37. Quinn

37

QUINN

" A s it stands, I'm obligated to punish you for removing the journals from the library." Professor Fitzgerald shifted in his desk chair, clearly uncomfortable. "I'd like to also offer you a formal apology once again."

I shook my head. "It's… Obviously, I was upset, but I understand why you would think I did it. The evidence was right there in front of you. What other conclusion were you supposed to come to?"

"Even so. As for your punishment, detention in the library, replacing the books on the shelves. Four evenings should be enough. Report to the library on Monday at 6:00 p.m."

"Make it two evenings, and I'll serve it with her. Double the labour."

My history teacher sighed as I spun around to see Tristan casually leaning against one of the classroom desks.

"Any reason, Mr. Smith-Chamberlain?"

He placed his finger to his lips and shot me a wink, to which I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile, and Professor Fitzgerald pinched his brow.

"I shouldn't need to remind you that journals are not to be removed from the library. Fine. You may serve Quinn's punishment with her if it will help to ease your guilty conscience."

"My conscience is clean," Tristan told him, widening his eyes innocently.

"Out. Both of you. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is closed, and I don't want to hear any more about what you may or may not have done."

I nodded, thanking him before following Tristan out of the history classroom. As we reached the door, Professor Fitzgerald called after me.

"Quinn?" When I turned around, he smiled. "Very good work on your extra-credit assignment. We won't count our chickens just yet, but I have a feeling the panel from The Historical Review will be impressed with everything you've achieved."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Guess you'd better come with me to our lacrosse practice so you can give your boyfriend the good news," Tristan said as we left the classroom behind. "We need to get him hyped for tomorrow's game."

"I will. Thanks, by the way. You didn't have to offer to serve my detention with me."

He shrugged. "I've been taking journals out of the library for the past four years. It's the least I can do. Ease my guilty conscience."

"Do you have a guilty conscience?"

"Nope. Not about taking them. But I do about you having to be punished for something I do all the time. Roman would do the same for me, and anyway, you're one of us now. That means we look out for each other."

A warm feeling spread through me as I took in his words. Coming back to Hatherley Hall, I hadn't known what to expect, but somehow, I'd ended up with an amazing man who loved me, but also a group of people who really, truly had my back.

"Thank you, Tristan. The same goes for me, too."

The conditions were perfect for the lacrosse game. Fluffy white clouds, bright sunshine, and a fresh breeze. The mood in the stands was jubilant as the teams jogged onto the pitch. Roman had said it would be an easy win, and the Hatherley Hall team looked confident and focused. It was too hot to wear Roman's hoodie, but he'd given me a team jersey with a number 18 on the back. His number. When I'd shown up with Elena, both of us wearing our boyfriends' jerseys, Aria had sighed and shaken her head at us, muttering that she'd never be caught dead wearing one. We were now seated in the front row along with our friends and families. My parents were to my left, and my mum was currently in a conversation with Knox's mum while my dad stared across the field with a faraway look on his face.

When the teams took their positions, Roman shooting me a huge grin, my dad finally turned to me. "This brings back memories. Being out there on the field, stick in hand…" He trailed off as the game began, his full attention turning to the players. My focus was on my boyfriend, of course, fast, determined, and so gorgeous with that look of concentration on his face.

The first half passed in a blur, and by the end of it, Hatherley Hall were winning, 7–5. Knox and Tristan had been integral in scoring our goals, and Roman had been instrumental in setting the majority of them up, running and passing the ball with deadly accuracy while avoiding the Cheltenham players. My voice was hoarse from cheering, and I gratefully accepted the water bottle Aria handed to me.

When I lowered the bottle, my dad was giving me a thoughtful look. "Your…friend. Mr. Cavendish. He's rather talented."

I bit back a smile. Roman had already been upgraded from "the Cavendish boy" to "Mr. Cavendish," and my dad was acknowledging him as a friend of mine? This was going better than I thought it would.

"He's very talented," I said softly, my gaze going back to the field. "Not only at lacrosse. He…he's an amazing man."

My dad didn't respond other than a brief nod, but it was enough. More than enough. Hope rose inside me, and I let myself smile for real.

In the second half, Cheltenham managed to score again, but we drew ahead, thanks to an amazing play from Lincoln, assisted by Knox. Cheltenham did their best to recover, but it was clear to everyone watching that Hatherley Hall were dominating the game.

With only a few minutes left on the clock, Roman got the ball in his scoop and ran , a blur down the field, the crowd roaring their support. He sliced his stick through the air, sending the ball straight into the goal and sealing our win. The game finished 14–9, and when Roman jogged over to me and pulled off his helmet, his eyes sparkling and a huge grin stretching over his face, I didn't even hesitate. I leaned over the barrier at the same time as he reached for me, our mouths meeting in a euphoric kiss that was everything.

Until my dad cleared his throat, and Roman and I sprung apart. My heart sank at his serious, unsmiling face, but then he held out his hand to Roman.

"Good game," he said, and my heart skipped a beat. Roman's eyes widened as he took my dad's hand and shook it.

"Thank you." There was a small pause before he added, "Sir."

My dad's lips tilted upwards in the barest hint of a smile.