Break Your Heart (4 page)

Something about him intrigued me, against my better judgment. Something in me wanted to know more. And in that moment, I had a sudden, real discomfort that distracting myself with other guys wouldn’t satisfy that itch right below my skin. The itch to understand who my professor was and what made him tick.

T
he waves of Lake Erie slapped the shores of our beach as I stared at the waterfront from my parents’ patio. There was nothing quite like seeing a sunset on the water, even in the wintertime. The sky, which had cleared up this afternoon, was awash in brilliant ribbons of pinks and purples. To my right, the sun dipped in the western horizon. To my left, darkness edged in with a blanket of star-pierced navy blue.

I sat in silence, sipping a glass of my mom’s favorite white wine and relaxing. No matter how stressed I’d gotten as a kid, my refuge had been the water. I kinda missed being so close to it, having it right there whenever I needed it. I missed falling asleep with my window open, listening to the waves lap at the sand.

Mom and Dad were inside, making dinner. I’d asked if I could help, but they’d shooed me away, telling me to relax. So I’d wrapped up in a thick blanket—the way I had countless times growing up—and perched on a patio chair.

My cheeks were cold, but it was well worth the sight.

After a few more minutes, I heard my mom’s call for dinner. I came inside and helped set plates. She’d made chicken with asparagus, mashed potatoes and parsnips. My mouth was already watering—I missed home-cooked food.

“Casey and I don’t eat like this,” I said with a mournful sigh as I settled into my seat.

Dad laughed. “Guess you guys should come over more often,” he teased.

“I would if I weren’t so busy acing my classes,” I lobbed back with a wink. My parents knew my schedule was crazy, but I also knew that they missed me. We got together when we could.

Mom moved toward the dining room table, then paused, turned around and left the room. A moment later, she returned with a smile. As she settled into her chair, she said, “Okay, the big news.” She reached over and squeezed Dad’s hand. “Your father and I got a lucrative contract to renovate the dorms on your campus.”

I blinked, my jaw dropping open. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Congrats to you guys! When did all of this go down? How did it happen?”

“I have a contact at Smythe-Davis in the maintenance department. When the bid opened up due to some immediate issues that happened in one of the dorms, he told me about it. The project manager chose our company to handle the restoration.” He glanced at Mom and smiled. “This is going to be a big opportunity for us. We’ve never had a project of this size and scope before. It will push us into the big leagues.”

I speared a stalk of asparagus and chewed. I was glad for my parents, but I had to admit it’d be a little strange having them on campus. The independence I’d experienced the last three and a half years was probably going to be impacted by this. I shoved that uncomfortable thought aside. “Is business okay otherwise?”

Mom’s smile stiffened just a fraction of a second before she said, “It’s good. Just a little . . . slow. Winter months are always like that though. Nothing to worry about.” She waved her hand at me to keep eating.

My parents hadn’t struggled with money in quite a while. They’d bought this house when I was in elementary school, and it had seemed like their business was steady. Still, I was sure it was a relief to have a big project lined up. I felt a little bad for my earlier discomfort. It wasn’t like they were going to be up my ass, checking on me every five minutes to make sure I was doing homework or whatever. My parents were supportive and pushed me hard to do my best, but they’d never been controlling. Surely they’d respect my space, right?

“How are classes going?” Dad asked in between bites.

I filled them in on what I was taking this semester and some of the people I’d met so far. Of course, I carefully regulated my voice when it came to discussing cryptography . . . and my intriguing teacher.

“I think my hardest class is going to be psychology of stress,” I admitted. “Which sounds crazy, I know, but it’s just so much theory being thrown at you. About how this psychologist or that theorist thinks stress originates, manifests and so on. It’s not the most engaging subject matter to me.”

Dad laughed. “I didn’t go to college, but I’d find that stuff boring too. A little too woo-woo for my tastes.”

“Exactly.” I nodded.

Mom dabbed her napkin over her mouth and sighed. Her smile turned gentle and soft, her eyes a touch hazy. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was buzzed. But she’d been drinking only water since I’d gotten here.

“Your back still hurting?” I asked.

She blinked and looked at me, and I swore it took a second for her eyes to focus. “Oh, just a touch. But I think it’s getting better.”

I could practically feel Dad’s frown aimed toward her. Obviously she hadn’t told him about the recurring pain. And obviously when she’d gotten up before dinner, she’d taken another pain pill. “Mom,” I said evenly, careful to keep my voice neutral, “the doctor said there was a possibility of pain returning, due to nerve damage, but there were options. Like going to the pain clinic. You should really give him a call, even if you feel like the pain is lessening.” Mom was strong and independent, and she didn’t like being told what to do, but I remembered all too vividly what kind of agony she was in while healing.

She hadn’t complained to us, but I’d hear her quiet cries in the night as she tried to fight off the pain. Her tears had gutted me. I hated to think of her going through that again.

The sincerity in my eyes must have reached her, because she nodded. “Okay. I promise I’ll talk to him. Now stop nagging me about it.” The last sentence was said with a joking tone.

Dad still hadn’t spoken up, had just silently watched us converse. I could tell he was bothered though; there was a big frown line between his eyebrows, and he’d stopped inhaling his dinner. I knew he wasn’t going to let this go, which helped me feel a little better.

Dinner conversation flowed on after that. Mom caught me up on what my aunts and uncles were up to, who was feuding, who had gotten fired. Apparently, it had been a busy couple of weeks.

My extended family was rather large. My mom had four sisters, who each had several kids. Our small family of three was the odd one out. But reunions and get-togethers were always a blast. I loved my cousins.

We finished off dinner. Mom kept smothering yawns—obviously the meds were hitting her hard now. My heart pinched as I watched her tired eyes scan over the table. Before she could protest, I gathered up the plates, scraped them off and popped them in the dishwasher.

“I think I’m going to bed,” Mom said on a low sigh. She gave me a hug, then shuffled down the hallway.

My dad and I watched her go. He put away the leftovers while I wiped down the counters.

“So, when are you guys going to be on campus?” I asked him to get my mind off my mom. “We should have lunch or something.” Maybe if I scheduled get-togethers with them, it would let them feel like they’re a part of my campus life while giving me some measure of control over things.

He tilted his head. “Actually, we’ll be there next week to meet with the project manager. We can at least get coffee or something.” He popped the last container in the fridge. “So, are you doing okay?”

I gave him a hug. “I’m good. Everything’s going well so far. My senior thesis is ready for revisions. The end is in sight.”

He pressed a kiss to my brow and wrapped his arms tighter around me. “I’m proud of you, you know. Never thought I’d have such a smart, beautiful daughter. I feel so lucky.”

My eyes stung, and I nuzzled my face into his soft long-sleeved shirt. “Thanks, Dad.” I felt lucky too.

 

When I got back to the apartment, Casey was already in her room. I could see light spilling out from under her bedroom door. Probably working on homework. The girl was as diligent as I was.

I heard her voice, then a low male chuckle. My grin widened. So Daniel was over here too.
Good for you, Casey,
I thought as I went to the fridge and grabbed a soda. I had to admit, the thought of her moving out made me sad, even as I was happy for her. I hoped she wasn’t too freaked out about the change. Sometimes it took her a while to adjust.

I took my soda to my room and closed the door. Put on some ambient music and opened up my thesis paper again. It was pure impulse that had me firing up my laptop and logging into email.

Earlier today I’d written Dr. Muramoto’s email address at the bottom of my paper, just to have it handy. I typed it into the address line, then wrote “senior thesis” in the subject line. Then stopped. The blank cursor in the message box blinked.

What should I write?

 

Dr. Muramoto,
I started to type.
Thank you for the extensive feedback on my paper. I’m ready to work on revisions. I’ll get those back to you as soon as possible.
I paused.
And I promise to not be caught like a deer in the headlights next time you call on me in class. I don’t know where my brain was. Sorry about that.

 

I typed my name and hit send before I could talk myself out of it. Then I hopped online to check out my social media and see what people were up to. I’d barely been on much since the semester had started.

An email popped into my in-box about five minutes later.

 

 

My lungs squeezed as I read the message. He’d signed his first name. Did that mean I should use it? What was protocol here? And why the hell was I stressing so much about what to call him? Ugh. I decided to skip the greeting and go right to the message.

 

This time I didn’t bother to flick back over to my social media. I kept my in-box open. The single line of his reply sent a low glide of heat through my belly.

 

 

My skin tightened at the fantasy of his dark eyes growing darker and more hooded as they locked on mine, all that intensity he brought into the classroom solely focused on me. His lips brushing my earlobe when he leaned in close and whispered those words in my ear.

I bit my lip and willed myself to shake off this train of thought.
Be rational,
I told myself. Nothing in that reply was sexual or sensual. I was just reading into it.

But . . . what if I wasn’t? That was a totally loaded response by him; surely he knew it could be interpreted in more than one way.

Suddenly I wanted to keep this conversation going, to learn more about him. The only way to find out if I was reading into his words was to write him back, draw him into a conversation.

I stared at his message for a moment, my flesh prickling with anticipation and a tinge of fear. I took a moment to wipe my damp palms on my thighs. Then I typed out a reply.

 

 

The pause after I hit send was much longer. A full twenty minutes ticked by. Maybe I’d interrupted him when he was trying to get work done. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to a student. Maybe I was too pushy and bugged him. After all, this was his free time.

Then again, he was the one responding to my emails. Or had been until now.

Finally, my in-box dinged. I was pretty sure my heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds.
He wrote back,
my brain yelled at me
.
My traitorous fingers trembled as I opened his message.

 

 

A warm flush stole over my face, down my throat. I knew it was goofy to read into the fact that he’d been thinking about me, about my goals and future. But so be it. My hands were a bit steadier this time when I replied.

 

 

My fingers hovered over the keys as I debated what to type next.

 

 

I sent the message. It was another fifteen minutes or so before I got a reply. I stared at his email blankly—it was just a jumble of letters.

Uh, did he have a cat that had jumped on the keyboard or something?

I eyed it again. Wait, there was something in this. It wasn’t random—it was a pattern. My brain whirred as I tried to figure it out. Was he sending me some kind of a code? A small smile broke out on my face. Interesting.

It took me a good ten minutes to identify the code. The letters he’d typed were two off from the originals, so A was C, B was D, and so on. I grabbed a piece of paper and translated.

 

 

I couldn’t help it—I burst into laughter.

Casey’s voice called out from in the living room. “Hey, Megan. You want some ice cream? And we’re going to watch
Teen Witch—
come join us
.
I’m pretty sure you could recite this movie by heart now.”