The Test (4 page)

I pushed inside, giving the doorman a grunt.
The doors of the elevator clicked closed behind me and when I
stepped out, I paused. I felt like I was in some horror movie, the
hall abandoned and stretching on forever. When I finally got down
the hall, I brought my hand up, trembling fingers unable to grip
the brass knocker. I balled my hand into a fist and two solid
thwoks echoed in my ears as my heart stalled in my chest.

The lock disengaged with a snap and the door
slowly, painfully, retracted and I saw his face.

They knew.

****

"Talk to me."

Chance kicked his feet up on the coffee table
and brought the mug to his lips. I stared him down as he took the
world's longest freaking sip.

"I think it's pretty obvious what happened."
His caramel colored eyes shot to me, waiting for me to put it
together. When the light bulb didn't flash on, he finished off his
coffee and rose to his feet. "Your friend made good on her
threat."

"Alicia?" I twisted my dark hair, needing
something to do with my hands so they didn’t shake right off my
body. "She wouldn't do that."

Chance walked to the island and poured coffee
into his empty cup. I expected him to reach for milk, but he
grabbed a bottle of booze instead. He wouldn't...but apparently he
would. He was topping off his coffee with alcohol.

He swatted away my concerned gaze as he took
another hearty gulp. "It's not like I have to go to work. She made
sure of that."

"Alicia wouldn't have reported you after we
straightened everything out," I insisted, tracking him with my
eyes, not believing that he was actually about to booze it up right
now. "Besides, even at the height of hatred, I don't think she
would have gone through with it."

He took a few steps forward like he intended
to retreat to the couch then decided on the stool beside the bar.
Fitting.

"Your mother then," he said gruffly.
"Honestly, from the way she acted at dinner, I'm sure she figured
it was the least she could do."

Mom. I hadn't talked to her since dinner, and
I wasn't sure if that counted anyway since she refused to say a
single word. Even though I made a choice to not be the first to
back down, she'd taken that small victory away by not even calling
or texting. Once upon a time I'd considered her helicopter
parenting a nuisance, but the truth was I'd give anything for
something other than the cold shoulder.

While her dislike of Chance was no secret,
even she looked shock when Alicia played the rat card. She wanted
him out of my life, but if she turned him in she'd go from
concerned parent to the villain and I didn't think that was a cross
she was ready to bear.

"I don't think it was my mom either."

He gave me a look so incredulous that I
almost doubted myself. "Not your mother. And not Alicia."

I didn't answer. I was sure, like 99.9
percent, but it was still the hair's breath from 100 that choked me
up. I met his eyes and answered with a confidence I had no right to
wield. "They didn't do it."

Chance's face clouded with anger, his grip on
his mug sending pangs of worry through my chest. Would he clutch it
so tight that it exploded in his hands or chunk it at the wall? Did
it matter?

I didn't see the brooding, darkly passionate
man I'd met who had an affinity for literature and half smiles. I
didn’t see the charismatic man who drew and held my attention,
turning the simplest things into pure sex on his tongue either.
This man, withdrawn, sullen, like death warmed over, was a
stranger. He needed me, or at least needed to hear that things
would be alright. Even if I wasn’t entirely sure of that myself--or
what all went down since he hadn’t said much about what
happened.

I put aside my apprehension at approaching
him in this state, poking and prodding when he clearly wanted to be
alone. I stopped a few steps from him, close enough that I could
smell the liquor radiating from him like a pungent cologne.

I held out my hand. “I think you’ve had
enough.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he said curtly. “Maybe
you should have a glass and relax.”

“Why don’t you just give me a sip of yours?
Seems like you have the whole bar in your mug.”

From the tightening of his jaw, I expected
him to tell me to stick my intervention where the sun don’t shine
but instead, he surrendered the cup, placing it solidly on the
counter.

“So if they aren’t responsible, who spoke
with the dean? The man’s a lot of things, but psychic isn’t one of
them.”

Dean Moriarty had a reputation for being a
bit of an asshole. Even the teachers that had reputations of their
own flinched when he ambled into their classrooms. He sat in his
swivel chair like a king on a throne, acting like lowly students
should effusively kiss his ass when he deigned to actually do his
job. I was shocked that he didn’t just fire Chance on the spot.

“So he called you into his office-”

“We didn’t even get that far,” Chance
interrupted. “He intercepted me in front of the student union.
Asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee and when I declined, wanted
me to accompany him to the library so he could find out how I was
adjusting.” He scratched the patchy stubble on his chin. “I was
supposed to meet a student before class, but he didn’t let me turn
him down, insisting that we needed to talk.”

He raked a hand through his messy hair and
his eyes locked on the coffee table like a projector was playing
out the whole sordid affair on the transparent sheet. “He said he
understood my behavior because I was a young teacher and it was
easy to forget about the boundaries that are supposed to exist
between teacher and student. He talked to me like I was a god damn
child,” Chance snarled with disgust.

I perched on the arm of the couch, ignoring
the way the aluminum frame jutted through the fabric and focused on
him. “Sounds like the Dean.”

“He told me that allegations had been made
about improper conduct with a student.” Chance regarded me slowly.
“I acted shocked and appalled…and asked what student had lodged the
complaint. He shrugged it off, saying the party spoke to him in
confidence.”

Even though I could care less about the Dean
knowing, the English department was small and it took no time at
all for rumors to make the circuit. There were a couple of
professors that I’d rather not hear about it. I liked to think they
could care less about gossip, but there was still a shimmer of
apprehension that made me worry they’d never look at me the same.
As modern as Thomas College claimed to be, sleeping with teachers
wasn’t seen as progressive.

“In confidence?” I repeated somberly. “He’s
not nearly as tight lipped as he claims.”

“Is that right?”

I nodded, remembering my icy reception in
class. “I think the department assistant has a crush on you.”

He frowned. “Lydia?”

“Yep,” I answered with a wry smile. “During
class she threw every question at me like she was trying to knock
me out and after I asked about you, she all but carved a scarlet S
on my chest.”

He pondered that for a minute then blinked at
me with mischief in his eyes. “You jealous?”

“Nah,” I said with a dismissive shrug.
“Besides, she wouldn’t be nearly as interested if she saw you
now.”

He gestured at his getup, like he was wearing
a two piece suit instead of a t-shirt with Swiss cheese like holes
and a pair of sweats. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

“Nothing if slacker chic is your thing,” I
sniffed and crinkled my nose. “Your smell however…”

He laughed, a loud boisterous melody that cut
through the fog of reality. Watching his face light up, rays
peeking in through the storm, I forgot about the person who was
trying to hurt him. To hurt us.

His laugh tapered off to chuckles and I could
tell that he was going back to the darkness. I popped up, grabbing
his mug before he could self-medicate.

“I’ll get you a fresh cup of coffee.” I
maneuvered around the corner of the island, bracing myself on the
granite countertop. “Cream?”

“Kahlua.”

“Cream it is.”

I opened his fridge and scanned all of the
healthy organic labels until I landed on the carton of cream. “So
what happens now?”

“I’m supposed to meet with the Dean and a
college representative tomorrow to talk about the allegations,” he
answered, voice rife with tension. “I have to make a statement,
claiming that I haven’t done anything inappropriate.”

“You
haven’t
done anything
inappropriate,” I said with an edge.

“Inappropriate in the eyes of Thomas
College,” he clarified.

I watched the cream spread across the coffee,
the rich mahogany shedding its skin for the caramel underneath.

“If I don’t lie, I’ll lose my job.”

There it was. Neither of us had actually said
the words aloud, like the unadulterated truth would summon a
terrible monster to eat us alive. I’d prepared myself for the cut
of it, for the inevitable sting of hearing blame and anger behind
the statement. I doubted his teaching salary paid for all of this,
but the loss of income could very well put him back in that
awkwardly small apartment decorated with Craigslist finds and
Goodwill treasures.

I’d planned on making a joke, saying that the
whole rich and sophisticated thing was nice but I wasn’t made out
for being a kept woman. But I didn’t find icy judgment or hidden
resentment undercutting the words of what our relationship would
cost him. In its place, I heard something hollow and melancholy.
Something that told me he didn’t see it as just an occupation or a
way to pay the bills and pass time until something better came
along.

I glanced at him, trying to further decode
his reaction but as soon as he felt my gaze, he hid it all away
with a smile. I’d seen enough to get the gist and my mind retreated
back to Chance at the front of the class. The way he moved. The way
he recited the words, bringing them screeching from the page until
they were living and breathing concepts that got under your skin.
The way he listened to every person and made them feel like their
contribution was valid and important. I was seeing him through love
colored glasses before, selfishly thinking that the job was just
his way of being around me, of fixing us, that I didn’t even think
to ask what led him to teaching. As important as I liked to think I
was, if all he wanted was me, he could have staked out Royal Bean
until he wore me down and I agreed to talk to him.

I swiveled around the island, offering him
the coffee. “When we met, I remember asking if you wanted to teach
and you pretty much acted like that would be a fate worse than
death.”

He inhaled the aroma of his coffee before
responding. “A class full of pseudo intellectuals who all think
they’re the best thing since Faulkner?” He shuddered. “It seemed
like purgatory, some terrible punishment for all my years of
smoking Pall Malls and drinking PBR as I quoted Tolstoy.”

I curled up on the sofa, bringing my own mug
in for a good sniff before taking a sip. “So what happened?”

“You know how my dissertation was on literacy
and disadvantaged populations?” He waited for my nod then
continued. “I had absolutely zero, nada interest in doing anything
other than immersing myself in articles and lit reviews. But my
advisor told me that my observations lacked depth and the community
was filled with real children in need and volunteering with a
literacy organization would only aide my final paper. I took her up
on it and started reading to elementary kids.”

I almost spit out my coffee. The Chance from
before would always scowl when Moms came in the coffee shop with
kids in tow. “You read to kids?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some
Grinch-like hater of children and happiness and joy.”

“Uh huh,” I teased. “So you volunteered…then
what?”

“It started off with one teacher asking for
help and led to a group of them bringing me in to read to the kids
in their class.” He smiled. “They were so amazing, Cass. The look
on their tiny faces when something clicked...it was beautiful.”

I stared at him in awe, shock, and
amazement…and a good bit of heat was lighting up all over me. I
guess it was true--guys with kids
were
sexy.

“So after I finished, I substituted awhile
and decided that I should give the possibility of teaching another
look. When I went to London, I kicked it on a friend’s couch that
taught at university in London and ended up doing some assistant
teaching and making connections. I took a break and did some more
traveling, but I missed the classroom. And the rest, as they say,
is history.”

The light in his face flickered, our current
situation a gust of wind about to snuff out something that made him
happy. Even before when I hated to admit that he could change,
there was no denying the fact that Chance was different; more
engaging, more open, more confident. Teaching helped make him a
better person. And now, he was about to lose it all.

I cradled the mug between my palms, giving
him a steely, determined look. “You have to tell them it’s just a
rumor. That you don’t see any of your students as anything more
than young, eager minds to mold-”

“And corrupt?” he cut in slyly.

“Whatever you need to say to get them to drop
it,” I said, disregarding his playful interjection. “You don’t have
to lose your job, Chance. Not because of me.”

“I’ll find another job, Cass,” he said
gently. “If not at a university in this area, there’s always high
school-”

I shook my head effusively. “I won’t let you
take a step backward.”

“I’ll cast a wider net then,” he answered.
“It’s not a big deal-”

“And what if you can’t find a job within
driving distance?” I refuted. “You’ll have to move, right?”