by Celeste, B.
When the front door opens behind me, a rush of cold air blows my hair and causes shivers to race down my spine. The door clicking shut has me looking over my shoulder, wondering if my first student arrived early. Doubtful, but there’s always at least one person who takes their grades seriously. The first week is always rough though because it just consists of meeting the people you’re working with for the next fifteen weeks and going over paperwork and expectations.
Expectations like actually showing up.
But it’s not a student that’s searching the room. Carter Ford is sporting a long black coat that’s buttoned to fit his bulky body and charcoal pants that are looser than the ones he wore Tuesday. He looks professional as his eyes scan the room for … what?
I clear my throat and stand, catching his attention. His brows draw up as I approach him, setting down papers on the table. “What can I help you with, Professor Ford?”
“It’s Carter.”
Not here, it’s not.
I simply wait for him to reply.
He senses as much. “I was told I could find Maggie Fields here. I’m supposed to speak with her about setting up accommodations for a student in one of my courses.”
I nod and gesture for him to follow me to Ms. Fields’s office in the back. Typically students are encouraged to seek their own help from the Student Center Services, but some cases are different. When I see the light off as we approach the locked room, I frown.
“Did you have an appointment?” It doesn’t matter if he does, she’s usually here and oftentimes not busy. But once in a while she’ll come in late, and I wouldn’t be surprised if today is one of those mornings.
“Yes.”
“Do you have her email?”
He nods.
“Well…” I’m not sure what I can do to help besides tell him to email her and just leave a note on her door about him coming over.
“It’s no big deal,” he says, pulling me away from my lingering thoughts. He shifts slightly and looks at me with distant eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to be free right now, would you?”
Warning bells go off in my mind, telling me to put distance between us. I’m not ready to forgive him yet. “I can’t help you with scheduling students. That’s protocol Ms. Fields has to take care of.”
“To talk,” he insists. “That’s it.”
Hesitating, I shake my head, brushing hair behind my ear and backtracking to what I was doing before. “I have a student coming in soon. Plus, there’s nothing to talk about.”
Collecting the papers where I left them, I organize them based on appointment times. There’s one first thing this morning, and one before my last class. I note his presence behind me as I saddle up next to the heater attached to the wall, which makes weird noises I should probably call maintenance about.
“Piper.”
I still don’t turn.
He sighs. “I know you’re mad, but—”
“Why would I be mad?” I spin around, pinning him with my eyes while lifting a brow in inquiry. Realistically, I should let it go. I never even thought about him since the funeral. But seeing him brings up memories I wish I could easily forget.
Memories of Danny and him laughing, of Jesse and him teasing me about embarrassing stuff I said or did, and the three of them being friends without me. I’d always been jealous. Bitter that they found friendship with each other when I only had Danny if he wasn’t busy. Sure, that changed with time. My crush on Carter shifted to Danny the more time we spent together, but once more it was in vain.
That hurts to think about.
His head dips. “You know what.”
I play dumb, knowing I should stop baiting him to admit it. “Listen, I’m kind of busy right now and I’m sure you have plenty of things to do before class. So…”
My eyes go to the door, but his stay on me. The color darkens in exasperation and I know he’s being reminded of how annoying I used to be growing up. The little sister nobody wanted.
He plants his feet and crosses his arms over his chest. “No. You’re upset about the Danny thing and we need to talk about it.”
Something inside me snaps, like a tetherball free flying in the open air just waiting to smash into some innocent victim’s face. “The Danny thing? Wow. You’re right, Professor. I am upset about ‘the Danny thing’. You know, the fact that he’s dead and not coming back.”
His features change, paling. “Pip—”
“How could you?” I accuse, voice breaking as I drop the papers again and match his stance. While his expression is tight and regretful, mine is full of rage. “He looked up to you and Jesse and you two always acted like he was beneath you because he was younger. I thought you were all friends, and you didn’t even show up to his frigging funeral.” I want nothing more than to swear, to curse at him, but the habit of refraining from dropping f-bombs these days is too strong thanks to Ainsley.
His lips press into a straight line.
I shake my head. “So, yeah. I’m upset. But, no. There’s nothing we need to talk about because you can’t change what’s already been done. You…” My nostrils flare as I battle unshed tears from falling. “I know you weren’t the driver that took his life, but you could have at least been there to show your support.”
His jaw moves a moment before his head does, slowly nodding in agreement. “I know. I should have been there, but I couldn’t. Danny and I had our share of issues that had a lot to do with our age gap, okay? But he was a good guy, a good friend, and you’re right. I could have gone and checked on Mable, Jesse … you.”
You. I don’t want that to get to my head, but I do. I let his words soak in and simmer until I’m a little less angry. He could just be saying I’m right, but I know he’s not. His father always taught him not to be prideful, so when he’s wrong he admits it.
But I’m also wrong too.
Blowing out a breath, I lean against the edge of the heater. “I’m sorry. He meant a lot to me and sometimes I wondered if you and Jesse even liked him or just put up with him because he wanted to be your friend so bad.”
“We liked him,” he says quickly.
“It didn’t seem like that.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. One of his palms scrapes against his slightly scruffy jaw in contemplation. “I can see why you thought that. Jess and I were closer in age and could do more than we could with Danny. But don’t mistake that, Piper. Losing Danny, no matter how much distance was between us after we went our separate ways, didn’t hurt any less.”
This time, I say nothing.
My throat dries as I force myself to nod, knowing he’s being sincere. When I meet his eyes, his are searching mine to see if I accepted his unspoken apology. I can tell he’s sorry, that he’s sad about Danny’s passing, but there’s still a part of me that wonders what kept him from coming that day.
“Why?” I don’t need to clarify.
“It was too hard.”
My brows raise.
The door opens again before he can answer, and a student walks in. The blond-haired boy looks between us, cheeks pinkening, before jabbing his thumb toward the door. “I can come back. I’m, uh, here to see Piper Montgomery.”
Carter speaks up. “She’s all yours.”
He tips his head at me once before walking out the door, hands in his coat pockets as he exits. My eyes don’t linger long before locking on my nine o’clock appointment.
“I’m ready when you are.”
He grumbles something and sits down at the table with me. While he pulls his agenda out of his bag to set up our meeting days, I sneak a peek out the side window to see Carter walking toward a different academic building.
I make it to all my classes early to make up for the scramble my life consisted of the first day. By the time I arrive to my last one, History of Mythology, I’m startled to see Carter already in the front of the room writing something on the whiteboard.
When the door closes behind me with a loud click, he tu
rns around. He caps the marker in his hands and sets it down, walking over to the table and opening his messenger bag.
“Piper,” he greets, tipping his head.
Clearing my throat, I try not to make things weirder than they already are between us. My eyes go to the middle section where I want to sit since it’s open. The sound of his raspy voice makes me sigh and walk toward the same seat I occupied before.
Dropping my bag into the chair next to me, I pull my notebook and pen out before putting my hair into a ponytail. “Professor Ford. How’s your day been?”
He gives me a half smile. “Up until spilling my coffee down the front of my shirt, it was going well. Considering that happened right before my first class…”
Cringing, I click my tongue. “Been there, done that. Coffee is my lifeline but the amount of times I’ve worn it, ran out of it, or didn’t have time to get it tests me more than my sanity likes.”
He chuckles. “The older I get, the more dependent on caffeine I become to get through the day.” He pulls out a folder from his bag and sets it on the podium. “You mentioned your friend told you to move here?”
I nod, tapping the end of my pen against the cover of my notebook over the change of topic direction.
“Has he lived here long?”
Choking out a laugh, I fight off a smile over the assumption. In hindsight, I am living with a guy … and sleeping with him. But we’re no more than roommates with benefits, not even really friends, and that’s all because Jenna told me about the house when it went up for foreclosure. “She moved here a little while ago. I met her at the first university I attended. I had to take time off, but she graduated and came here to work at a boutique using her degree. We’ve kept in touch over the years, so she made sure to help me after I finally got my bachelor’s and decided to find somewhere else to finish my master’s degree.”
He scrubs his palm across his jaw. “I didn’t mean to assume anything. Sometimes I speak to Jesse or your father, but they haven’t mentioned anything about you.”
Clicking my tongue, I nod slowly. “Yeah, well…”
He cusses softly under his breath. “That didn’t come out right. They’ll mention you—”
“It’s okay,” I assure, waving my hand in dismissal. Jesse is thirty-three, seven years older than me. The age difference made it difficult for us to get along, something I can relate to when Carter made the point with Danny earlier.
Jesse and I grew up differently. He lived with his biological mother for a while before moving in with Mom and Dad after her passing, same with Hanna, who’s two years younger than him. By the time I came around, they were living their own lives and visiting their other family up until Hanna’s suicide. Like their mother, she struggled with depression and drug addiction, and the combination was fatal. It’s rare Jesse and I talk these days other than a few holiday texts when the season comes around. I’m not sad about it, maybe just disappointed. I think I remind him of Hanna, so I can’t really blame him for keeping his distance.
“I don’t speak much to Jesse.”
He simply nods, leaning against the podium. “So, you’re graduating this semester?”
“Yep.” My lips pop with the p.
I’m tempted to ask about his life now—if he has a wife, a family, maybe a kid or two. I never heard him talk about that sort of stuff much when I was younger, but they were probably too young to care about those kinds of futures then anyway. Still, thinking of little Carters running around makes me curious.
But before I can open my mouth to say anything, the back doors open signaling other classmates arriving. Pressing my lips together, I sink into my seat and focus on the random doodles outlining my notebook paper. He greets everyone as they trickle in, not looking at me again the rest of the period.
When I get home sometime later with Ainsley in tow, she runs over to her toys and ignores the backpack, coat, and boots she drops on the floor along the way. Too tired to scold her, I just shake my head and tidy up before heading into the kitchen.
I freeze when I see Easton sitting at the counter with a piece of pizza in one hand and the newspaper in his other. It’s always strange seeing him so content reading the news or doing the crossword puzzle on the weekends.
“You’re home early,” I say slowly, setting Ainsley’s backpack and lunch pail down on the counter across from him.
He puts the paper down, finishing off the last of his cold pizza before brushing crumbs from his fingers. “We changed store hours around. We’re closed on Thursdays now.”
I make a face as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Why not just take Mondays off like most businesses? Aren’t Thursdays usually busier?” Pulling out the only other stool opposite of him, I take a seat.
“That’s why we’re open,” he remarks, eyebrow arching as if I’m stupid for even mentioning it. “No competition.”
My lips part, then close. He’s got me there. I’m the type to like two days off in a row, though right now my weekends are full of homework and homework grading on top of tending to Ainsley. Thankfully, she doesn’t make it too hard for me. Most days.
“Classes okay?” he asks, folding the paper up and leaning back.
Lately, his inquiries have taken me by surprise. It’s not like he’s never cared about my life, he’s just rarely asked more than he’s had to. Then again, I’ve never offered up anything I wasn’t willing to. Even though I have Jenna to rant to on bad days, sometimes it’s nice to have someone else who isn’t bias.
When I told Jenna about Carter, she told me she knew a guy who knew a guy—as if putting a hit on him solved anything. It made me laugh at least, especially when she said the guy she knew was her eighth grade Earth Science teacher.
“Okay … enough.”
His brows just raise.
My shoulders lower as I lean forward and rest my elbows on the edge of the countertop. “I ran into someone I knew from a long time ago. It was rough.”
His features darken. “Ex?”
My eyes widen. I manage to laugh. “Uh, no. Definitely not. I mean, I had a huge crush on him for a long time, but he was my brother’s friend. And…” And Danny’s. “He was friends with Ainsley’s father. With Danny. We all grew up together and he did something I’ve had trouble forgiving.”
He studies me for a long moment before pushing off the stool and walking over to the fridge. “What did he do that’s so bad?” Pulling out the casserole, he grabs two plates from the side cabinet and begins putting a healthy serving on each. Knowing he doesn’t eat meat, I watch him carefully as he puts one in the microwave.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”
Turning, his lower back leans on the counter as the microwave counts down. “If you’re that upset about it, it obviously does.”
“He didn’t go to the funeral.”
Easton remains silent.
“They were friends,” I point out. “If your friend died, wouldn’t you go to the funeral? It was rude of him not to when he spent so much time with Danny and Jesse, my brother. Danny’s grandma Mable considered him another son and he never said he was sorry or sent her food or flowers or anything.”
When the first plate is warmed, he switches it out for the second one before even saying a word. “Can you really fault him for that, Piper? People take death in different ways.”
Is he really taking Carter’s side? “You’re not wrong, but it’s still messed up. He could have done something, sent anything, to know he was thinking of Mable.”
“Mable or you?”
I blink.
Easton puts the plate of warm food on the counter in front of me. “Has Mable ever brought it up? Said she was upset with this guy?”
“Well…” No, she hasn’t. But Mable was never good at any type of confrontation. Sometimes I worried about people walking all over her because she was too nice. Then again, she never let people get away with too much if it meant enough to her.
He g
rabs me a fork. “Seems like you’re being hard on him for no reason. I’m sure it sucked for you, but did he really do anything warranting a grudge?”
I play with my food. “Maybe.”
He makes a noise but says nothing else. Instead, he grabs the second plate from the microwave and moves the stool over to where mine is.
“Ainsley,” I call, giving him a grateful smile. He just tips his head and puts the rest of the casserole away. “Come get some dinner.”
She comes in and looks at East before seeing the food next to me. Climbing onto the stool, she plops down and picks up the fork.
Before East can walk out, I stop him. “I know you’re right about everything. But Danny meant a lot to me and he deserved better.”
His jaw ticks, but he nods before walking out of the room. I listen to his footsteps creaking up the stairs, then his door open and close.
Turning to Ainsley, I nudge her arm. “Eat up, please. I want to go over the alphabet and spelling words with you after dinner and then you can play more.”
She makes a face.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t pout. Your teacher said you’re doing well with your alphabet, so it’s just getting used to using them in words. She said one of the projects involves coloring.”
Ainsley pierces a piece of chicken, bringing it to her lips. Sometimes it’s hard to hold back my frown when she shuts down. I want to know how she likes school, what she’s learning, instead of hearing about her performance from her teacher.
But I know I can’t force her to talk.
“Hey, Ains?”
She looks up at me through her thick lashes—the same ones she got from her father. I always envied those.
“I love you. You know that, right?”
Her lips tilt up as she nods.
“Good.”
Her hand reaches out and taps mine.
It’s her way of saying I love you, too.