forty
Dinner somehow survived us. By the time we'd clothed ourselves and finally wandered back into the kitchen, the potatoes had come dangerously close to burning, but Trevor had managed to rescue them with a triumphant grin that made me laugh harder than it probably deserved.
"I'm counting that as a success," he declared, scraping the potatoes onto our plates. "They're a little crisp."
"They're rustic."
"That's one word for it."
I laughed again, and before I realized it, we'd spent the next hour talking over dinner as though this had always been our routine. It surprised me how easy conversation became once neither of us had anything left to hide.
He told me stories about culinary school and the disasters that came with learning to cook professionally. I admitted to nearly setting the microwave on fire trying to make ramen when I was twelve. Somewhere between dessert and another glass of wine, we somehow found ourselves debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
For a few precious hours, there were no stressors desperate to steal what joy tonight brought. No classrooms, hospitals, or impossible decisions demanding my attention. It was just Trevor and me.
Sometime after midnight, exhaustion finally caught up with us.
"I'm not letting you walk back across campus at this hour," Trevor said.
"I've survived Wisconsin winters before."
"You've also survived a broken bone. That doesn't mean I'd recommend repeating it."
"So that's your professional opinion?" I smiled, finishing the last swig of wine.
"My professional opinion," he said, grabbing the glass and our dirty dishes before walking them into the kitchen, "is that you're staying here tonight."
There wasn't much left to argue, so I didn't. The apartment had grown quiet by the time we finally made our way to his bedroom. Outside, snow drifted lazily past the bedroom window, softening the glow of the streetlights beyond the glass.
I hesitated in the doorway, and Trevor noticed immediately.
"What is it?"
"I..." Heat crept into my face before I could stop it. "I don't think your sofa survived me."
For half a second he stared at me. Then he laughed.
"Alex."
"I'm serious."
"I know you are."
His smile only grew. After reassuring me for what felt like the hundredth time—and proving his point with a quick internet search that left me burying my face in his shoulder out of sheer embarrassment—I finally allowed him to convince me that neither his furniture nor my dignity had suffered nearly as much as I'd imagined.
The bedroom suddenly didn't feel nearly as intimidating.
Later, tucked beneath impossibly warm blankets, I found myself listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me. He'd long fallen asleep, but I'd been too wired from our earlier extracurriculars to let the night slip away. The room smelled faintly of cedar and laundry detergent. His fingers absentmindedly found mine beneath the covers, leaving the quiet comfort of knowing neither of us had to pretend anymore.
I hadn't expected peace to feel like this. Somewhere in the darkness, Trevor shifted closer in his sleep, as he wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me closer.
With a groggy voice, he said, "I'm glad you decided to stay," before his forehead brushed lightly against mine and a sleepy kiss found my temple.
I smiled before sleep finally claimed me too.
Morning found me before I was ready for it. Thin ribbons of sunlight filtered through the blinds, stretching across the bedroom floor before eventually climbing the comforter tucked around us. For a long moment, I lay there listening.
Trevor's breathing escaped in a slow, even rhythm of someone still lost in sleep. Careful not to wake him, I turned onto my side. He looked younger asleep.
The lines of responsibility that usually lingered around his eyes had disappeared completely, replaced by an expression so peaceful it was difficult to believe this was the same man who spent every day balancing fatherhood, classrooms, Hinkhouse, and the weight of everyone else's expectations.
A loose strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. Before I could stop myself, I brushed it aside.
His lips twitched into the faintest smile, and I froze.
"You know," his sleepy voice mumbled without opening his eyes, "people usually wait until someone's awake before staring at them."
Heat immediately rushed into my cheeks.
"That is one hundred percent untrue. Plus, I wasn't staring." I paused, trying my hardest to come up with something else to say. "You had something in your hair. Figured I'd help you out."
"I've apparently had something in my hair for the last five minutes."
"You've been awake?" I laughed quietly.
"Not entirely." One eye finally opened just enough for him to look at me. "But I was enjoying the attention."
I rolled my eyes, though the smile betraying me made the gesture considerably less convincing.
"I should go."
Reality had a way of finding us eventually, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't lie in his bed all day.
Trevor's smile faded just enough for me to notice.
"I know."
Neither of us moved for a while, trying to savor what little time we had left to be completely free together. Eventually, I slipped quietly from the bed, sheet wrapped around my bare body as I gathered yesterday's clothes from where they'd been folded across the chair near the window. I dressed in silence, stealing far too many glances in his direction while pretending not to.
By the time I finished pulling on my coat, Trevor had pushed himself up against the headboard, still looking more asleep than awake.
"I'll walk you out."
"You don't have to."
"I know." He smiled. "But I want to."
By the front door, we stood there for a moment, both unsure of what a morning after abandoning all resistance looked like at departure. It was obvious that neither of us wanted the moment to end, but as I pulled my backpack over my shoulder, I knew there was no way to prevent the inevitable.
"I'll see you in class," I said.
His expression softened.
"Back to reality and the presumption of you being a student."
The thought made something twist inside my chest.
"I hate that."
"So do I." he paused. "Which is why you should let me drive you home. It'll give us a little bit more time before we have to pretend nothing has changed between us.
"I need the walk," I say. And it's true. How was I supposed to face Taylor, let alone the day, if I didn't have a moment to myself to process last night?
For a second, neither of us said anything, then Trevor leaned forward and pressed one absentminded kiss against my lips before resting his forehead lightly against mine. Before I could think of something worthy enough to say back, he opened the door.
Cold winter air spilled into the apartment. I stepped outside, looked back once, and found him watching me from the doorway. Then, with one last smile, I started the long walk back toward campus.
The walk back to campus gave me exactly what I'd hoped it would.
Time.
The cold morning air stung my cheeks with every step, but it gave me something tangible to focus on besides the whirlwind replaying in my head. Every few minutes, my fingers traced the silhouette of my lips without thinking, and each time I caught myself smiling before quickly willing it away.
By the time Winchester's buildings came into view, the campus had already woken up. Students hurried down the quad with coffee cups in hand, bundled beneath winter coats, fresh snow crunching beneath their boots.
The closer I got to my dorm, the more I thought about that stupid bucket list I had created some time ago. Somewhere, fourteen-year-old Alex would've fainted that I had actually gone through with it. The thought made me laugh under my breath. At least I could cross one of the most egregious things off my bucket list.
Seduce a faculty member.
With dawn painting streaks of pale orange and pink across the sky, I found myself grateful that Taylor had mentioned spending the night with Leonardo. At least I wouldn't have to explain why I was returning to the dorm wearing the same clothes I'd left in yesterday, something she would dare not let escape us.
That relief lasted all of three seconds. The moment I unlocked the door, two voices exploded through the room.
"Happy birthday!"
Taylor launched herself at me before I even had a chance to react, wrapping both arms around my shoulders in a hug so enthusiastic it nearly knocked me backward into the hallway.
"There she is!" she laughed.
As she pulled away, she leaned close enough for only me to hear.
"So..." she whispered, eyeing yesterday's clothes with exaggerated suspicion. "How was your walk of shame?"
Heat immediately climbed into my face.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Mhm."
She stepped aside with the most unconvinced expression I'd ever seen. Christian was waiting behind her, smiling despite the exhaustion still lingering beneath his eyes. He pulled me into a hug the moment Taylor released me.
"Happy birthday, Alex."
I hugged him tighter than I'd intended.
"Thanks."
When we finally stepped apart, Taylor folded her arms across her chest.
"Seriously," she said. "How were you planning on not telling me today was your birthday?"
"I... wasn't trying not to tell you."
"Oh really?" She pointed dramatically toward Christian. "Because your brother had to wake me up this morning to tell me." She gestured toward her oversized T-shirt and pajama shorts. "I didn't even get the chance to put on real clothes before learning my roommate has apparently been keeping birthdays classified information."
"It just... wasn't really a big deal." The amusement softened on both of their faces. "It used to be, but with how life has been going lately, I haven't really felt like celebrating." I glanced toward the floor.
Birthdays hadn't felt the same since Mom died. Last year, Dad had practically forced me to celebrate, surprising Christian and me with a trip to Fiji after insisting the living honored the dead by continuing to live themselves. I'd rolled my eyes at him then. Now, with him lying unconscious miles away, my fingers found the typewriter pendant against my chest, and I would've given anything to hear him say it again.
"I guess..." I said quietly, "...it stopped feeling important."
Neither of them tried to argue. Taylor disappeared toward her side of the room before returning with a large gift bag she'd somehow managed to hide in plain sight.
"Well," she announced, placing it into my hands, "we're changing that."
She handed the bag over to me and explained that it was from both her and my brother. Curiosity got the better of me almost immediately. I pulled back the tissue paper until I found a cream-colored envelope tucked neatly against the side.
"Not that one," Taylor said quickly. "Read it when you're alone."
"Why?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
"Because I said so."
I glanced toward Christian for an explanation, but he only shrugged.
"Just... listen to her."
Whatever was written inside suddenly felt far more intimidating than the gift itself. I set the envelope aside and reached deeper into the bag. My fingers brushed smooth leather. Slowly, I lifted out a journal, my name embossed across the front in elegant gold lettering. Beneath it rested a Bastion fountain pen engraved to match. For a moment, I stared.
Though I hadn't intended to calculate how much they'd spent on me, it was impossible not to. The Bastion pen alone retailed for nearly eighty dollars before engraving. The journal was even more expensive—a fact I only knew because I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time researching it online a few weeks ago.
Back then, I'd promised myself that if I somehow managed to win the Scholastic Writing Competition, I'd celebrate by buying one. Apparently, they'd beaten me to it.
"You guys..." The words refused to come. I ran my fingertips over the lettering of my name, still struggling to believe it belonged to me. "It's beautiful."
Taylor's face lit up. "I knew you'd love it."
I looked between the journal and the pen before finding the two of them again.
"You really didn't have to do this."
"We wanted to," Christian said simply.
"And," Taylor added with a grin, "considering you're officially an award-winning author now, we figured you deserved something worthy of whatever masterpiece you write next."
A laugh escaped me despite the sting behind my eyes.
"I haven't even been published yet."
"You will be. That's a fact."
I pulled both of them into a hug before either had the chance to object.
"Thank you." The words felt painfully inadequate, but they were all I had.
"I still wish I'd have found out from you instead of your brother," Taylor said, shaking her head. "But since it's your birthday, I won't stress it." She points toward the dorm room door. "Shower. Get dressed. We're going to Burt's."
Rather than question why, I nodded. I set the journal and pen carefully on my desk before running my thumb across my name engraved into the leather one last time.
By the time we arrived, a section near the back of the restaurant had been blocked off just for us—just the four of us: Taylor, Leonardo, Christian, and me.
The gesture was small, but it was more than enough.
For someone who hadn't planned on celebrating at all, it felt strangely nice knowing someone else had decided I was worth celebrating.
Conversation flowed easily while our food arrived. Taylor and Leonardo spent most of breakfast teasing each other across the table, something neither of them seemed remotely embarrassed by anymore.
Christian smiled when the conversation reached him. Now and then, I'd catch him staring absently through the restaurant window before forcing himself back into whatever Taylor had been saying.
He was here, or at least he was trying to be. But grief—and everything else weighing on him lately—had followed him to the table. As backward as it seemed, a part of me wished Meghan had been sitting beside him. It wasn't because I'd suddenly become fond of her, but I knew that's where he wished she was.
"So..." Taylor said, drawing the word out suspiciously as she looked past my shoulder. "I hope you don't get mad."
"What did you do?"
"I invited someone." Taylor's grin widened.
Before I had the chance to ask who, the lights around me disappeared beneath two familiar hands covering my eyes.
"Guess who?" a familiar voice laughed. "Birthday girl?"
I wish there had been enough time to mask my surprise. Wyatt's hands slipped from my eyes and landed on my shoulders as he leaned around me, a wide smile spread across his face.
"You weren't going to tell me it was your birthday, were you?"
"No," I admitted.
"At least you're honest."
He bent down and planted a soft kiss against my cheek before I could prepare myself for it, and everything about it felt wrong—not because I didn't like it. That was the problem.
I turned in my seat and wrapped my arms around him instead, allowing the embrace to last long enough to hide whatever expression had taken over my face. I genuinely liked Wyatt. I'd known that long before last night.
Last night, there hadn't been anyone else but Trevor, though. No thoughts of Wyatt or reality, like the consequences waiting outside Trevor's apartment if anyone found out what we had done together. Last night, it was just us. Now, sitting in the middle of Burt's with Wyatt's arms around me, the rest of my life had returned all at once. Before we separated, his mouth lowered toward my ear.
"We have to talk."
My stomach plummeted. I pulled back just enough to look at him, but his expression gave away absolutely nothing.
"Okay."
Whatever conversation he intended to have clearly wasn't happening here because Wyatt immediately claimed the empty seat beside me as though he hadn't just dropped a threat directly into my birthday celebration.
"Surprise?" Taylor smiled before taking an obnoxiously long sip from her drink.
I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Don't blame her. I'm pretty sure she thought you'd appreciate my presence."
I did. That was what made everything infinitely more complicated. There was no denying how easily Christian had always been able to see through me whenever I had something to hide. It was how he'd managed to believe the rumors about Professor Thornton and me long before there was actually anything worth believing.
Now there was. I glanced across the table at my brother, half expecting to find him studying me. Instead, Christian seemed distracted by whatever Leonardo was saying.
For once, I was grateful. With fatherhood approaching, Dad fighting for his life, and the possibility of losing everything he'd worked for academically, maybe Christian didn't have the energy to dissect my life on top of his own.
Wyatt, however, was different. He noticed things. Maybe because life had taught him to, after everything his father had put him and his mother through, trust didn't seem to come naturally to Wyatt. He watched people closely because experience had taught him that the people you loved were still capable of disappointing you.
I reached for my drink and took a long sip. Whatever Wyatt wanted to talk about, I could only hope it wasn't what I thought it was.
By the time we prepared to leave Burt's, the knot Wyatt had tied in my stomach with four simple words had managed to survive the entire meal.
We have to talk.
Whatever he wanted to discuss would have to wait a little longer because Christian caught my arm before I could follow Taylor and Leonardo toward the exit.
"Hold up. I wanted to tell you something."
There was something different about his expression. The heaviness I'd grown accustomed to seeing over the last few weeks was still there, but underneath it was something lighter—almost excitement.
"What?"
He glanced toward the others before lowering his voice.
"We found out the sex of the baby."
Any lingering thoughts of Wyatt disappeared.
"You did?"
Christian nodded, and the smile that spread across his face answered the question before he did.
"It's a boy."
"A boy?"
"A boy," he repeated, laughing through whatever emotion threatened to overtake him.
I didn't intend to be as excited as I was. My reservations about Meghan hadn't suddenly disappeared, nor had everything surrounding their situation become less complicated simply because there was now a gender attached to the baby. But none of that changed the fact that my brother was having a son. I was going to have a nephew. Before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around Christian.
"Oh my God, Chris."
"I know." His laugh vibrated against my shoulder as he hugged me back.
"You're going to have a little boy."
"That's generally what 'it's a boy' means, Alex."
I pulled back long enough to shove his shoulder.
"Shut up. I'm trying to have a moment."
The excitement inside me faltered just enough for Christian to notice.
"I know," he said quietly. "He's going to be so excited."
Not would've been. Going to be. I needed the distinction more than I wanted to admit. I refused to let myself imagine anything beyond that. Dad waking up. Christian telling him. The look that would cross his face when he realized his son was about to become a father. That was the version I wanted. So I held onto it.
"How are your classes?" I asked once the silence became too heavy.
Christian groaned immediately.
"That bad?"
"Worse."
"Chris," I paused. "No, seriously. You can't let everything happening right now cost you school too."
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I'm trying."
"Then let me help."
"With what?"His eyebrows pulled together.
"Whatever you're behind on." I shrugged.
That earned the smallest laugh from him.
"Alex—"
"I'm serious. I can't stand around and watch you flunk out."
Especially not with a baby coming. And definitely not with the possibility of Dad eventually opening his eyes only to discover that while he'd been fighting for his life, one of his children had dropped out of college and gotten someone pregnant in the process. One crisis at a time seemed considerably more reasonable.
Christian studied me for a moment before finally nodding.
"Alright. I'll let you help because I genuinely need it and can't let Dad down."
"Good."
Taylor and Leonardo leave shortly after, but Wyatt lingers near the entrance while Christian and I finish saying goodbye. The second my brother disappears outside, the anxiety I'd managed to suppress returns.
Wyatt catches the door for me, and we step into the cold.
"You said we needed to talk."
"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his coat pockets as we walk. "And I know your birthday probably isn't the best time to bring this up, but I've been thinking about it since class."
My stomach tightens.
"About what?"
"When I tried to hold your hand." He glances at me. "You pulled away like I'd done something wrong."
Of all the things he could've confronted me about, it had to be the one thing I couldn't possibly explain without admitting the truth to myself. Professor Thornton had been watching us, and that had mattered enough for me to reject Wyatt.
"You didn't do anything." I tucked my hands deeper into my coat. "Public affection just makes me uncomfortable. Afterward, I thought about grabbing your hand again, but figured that would've made it even more awkward."
It isn't entirely a lie, but it's enough of one to make the guilt feel worse. Wyatt nods, though his expression doesn't give me much indication of whether he believes me.
Since we're apparently confronting things, I decide I might as well address one of my own.
"What about Rachel?"
His eyebrows lift.
"What about her?"
"Hoa's. She mentioned you brought a different girl there. A strawberry blonde."
Recognition crosses his face.
"I only took her there because getting her off campus was the easiest way to get her to talk to me without an audience." He stops walking. "She has this thing for me, and I'm not sure why but I capitalized on it to let her down easily. Unfortunately it didn't end like i thought it would, but I'm sure I managed to get her to back off of you."
"What is it with men thinking women constantly need rescuing?" I say, rolling my eyes at him
Wyatt laughs.
"Well, has she bothered you since?"
My mouth opens, then closes. She hadn't.
"That's what I thought," he grins.
"Don't look so proud of yourself."
Somehow, we've made it all the way to his car. Wyatt leans against the side of it before suddenly smiling.
"Close your eyes. I got you something."
"Wyatt—"
"Alexandrea."
The use of my full name earns him another eye roll.
"You really didn't have to get me anything."
"I know. Close them."
Against my better judgment, I do. There's the chirp of his car unlocking, followed by the trunk opening and several seconds of shuffling.
"Fine."
When I open my eyes, he's holding a bouquet of roses and sunflowers—my favorites. The surprise alone is enough to make me smile, but then I notice the cream-colored Burberry dust bag in his other hand.
"No."
"Yes." Wyatt grins.
"Absolutely not."
He hands me the flowers anyway before passing over the bag. Inside is the plaid backpack I'd spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at online. My eyes snap toward him.
"How did you even know?"
"Taylor."
"She is the ultimate traitor," I say, eyeing the bag's beauty.
"She was remarkably easy to interrogate."
I run my fingers across the fabric before looking at him again.
"Wyatt, this is too much. Seriously. I can't accept this."
He takes the flowers and backpack from me before opening the back door and placing both safely inside.
"My father might be an abusive asshole, but his money continues finding its way into my trust fund and it spends all the same." He shuts the door. "It's fine."
"That's a terrible argument."
He smiles as he steps closer, and suddenly, none of this feels funny anymore. I hate how easy it is to remember why I liked him in the first place.
Wyatt had never made his interest difficult to understand. There were no closed doors required. No careful glances around campus. No career waiting to implode if someone caught us standing too close.
With Trevor, everything had to remain hidden. With Wyatt, I could stand in the middle of a parking lot while he bought me flowers and not worry about who might see. And despite everything that happened last night, I couldn't pretend that distinction didn't matter.
Worse, I couldn't pretend my feelings for Wyatt had disappeared simply because I'd finally surrendered to the ones I had for Trevor. They hadn't.
"You don't make it easy for a woman to resist you, do you?"
His eyes remain on mine as he takes another step closer.
"Is that what you want?"
"What?"
"To resist me?"
Last night flashes through my mind. Trevor telling me to stay. His hands roaming my body, his lips against mine. And now Wyatt is standing in front of me, asking a question that should have one painfully obvious answer, but it doesn't, because when I look at him, I still want whatever this is too.
"No."
"Then don't."
Wyatt reaches for my hand. This time, I let him take it. He lifts my knuckles to his lips and presses a soft kiss against them before flashing that obnoxiously perfect smile.
Christ.
What the hell was I doing?