Clipped Wings

by Helena Hunting

  When he came over an hour later, he stood in the doorway, gawking for a good fifteen seconds before he composed himself.

  “I wondered if I’d left that here,” he said as if he hadn’t been staring at me, mouth agape. He locked the door and followed me inside, heading straight to the fridge.

  I flopped down on the couch and tucked my knees up under me, determined not to push him, even though I was dying to have his hands on me again. My back felt the best it had since he finished the outline. It was still itchy, but that was the extent of the discomfort. Initially the stinging burn had been so intense that the meds had barely touched the ache. I might not have voiced the level of my pain to Hayden, but he was perceptive. That first day I was looking for anything to take the hurt away, physical and otherwise. He gave me what I needed, but the cost-benefit was questionable. Since then he was careful to avoid contact that might lead to clothing removal.

  Beers in hand, Hayden sauntered over to the couch. He dropped down beside me and rearranged the books on the coffee table until they were perfectly aligned. Once the table met his organizational standards, he passed me a beer. He took a swig of his own, his eyes on my bare legs. His hand ran up my calf and over my knee until he reached the hem of the hoodie. He lifted the fabric to peek underneath.

  “You have your meeting with Professor Douchebag tomorrow?” he asked.

  He always referred to my advisor by some disparaging name. “Douchebag” was one of his nicer terms. I nodded, unable to gauge his mood. He was quieter than usual, his eyes hard.

  “What time?”

  I’d already told him. Twice. “Six. It was the only time he could fit me in.” I’d said that before, too.

  He nodded and withdrew his hand from my leg, much to my disappointment. Remote in hand, he flipped aimlessly through channels while I sipped my beer. I wasn’t sure if I’d done something wrong, and I didn’t want to ask. After a few minutes of channel surfing, the screen went blank.

  “Did you really think this outfit was better than the one you wore yesterday?” he asked. He was using his calm voice. I was in trouble.

  I looked down at myself, more covered than I had been in the past five days, aside from when we’d gone to the museum. “Isn’t it?”

  “No. This outfit is the opposite of better.”

  “Do you want me to change?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  His palms slid under the backs of my knees, prompting me to unfold my legs. When I was more malleable, he carefully maneuvered me so I straddled his lap. This was definitely not a PG kind of position. Hayden’s hands traveled up the outsides of my legs and under the hem of his hoodie to palm my backside. He pulled me in close. I didn’t move.

  “I’m driving you in tomorrow,” he said, shifting against me.

  “Why? I’m fine. My back feels okay.” I could feel his erection. I spread my legs farther and held on to him, hoping he wasn’t going to stop.

  “Because.” He unzipped his hoodie, eyes on my shirt. I should have picked a better one. The logo was embarrassingly childish. He glared at me. “Little Miss Naughty, is it? You’ve been pushing all week. You’re about to find out what happens when I reach my limit. Trust me when I tell you, you’ll need me to drive you in.”

  * * *

  Hayden hadn’t lied about me needing a ride to school. I might have managed five hours of sleep, much of it broken by Hayden’s roaming hands, among other insistent body parts. Every orgasm was drawn out, granted only after my extensive pleading. The lead-up was always worth the end result with Hayden. He might have pretended to be angry, but his actions didn’t reflect that emotion.

  I didn’t dissuade Hayden when he brought his car around the next morning. Or when he insisted on picking me up from my meeting with Professor Calder. While the previous one hadn’t been horrible, I was still concerned about the late hour. The doors locked at six, and most of the staff would have vacated the building by then. There were rumors circulating about Professor Calder, and while I generally didn’t buy into gossip, his coldness unsettled me.

  By 6:00 p.m., exhaustion set in. The caffeine high was the only thing that kept me going as I made the trek to Professor Calder’s office. After all the time spent on my thesis this week, I hoped the changes would put me in better standing.

  He summoned me inside. “Miss Page, the late hour must suit you better; you’re early.”

  “I realize your time is valuable,” I said, hovering near the door.

  “Have a seat. If my time is so precious, we shouldn’t waste it, then, should we?”

  The chair was set closer to Professor Calder’s desk since the last time I was here, which didn’t help with my nerves. I unpacked my materials, passing him a copy with the implemented changes. I’d emailed one to him earlier in the week, but he insisted I bring a paper copy to each meeting for review. He usually took it without so much as a glance at it. This time, however, he flipped through the pages.

  “You’ve made further revisions.” He seemed surprised.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pored over the new material for several minutes, marking up the paper with his red pen. When he was done, he leaned back in his chair and smoothed his hand over his balding head.

  “Your thesis has potential, but I feel you’re falling short. This lacks depth. Stop digging around the edges of the issues and get to the meat.”

  I sank into the chair, frustrated and disappointed. I’d come into this program hoping my advisor would share my passion, but Professor Calder kept pushing me in a different direction, away from the issues I really wanted to tackle. “I’ve incorporated the findings from the articles you suggested, as well as those from other, more current studies.”

  “This is your problem, Miss Page. You’re reaching, trying to connect things that have no validity. You might have been able to get away with this at the community-college level, but the bar is higher here. You need to readjust your personal expectations and learn to work within your parameters.”

  “I thought I would have the opportunity to branch out and look at other issues, rather than ones that have already been well established.”

  He gave me a patronizing smile. “You’re in a master’s program, not pursuing a doctorate. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Miss Page.”

  He went on to point out what he deemed were the obvious problems with my newest research. When he was done ripping apart my work, he handed me the marked-up copy and gave me an assessing look.

  He pushed out of his chair, adjusting his pants and jacket. It camouflaged the beginnings of a middle-aged belly. “You know, there are ways for you to earn extra credit and keep your place in this program should this continue to be a problem. Let me know if you’d be interested in exploring any of those.”

  “Do you mean taking on more projects?” I asked. I would have to cut back my shifts at Serendipity again if that was the case.

  “Something like that. It would require you to take a more . . . hands-on approach.” His smile and the way he looked at me made me shiver.

  I didn’t want to believe what I thought he might be insinuating, but I was positive his predatory tone wasn’t just in my head. “Thank you for your time, Professor Calder.”

  I packed up my things, desperate to leave his office. Some students might have jumped at the chance because of his educational accomplishments. But a man in his midfifties who used his PhD to demoralize his students held no allure. I didn’t need my advisor exploiting my weaknesses by offering me alternative ways to earn my master’s. I was capable, just struggling to find a balance in this new life that was missing so many pieces.

  He rounded his desk and offered to help me with my things. Professor Calder had never been this kind to me, and the change in demeanor alarmed me. I adjusted my messenger bag and backed away toward the door. Stepping out into the hall, I was met with an unexpected but welcome sight.

  Leaning against the opposite wall, Hayden stood with his phone in his hand, frown
ing at the screen. He was wearing the hoodie that broke his resolve, one foot crossed over the other.

  “Hayden!”

  “Hi, kitten.” He pocketed his phone and pushed off the wall.

  “I thought I was supposed to call.” Relief brought me close to tears. How he’d managed to find my advisor’s office didn’t matter.

  “It’s dark. I didn’t want you walking across campus on your own.” He lifted my messenger bag over my head and shouldered it. “I hope you don’t mind.” Tucking my hair behind my ear, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. I accepted the affection, aware of Professor Calder’s presence behind me.

  “Of course not.”

  “The building is closed. You shouldn’t be here,” Professor Calder barked.

  Hayden glanced at him, unconcerned, like he’d forgotten all about the reason I was here. He ignored the question and held out a hand. “You must be Tenley’s advisor.”

  Professor Calder looked at the outstretched palm like it might burn him, but eventually he grasped it. He flexed his fingers when Hayden let go.

  Professor Calder smiled at me, but it looked more like a sneer. “Miss Page, if you focused more on the research aspects of your thesis than on the literal, I think you might be more successful. I would advise you to keep your friends from wandering the buildings after hours. As evenings seem to work better for you, I’ll see you in two weeks, same time.”

  He closed the door, leaving Hayden and me alone in the empty hallway. Taking him by the hand, I led him to the stairwell. The steel door closed with a metallic click. I threw my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. Inhaling the welcome scent of his skin, I kissed a path along his throat. If I could occupy his mouth, he couldn’t ask questions I might have to lie about.

  Hayden stopped the assault when he took my face in his hands. “I don’t like that guy. He’s like a giant red flag of douche waving around in the air. What happened during that meeting?”

  I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.

  “And don’t say ‘nothing’ or ‘it was fine.’ You’re not okay.”

  “Can we leave, please?” I asked.

  He tensed. “Did he touch you?”

  “What? No!”

  “Don’t lie to me, Tenley. We’ve already been there before. I don’t like this situation.”

  “I promise. He offered to help me with my things, but I was already out the door.” At least I could be truthful. While Calder’s implication had been clear, he hadn’t put his hands on me. I couldn’t understand how Hayden had picked up on Calder’s intentions from their brief interaction.

  Appeased by whatever he saw on my face, Hayden took my hand and led me down the stairs. The air outside was cool, and the drop in temperature helped calm me. Wearing a dark scowl, Hayden kept his fingers laced through mine all the way to the car. Students heading to night classes gave us a wide berth. But their eyes would migrate to him, like they couldn’t help but stare.

  When we arrived at his car, he opened the door and helped me in. As soon as the engine roared to life, he turned to me. “I need you to talk to me, please.”

  “Thank you for picking me up.”

  “It was the least I could do after last night.” He leaned over and kissed me. I stroked along the seam of his lips with my tongue, seeking entrance. There was only a slight hesitation before he opened for me. Some of his anger dissolved with the intimacy. He was the one to break away first, coming back a few times to press kisses at the edge of my mouth.

  “Is that how he is with you all the time?”

  “Usually.” I toyed with the strap on my messenger bag.

  “You shouldn’t have to work with that dick. Doesn’t he have a supervisor? Can’t you switch advisors?”

  “There’s a process involved in securing an advisor. Finding another one to take me on in the middle of the semester would be difficult. I’d have to start all over,” I explained.

  From my first official meeting with Calder, I’d contemplated the exact same option, but I hadn’t had a good enough reason to push the issue. A lack of warmth or personal connection didn’t warrant a change in advisors. Professor Calder might not have been pleasant to work with, but up until now he’d never said or done anything that would be considered unprofessional. Even the inference he’d made at the end of the meeting could have been misconstrued. None of the rumors about him had been substantiated as far as I could tell. Issuing a complaint could result in forfeiting my spot in the program. I couldn’t afford to lose one of the few things in my life meant to give me purpose and drive. Although right now it was causing stress more than anything.

  Hayden rubbed his forehead. “I don’t like this.”

  “I’ll be fine, Hayden. I only have to meet with him twice a month, probably less after I get things sorted out. I can hold my own.”

  “That’s the thing, though, kitten. You shouldn’t have to. You’ve dealt with enough already.” He looked so conflicted, like he couldn’t understand why things like this happened to me.

  But the answer was clear. Karma doled out punishment in increments for the lies I couldn’t face. I just hoped karma wouldn’t take Hayden away from me, too.

  24

  HAYDEN

  On Friday afternoon Cassie took off for the weekend. She left Tenley in charge of Serendipity so she and my uncle Nate could go away. Tenley didn’t seem to mind, but her week had been stressful, no thanks to her asshole advisor. I wanted to castrate him to ensure her safety, but that wasn’t an option. So I kept track of her meetings with him instead.

  She hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights; nightmares had made her restless. It meant we were both a little tired, and I was snappy, as Jamie pointed out. I finished with my final client of the evening. Since I was already set up for my appointments tomorrow, I decided to stop in the café and pick up a snack for Tenley. She’d complained about an upset stomach this morning, so I doubted she’d eaten much today. She wasn’t at the cash register when I reached Serendipity, so I bypassed the first door and went directly to the second entrance, leading to the café, so I could surprise her. I ordered her a tea and picked the heaviest, most calorie-dense baked good to pair it with.

  The door to Serendipity chimed, despite it being almost time to close. From where I stood I could see into the antiques store, but Tenley wasn’t visible. The jazz music floating through the speakers made it impossible to hear the conversation taking place, but I could make out the distinct low tones of a man. Based on her surprise, she seemed to know the person. When the tea was ready, I put it in a sleeve to keep her from burning her fingers.

  Tenley sat behind the counter, swiveling back and forth in the chair. The man standing across from her was an on-duty cop. I couldn’t see his face because he was leaning on the counter. He was too close to Tenley.

  There was something unnervingly familiar about his voice. As I crossed through the café to Serendipity, the cop noticed my arrival. He pushed away from the counter, his shoulders rolling back, stance widening. He puffed up like a peacock, all forced intimidation and suspicion. Fucking douche in a uniform.

  His smile dropped as he took me in. His hand went immediately to the butt of his gun. I was covered in ink, which inevitably made me a felon in his estimation. I recognized him. He was older than me, by more than half a decade. I held his distrustful gaze as I ran my finger along the waistband of Tenley’s jeans where a strip of black ink was visible.

  She clutched the base of her throat. “Hayden! I didn’t hear you.”

  “Sorry.” I leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I brought you tea.”

  As soon as I touched her, the rest of the world ceased to exist—even the cop who looked like he might consider shooting me for putting my hands on her.

  She smiled. “That was thoughtful.”

  “I try.”

  “Stryker? Hayden Stryker?” the cop asked with disbelief.

  I reluctantly tore my attention away fro
m Tenley. I still couldn’t place him, but the icy stab in my stomach felt like a warning. “I’m sorry,” I said. “How do I know you?”

  He looked shocked. “Collin Cross.”

  It took a few seconds for the name to register and the pieces to fall into place. The night of my parents’ murder came back in a rush. I was alone in the house for fifteen minutes before the police came. I was intoxicated and high at the time, tripping out hard after I found my parents’ dead bodies.

  Cross and his partner were first on the scene. They were too late to make a fucking difference. My belligerence forced his partner to restrain me, while Cross went upstairs to investigate. It took forever for him to come back down. There was no sign of a break-in, so they cuffed me and read me my rights, believing I’d killed them myself.

  Cross kept me in the back of the car, repeating the same questions for what seemed like hours until they finally took me to the precinct house. They kept me in an interrogation room for a long time before I was allowed to make a call to my uncle. There was no “good cop–bad cop” routine—just relentless questioning. And then there were the pictures. I never recovered from those. The interrogation sent me into an emotional downward spiral I didn’t come out of for months. Or years, depending on who you talked to.

  I passed the lie detector test. My alibi, which they didn’t bother to confirm until after the phone call had been made to my uncle, was more than enough to eradicate any suspicions of my involvement. Even the evidence that was eventually ruled as inadmissible never pointed at me, but I’d still felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility.

  Nate was livid when he arrived at the station. In the haze of grief I vaguely remembered him threatening a lawsuit. As a clinical psychiatrist he insisted on a psychological evaluation. It was administered by one of their shrinks. They came up with a barrage of diagnoses in the form of acronyms, which made my statement irrelevant because they deemed me unstable at the time. The abridged version was it fucked me up. I hadn’t seen Cross since the early months after my parents’ death.