Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1) (22 page)

“What?”

“Even some of the frat boys are coming down on him for being a low-life piece of
shit
, which he is. Of course,
his
stupid frat brothers aren’t saying a word, but whatever.”

Chloe lowers her phone and gives Sam and Jack a look I’m finally able to recognize: pride.

“Well done,” Chloe says nodding.

Sam and Jack grin and fist bump without even looking at each other. “I figured that rat bastard could squirm a little himself and see how he likes it,” Sam says.

Jack leans forward, looking around Sam to me. He’s giving me his big, goofy Jack grin. “You like?”

I laugh. For the first time in days, I actually laugh. “Yes,” I say nodding. “I like very much.”

And then there are the nights.

The nights are when everyone’s gone to sleep and I’m in my room alone.

This is what happens at night: I curl up in bed and my heart bleeds all over the sheets.

Every. Single. Time.

The last day of finals week, and one week before commencement, I go to Dean Jennings’ office to deliver my paper.

He watches me set it on his desk, then gestures to the chair behind me.

“Have a seat, Isabella.”

“I’ve followed your terms,” I say, wondering if he’s going to question me.

“Yes,” Dean Jennings says quietly. “Yes, I’m confident that you both have.”

I don’t ask him how he’s so confident.

He picks up my essay—all 28 pages of it—and starts flipping through the pages.

“I know why you had me write that,” I say.

He looks at me soberly. “Do you?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

He closes the paper and sets it back on my desk. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Isabella,” he says gently.

“No,” I say. “You don’t understand.”

I am glad Dean Jennings had me write the paper. I learned a lot about the terrible abuses that do happen in colleges and universities all over the country. I’m grateful for having a dean who, in the end, is on my side instead of going the route of shaming the victim, as happens at schools that turn a blind eye to what predatory professors are doing at their schools.

So in the end, yes, I’m grateful the dean had me write the paper. But not for the reason he thinks.

“After writing that paper, I understand even better the kind of situation you’re worried about, but...” I gesture to the paper on his desk. “That right there is not what happened between us. We crossed a line. We did. And I’m sorry about that. But professors like that,” I say, pointing again to the paper. “That’s not Shane. And I wasn’t a victim.”

Dean Jennings laces his fingers together, considering me.

I sigh and stand. “I won’t take any more of your time.”

I extend my hand. He shakes it, standing himself. I hold on, shaking his hand warmly and looking him in the eye. “Thank you, Dean Jennings. Not just for what you did for us, but for everything you’ve done for me over the years. You do a great job.”

He smiles at me then, giving me an affectionate look. “Ah Isabella, it’s been my pleasure.”

I smile, release his hand, and head for the door.

“Oh, Isabella?”

I turn.

“You should know, there’s an investigation on Justin Kirby. A detective may be calling you.”

“A detective?”

Dean Jennings gives me a grim smile. “Some people have come forward. Apparently a certain social media thread gave them the courage they needed. We may finally have the evidence we’ve been looking for.”

My heart starts pounding, a bitter-sweet satisfaction swelling in me as I now have hope Justin Kirby may finally get what he’s long deserved.

“How many?” I ask.

“So far? Ten.”

I raise my eyebrows and lower my head.
Ten
. That fucking bastard.

I look at the dean and nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nods back. “Take care of yourself, Isabella.”

“I’ll try.”

And with that, I leave Dean Jennings’ office for what I sense will be the last time.

It’s two days after graduation. My parents flew in for the occasion and it was amazing to celebrate such a huge accomplishment.

Shane wasn’t in attendance at all.

Maybe because he didn’t want to see me. Maybe because Dean Jennings requested it. I wouldn’t know, because I can’t talk to him about it.

But, on the plus side, Justin Kirby wasn’t there either. He was arrested the night before.

I’m okay with that.

I come back from dropping my parents off at the airport to find the girls in the living room, gathered around Chloe, who’s crying.

“What happened?” I say, approaching her and kneeling down.

“Brad broke things off,” Ashley says.

“What?!”

Chloe’s not even looking at me. She’s just crying into her hands. I just now notice she’s not wearing her ring.

“Why? What happened?”

Ashley and Sam exchange glances. Sam looks ready to go nuclear.

“He’s been having an affair with some girl for three months now,” Ashley explains.

“Wait. What?” I do the math in my head. “He proposed two months ago!”

“Apparently,” Sam says, her voice tight, “he thought proposing to Chloe would help him
‘get over’
his little hussy.”

Chloe just cries harder.

Sam gives me a furious look and silently mouths, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh, Chloe,” I say, “I’m so sorry.”

“That rat bastard,” she says into her hands.

I look at Sam helplessly. Chloe’s already mailed out over 300 invitations. She bought a wedding dress. She reserved the venue. Everything.

I can’t believe Brad did this to her. I mean, I admit, it’s not like I was his biggest fan or anything. But he and Chloe have been together since sophomore year. How could he? And like this?

We spend the next hour doing our best to comfort Chloe. Jack brings over her favorite ice cream and he and Sam disappear into the kitchen to dish it up. I go in too, to make sure they’re not in there plotting Brad’s death or something.

They are, in fact, whispering, but not about what I thought.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam whispers fiercely, “I’m pissed he did this to her, but in the end I think she’s better off without him.”

“Yeah,” Jack says softly, dumping a large scoop of ice cream into a bowl.

Maybe it’s because I’m nursing a broken heart of my own, but Sam’s comment irks me.

“Just because
you
don’t believe in love,” I whisper, “doesn’t mean nobody else does.”

Sam and Jack both look at me. He’s holding the scoop in midair over the container.

“Oh give me that,” I say, grabbing the scoop and container out of his hands.

“That’s not what she was saying,” Jack says softly.

“Oh, wasn’t it?” I furiously dig the scoop into the container.

“Hey,” Sam whispers, “I’m not
against
people falling in love, but Brad’s always been a chump, and I really didn’t care for how he’s been running roughshod all over her for the past year, so
yeah
I’m glad he’s out of her life, okay?”

“Whatever, Sam.” I dump the ice cream in a bowl and pull over an empty one so I can dish up another serving.

She huffs and grabs some spoons out of the drawer. “What are you getting all pissy at me for?” she says, coming back to the island.

I’m blinking back tears.

No.

Not now.

I’m not supposed to cry about him during the day. I do enough of that at night.

Sam sighs. “What?” she says, less angry but still exasperated.

“Is that what you thought about Shane?” I ask quietly. I’m holding the scoop but no longer dishing up. “That it’s better he’s out of my life?”

“No! Of course not.”

I look at her, uncertain. “Would you tell me if you did?”

“Well...” she hesitates.

I roll my eyes and she leans forward. “No, okay? Not at first. Do you think I’m going to go in there and tell Chloe what I think when she’s like this? But there’s going to come a time when I’ll probably say it. She’s a great girl and she deserves better. I’m not afraid to tell her that, when she’s ready to hear it.”

I drop the ice cream scoop in the container. Jack scoots it toward him, grabs a spoon, and takes a huge spoonful right out of the carton, watching me carefully.

I roll my eyes and scoot the last remaining empty bowl toward him as a hint. He dishes up his own serving obediently.

“Now,” Sam says softly, “I don’t know Shane. I’ve never interacted with him. I’ve never seen how he treats you or how the two of you are together. So all I have to go on is what you’ve told me. But you know what, you talk differently about Shane than Chloe talks about Brad. From what you’ve said, I think he would’ve been good for you, if things had gone differently. So, no. I’m not happy about what’s happened with the two of you, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

“You’re not?” I ask weakly.

“No honey. If you want to know the honest-to-god truth,” she says, picking up two bowls to take to the living room, “I think it’s a damn shame.”

She leaves the kitchen and Jack picks up two bowls too, kissing me on the top of my head before leaving me alone.

I pull my bowl over and grab a spoon.

Something’s ticking in me.

Tick, tick, tick.

It’s something that’s only seemed like an impossible thing thus far. Just like being with Professor Shane Brooks seemed like an impossible thing, back when he really was just my professor. Back when I was tormented with fantasies about him.

Tick, tick.

I’m tormented now too. And it’s not going away.

In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s never, never going away.

Tick.

I jump off my stool and leave my ice cream on the island.

“I’ll be back later,” I say, heading for my purse and out the door.

I’ll have to apologize to Chloe later.

But now that I’ve made my decision, I can’t wait any longer.

When I knock on the front door of Shane’s house, I’m acutely aware of the fact that in all the months I’ve spent here, I’ve never once stepped through this door. My car has never been parked on the front curb, as it is now.

I fidget with the hem of my shirt, dropping my hands abruptly when Shane opens the door.

He stops. “Isabella,” he says my name like a sigh. Like a relief.

Or maybe my heart is just imagining sweet, sweet hopeful things because then he says firmly, “Dean Jennings said—”

“Dean Jennings knows I’m here.”

Shane blinks.

“Can I come in?”

He hesitates. I think he’s going to say no, but then he steps back and opens the door wider.

I meant to just come in.

I really did.

But when I come through the door and in Shane’s direction I just keep right on going until I’ve wrapped my arms around him so tight and I’m tucking my cheek down against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry Shane. I’m so sorry for everything’s that’s happened and how horrible,
horrible
I know it’s been for you to have to lie to everyone and I never,”—a sob breaks out, though I try so hard to stop it—“meant for this...” My voice breaks again.
Goddammit.
This is not what I meant to come here and do.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly.

He takes me by the arms and tries to pull me away, but I cling to him. It feels so good to hold him again. I can’t seem to let go.

He gives up and wraps his arms around me. I close my eyes, sinking into it and holding him tighter.

“Honey, don’t cry. It’s not your fault.”

“I know I’m supposed to leave for Harvard in a few weeks but please, please don’t make me go.”