotting the silk into a perfect bow and press my hands on his hard chest, stealing a quick touch from him. His muscles ripple underneath my palms and I quickly let go before stepping back.

Looking up, the expression on his face takes my breath away. His charcoal pools are pitch black and affixed to my lips, his cheeks and forehead are tinged pink. Those perfectly refined lips are parted. A tongue dips out. It's almost like he's imagining how I taste.

My core clenches, and I feel wetness seeping into my panties.

"How do you know how to tie a bow tie?" he rasps.

I still haven't stepped away. We're as close as two people can be without touching.

"I had to do it for my brother from time to time. And I enjoy doing it for people I…" care about. But I can't say those words out loud. Instead, I quickly amend,"People who need the help."

More heated looks and heavy breaths, each of us on standing on a tightrope suspended between two skyscrapers, hoping we won't plummet to our deaths.

"You look good." I wet my lips and flash him a tentative smile.

"I hate dressing up in penguin suits, but it's part of my job." A boyish grin appears on his face, an expression making him look years younger, and my heart swoops and falls to the floor.

"What would you prefer to do if you had free time?"

"Hunting. Reading in my cabin in upstate New York." He rakes his hand over his thick, tousled hair. He grimaces, and a flush spreads to his neck. "Birdwatching."

I try and fail to stop a giggle from escaping my mouth.

He bites his lower lip. "What's so funny? An old man like me can't like birdwatching? I've heard it's an old person hobby."

I shake my head. "No, it's not that. I'm laughing because you look so happy when you talk about your hobbies. I'm glad you have an escape. Everyone needs one. Mine is gardening. I like to nurture the plants and flowers, to feel the life at my fingertips. It's why I prefer potted plants over bouquets."

My fingers tangle with each other. My eyes dip down to his chest and a heat crawls up my face. "And I also like knitting," my gaze darts up to his as I stammer, "n-not that I knitted the scarf, of course." Heat rises to my face, and I curse my inability to lie. "Some say knitting is an old person hobby too…and you're not old."

A few seconds pass by before he answers, the lightness in his voice moments ago nowhere to be found. "I'm at least fifteen years older than you." It's a warning, but it might as well be foreign language to my ears.

"Age isn't only measured by years but also by experience." Does a mere number matter when I feel my soul calling out to you?

A muscle pulses in his jaw before he tears his eyes away from my face and steps back, shrugging on his formal jacket. "Thank you for helping with the bow tie and for the gift."

He doesn't look at me now and my heart pinches at the rejection.

I turn back at the doorway and find him holding my blue scarf in his hand, slowly looping it around his wrist.

Around, and around, and around.

I come home later that day to the sound of gut-wrenching sobs.

"Joss?" I call out as I set my keys and bag on the glass dining table and head toward her room.

The sounds are muted now, muffled sniffling from behind her door, which is cracked open. Quietly, I enter her dark, musty room and find her sitting on her bed, her face buried in her palms. Her beautiful, shiny black hair is in disarray, like she has spent the last ten minutes pulling at it.

"What's wrong?" I ask gently as I take a seat next to her and place my hand on her back, rubbing soothing motions on her tensed muscles. "Tell me. Maybe I can help."

She shakes her head. "No one can help me. Not even God is listening."

"You can talk to me. It's better than bottling it up inside." And I should know that since I'm an expert at burying my emotions.

Jocelyn murmurs into her hands, "I'm failing Anderson's class. I know I shouldn't be surprised, since I haven't been in class half the time. Even my revised paper was a D."

"I can help you study. And worse comes to worst, you can take it again next year. One bad grade won't affect you."

"No. You don't understand," she turns to me, her eyes teary and bloodshot, "I'm doing poorly in all my classes this year. Anderson's class is the closest I have to passing. If I fail his class too, I'll be put on academic probation, and I can't do that. I can't disappoint my mom like that."

Jocelyn grabs my hands and clutches them tightly. "Millie, please help me. You have to help me. Don't you see? Millie," her voice pleading and desperate, "the reason I haven't been in class a lot is because my mom is in the hospital. She has breast cancer."

Tears are streaming down her face now, but she makes no move to wipe them. "Things don't look good, Millie. The doctors don't think she'll last the holiday season."

My heart plummets and the old ache, one I thought had scabbed over a long time ago, splits wide open.

"Mommy?" I bury my face on top of her chest as Dad cries in the background. The machines beep and hum in the hospital room. Everything smells strange. Sterile. I hate this smell.

"Sweetie pie," Mommy whispers, her thin, bony hands stroking my hair. "Don't be sad. Mommy is going to heaven. It's beautiful and Mommy won't be sick anymore."

Dad makes a choking sound. He called Adrian a few minutes ago. He's coming from his job at the supermarket.

Tears spring from my eyes as I clutch her skinny body. She doesn't smell like Mommy anymore. She's barely warm. I shake my head hard. "No, Mommy. I don't want you to go to heaven. I want you to stay with us. I want more bedtime stories and kisses."

Her voice is weak, and she coughs, her entire body shaking, like coughing is making her very, very tired. "I…I want to stay here with you too, sweetie pie," her voice is thick, and I hear her sniffle, "but…it's my time to go. My turn. Just like you do at school, right? Take turns. But I'll be watching over you, Adrian, and Daddy, and I'll love you forever and ever. Be brave, Millie. Take care of Adrian and Daddy for me. They need you to be strong. Give them the kisses and smiles, okay, honey?"

I cover her with my body and press kisses on her chilly face. Please don't leave us, Mommy.

Jocelyn's weeping brings me back to the present but the memories of Mom's last day on earth are sharp, the pain so cutting, so painful, it feels as if it happened yesterday.

"We'll get through this, Joss," I murmur, my voice thick as I'm assaulted by the memories of the past. "Have you talked to your professors? Maybe they'll give you an extension?"

"I asked! They all said there was nothing they could do." Her face crumbles. "Apparently, too many students used family emergencies as excuses in the past, so now they're no longer able to give out extensions."

Shit. There must be a way to help her.

"I'll help you study. We'll cram the knowledge into your brain if it's the last thing we do."

Jocelyn shakes her head, her shoulders slumped. "I-I don't know if I can do this."

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I grab her hand and pull her off the bed before dragging her to the living room. I need to help her…to help the little girl who is crying by her mother's bedside.

I gently push her onto the sofa and grab my bag from the dining table. "You can. For your mom. You have to do this. We have no time to lose."

Pulling out my notes and textbooks from the class, I heave out a deep breath. She can't disappoint her dying mother. It'll be her biggest regret.

She slouches on her seat, her posture defeated.

"Joss! We got this, okay?" I lean down and hold her clammy hands in mine. "We got this."

She nods and she whispers, "Yes. I got this."

I walk through the first set of notes with her. Her eyes are glazed over, but I see her trying to pay attention.

"The most important theories he'll probably cover are these…"

We spend hours reviewing the materials and taking practice exams online and from the back of the textbooks. By the time midnight rolls around, I've polished off two cups of coffee, a sandwich, and a bag of gummy bears. Jocelyn nibbles on her sandwich as tears slip down her face. She shakes her head in defeat.

She isn't doing well. Her best score has been a C minus so far.

"What am I going to do? I can't do this, Millie. I might have retained a third of what you just went over with me." Her face crumbles and she sets aside her half-eaten meal.

I fist my hands on my lap and take a seat next to her. "Try your best. Just try your best. We'll continue studying. Pull an all-nighter. We can do this."

Jocelyn pleas, her watery eyes staring into mine, "I don't want to ask this, but I'm desperate, Millie." She takes a deep breath. "For the exam, can we sit in the back? You take your test and I take mine, but if I need to…and I'll try not to, maybe I can peek at your answers?"

What?Shock tears through me. Seeing my frozen expression, she sits up, her voice urgent. "But I'll try not to…I really will. But I need help, Millie. I have no one else to go to."

"But that's wrong, Joss. It's not right. Isn't that cheating?" And he will be so angry. He hates cheaters and rule breakers.

Jocelyn shakes her head vehemently. "It isn't cheating! Well, not completely, right? If anything, I'm the cheater and not you. You aren't taking the test for me…but I might need help with a question or two. It'll be a safety net for me."

Her brown eyes light up for the first time since I got home earlier. "Maybe I won't need help. But please, I need this safety net, Millie. There are two hundred of us in the classroom. No one will focus on us. No one will know."

Her bottom lip wobbles and she repeats, "And you're not taking the test for me, right? You're taking the test for yourself. Please, Millie. I wouldn't ask this of you if I wasn't desperate."

It's not really cheating. I'm just taking the test for myself and she's doing the same for herself. Maybe she won't need the help.Her words bounce around in my brain. My heart thuds in a rapid rhythm.

Somehow, I don't think he'd see it this way. Shame washes over me and curls around my gut. I can't believe I'm considering this. I'm the rule follower, the straight-A student.

Taking in her teary eyes once more, I'm hit with a sharp pinch of pain as I remember the little girl inside me, the one who cried herself to sleep after Mom passed away in the hospital, the girl with the broken heart which has never truly healed.

I pray Jocelyn won't need my help during the test.

I curl my arms around her and wrap her in a tight hug, my eyes wet with tears, an aching hole in my heart. "Shh… Let me think about it, Joss. Shh…"

I'm good at hiding myself from others around me. I have a lifetime of experience, after all. His intense eyes flash into my brain and I shake my head, my chest feeling heavy. He won't know. And maybe she won't need my help.

Jocelyn shakes in my arms, her sobbing loud in the room.

I rub circles on her back, feeling all the bottled-up pain and sadness pouring out of her body. "Shhh… I'm here, Joss. I'm here for you."