Trust in Me: A Fake Relationship Opposites Attract Romance (All I Want Book 4)

by Lea Coll

  My breath whooshed out of me. I racked my mind trying to remember what the other history professors looked like at the scholarship dinner but couldn’t. That night was a blur of meeting and talking to a ton of people. So these women could be talking about Owen and Sawyer. I vacillated between wanting them to say a name and not wanting to know.

  “Maybe I need to add a history course to my schedule next semester,” one girl said.

  “They are the hottest professors on campus,” the first girl said.

  I tensed. I held myself still so they wouldn’t notice me listening.

  “What’s the point though? Didn’t the frats get in trouble last year for betting how many girls they could sleep with and keeping a running tally in their common room?” a girl asked.

  “Oh gross. That’s why I never pledged,” one girl said.

  “Guys are assholes everywhere,” one girl said who hadn’t spoken before.

  Truer words had never been spoken, but I wanted to think Sawyer was different.

  “Hey, I’m happy you’re here.”

  I stood when I saw it was Sawyer, almost dumping my laptop, which I’d completely forgotten about, onto the floor. We reached for it at the same time. Sawyer chuckled as he placed it safely on the table and then dropped a chaste kiss on my lips.

  I could feel the stares of the women behind me who’d gone silent. As much as I loved the public display of affection, especially on campus, this interaction would hurt my chances of overhearing gossip like this again.

  I smiled uneasily at Sawyer. I really wanted to believe he’d have nothing to do with a sorority bet and he wouldn’t fall for a student coming on to him. But I’d been wrong before.

  “I’m trying to get some work done.” I gestured lamely at the computer, because I didn’t need to be on campus to work. I had an office, but I didn’t want to admit I was hunting a juicy college story. I glanced at the group of women finally and they averted their eyes.

  I stepped back from Sawyer, wanting to create distance literally and figuratively, but I knew without a doubt, I’d already fallen for him. Last night, I had opened up in a way I’d never done with anyone and given myself to him. I hadn’t doubted his desire for me and my body. I hadn’t worried about anything other than the feel of his lips and hands on me. I closed my eyes briefly. Why couldn’t that be my reality? Why couldn’t something pure and special be for me?

  He smiled warmly, unaffected by the turmoil in my head. “Well, it’s good seeing you this morning. I have a class,” he glanced at his phone, “starting in a few minutes. Call you tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  He kissed me again quickly before he walked out the doors of the student center and I watched him cross the quad and jog up the steps to the building where he taught.

  Sitting back down, I sighed, annoyed that my cover had been blown. I’d just pulled my computer onto my lap when someone cleared their throat next to me. Looking up, I recognized one of the women from the gossiping group. Looking over my shoulder, I saw she was the only one left.

  “Can I help you?” Did she know something specific about Sawyer and wanted to tell me since it was clear we were together?

  “I saw you kiss Dr. Hudson, and well,” she shrugged and blushed, “I was wondering if you overheard us talking about the bet?”

  Honesty was probably better in this situation and maybe she knew something. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.”

  “Yeah, Chrissie is always so loud.”

  I assumed she was talking about the bearer of the gossip. I nodded, waiting for her to continue.

  “I just thought you should know that the women at that sorority will try and win the bet. They do this every year, daring themselves to do something crazier and crazier. Last year, they broke into the boathouse, stole the boats, and put them everywhere. It was crazy and a little funny, but—”

  “This year is different because a professor could be fired for sleeping with a student?” These women thought it was a joke but this was someone’s livelihood, their reputation, not a prank.

  She nodded. “I’m not part of that sorority. I just thought you should know it’s not idle gossip. They’ll follow through with it.”

  I kept a professional look on my face while inside I was dying. “Great. Thanks for telling me.”

  “I’m Laura, by the way.”

  I held my hand out. “Stella, nice to meet you. Do you mind giving me your email in case I have any questions? I work for the Kent County News.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t like what they’re doing, but can you keep my name out of it?”

  “Sure. You can be an anonymous source.” I plugged her email into my phone and then she left, saying she was late for class. This was exactly the story Bob wanted but at what cost to the professors and students involved? Maybe if I wrote the story I could stop this whole prank from going any further?

  Watching students cross campus, I wondered whether Sawyer could resist a sorority girl? He was applying for tenure and a scandal like this could destroy his chances even if he didn’t do anything improper. I remembered Sawyer explaining how talking out of turn or getting political could sway the committee. Then my skeptical side wondered if that’s why he was using me as his pretend girlfriend to cover up something going on with a student. No, he would never do that to me, right? He was sweet and kind. But I’d been burned so many times before. I chewed my bottom lip. I couldn’t trust my instincts. I had to be more cautious with him going forward.

  For the first time, I thought I’d found something real and now this. Meeting a man and falling in love was not in the cards for me.

  My heart sank. There would always be another woman who’d be better looking than me—less clingy, quieter, smarter. I’d never be enough to hold a guy like Sawyer. I don’t know why I thought he would be different—just because he was the opposite of the guys I dated in the past? But I knew I was the problem not these guys. I wasn’t enough to keep them from cheating. Isn’t that what they always said when I confronted them?

  I caught myself before I could feel any more down. I hated feeling depressed. I never wanted to fall into that trap and be like my mother. I’d look at the bright side until I had reason to believe Sawyer was actively involved in something. For all I knew, the women could be targeting Owen.

  And from what I knew of Owen, he’d probably jump at the chance to be with his students. I was sure it wasn’t even the first time with him. Maybe that’s why he was teaching here in this secluded small college? Had he been forced to leave other schools? How many other places had he taught? My reporter brain was flooded with potential questions and the urge to answer them over rid my other worries. I opened my laptop, keying in my pin number, and then started searching for more information on Owen Mason.

  Scanning his social media photos, which were public, I saw that he shared a lot of pictures with his students on field trips and adventures with the college. It looked like he taught a canoeing class, which could be opportunistic if he wanted to be closer to the co-eds. I shivered thinking of whether Sawyer was doing the same thing with his Town Ball in the quad every Friday. Then I pulled up his resume on the college’s page which indicated he’d worked at George Washington University and Brooklyn College before working at Washington. Why had he worked at three schools when you needed to stay at one school to get tenure? And wasn’t that every professor’s goal?

  How could I find out why he left? An idea started percolating. I’d call and pretend he was getting an award and I needed background information for the presentation. I’d done this kind of thing before and I was pretty good at it. I came across as this happy-go-lucky person, so they probably felt safe giving me information. Whatever the reason, I’d used it to my advantage.

  I made some notes for professors in the history department at his last job, Brooklyn College. I’d need to call when I returned to the office. Checking the time, I jumped up, throwing things in my bag. I was late to meet with my dad. />
  As I drove, the pit in my stomach, which had formed when I heard about the bet, increased the closer I got to my parents’ farm. Maybe my mom was worse than the last time I was home and that’s why he wanted me to come, and he was finally trying to get her help. Pulling up behind my dad’s beat-up pick-up, which he’d had since I was in high school, I slowly made my way across the gravel driveway and up the aging wooden steps to the porch.

  When I had lived here, I remembered things being in better shape. Since I’d left, my dad was so busy dealing with my mom that the barn badly needed painting and the porch was starting to sag. The only thing he managed to maintain were the large amounts of fencing required to keep the cows on the property, since the cows represented their livelihood.

  My mom hadn’t helped out on the farm in years, so milking the cows and getting eggs from the chicken house twice a day fell to him. He couldn’t afford to hire any help.

  I felt guilty for leaving them, but my grandmother had told me over and over again I needed my own life. It was my parents’ choice to live on a farm, not mine.

  Moving out and staying away were the best decisions I’d ever made, so why was I here now? I slowly pulled open the screen door and pushed the creaky solid wood door open so I could enter the kitchen. Dated, it looked exactly as it had when I lived here. Cracked white Formica countertops, black appliances, and random stuff covered every square inch of the counters.

  “Hello,” I called. Not hearing anyone, I assumed they’d be in their bedroom. When my mom was her worst she wouldn’t come out.

  “We’re upstairs,” my dad called.

  That meant he was with my mom and she was having one of her episodes. The familiar sadness and hopelessness overcame me as I walked through my childhood home. I was really hoping not to see her today. Whenever I did, I felt the usual pain, that I had never been enough for her to get out of bed and reclaim her life. It was so frustrating to see her lying in bed day after day. It wore on me. I walked up the maroon carpeted stairs and down the dark hallway to their bedroom. I knocked.

  “Come in,” my dad said.

  I slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open, holding my breath. My dad rarely was able to convince my mom to bathe and the windows were shut, so it smelled stuffy. The heavy curtains were drawn shut as usual, and I saw the pale form of my mother in bed, her eyes closed. My dad sat in a chair by her bed. “Hey, thanks for coming.”

  “Of course,” I said, edging closer to the bed. “How is she?” Even though she was here, she wasn’t really. She wouldn’t answer if I spoke to her. She was either asleep or staring blankly at the wall. When I was a child I’d get so frustrated with her, I’d yell at her to respond. Look what I did in school. Why can’t you come see me perform in the play? Why can’t you get out of bed? And when I was especially angry Why don’t you care and What is wrong with you? But nothing ever got to her and I’d since given up on her responding or getting any better.

  “Honey, I called you because she needs to see a doctor,” Dad said.

  I barely suppressed my eye roll. She’d needed that for fifteen years. He had ignored me in the beginning when it probably could have helped her the most. The times when she was bedridden were shorter back then. She’d have moments in between where she’d live her life.

  Looking at my mother now, her hair was short so my father could take care of it easier, and her frame was thin and pale from eating the bare minimum and not getting sunlight. I wondered what undiagnosed health problems she had from her self-imposed state.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen and talk.”

  I said this, sure even though we could have talked in their bedroom, my mom never responded or let on that she could hear us. She was just gone—checked out from life.

  When we reached the kitchen, I stood on the side of the large kitchen table closest to the door, my hand gripping the spoke of a kitchen chair to stop it from shaking. I felt panicky, my heart racing with all of these feelings rushing over me—hopelessness, frustration, defeat. I was ready to leave.

  What could we possibly have to talk about? I wasn’t helping out more. I wouldn’t be moving back in. It was time for me to have my own life and family. I couldn’t be responsible for this—for her—anymore. And nothing he said would change my mind. Looking into his eyes, I saw determination for the first time since my mom started her downward spiral.

  “I wanted you to know why your mother is like this.”

  I huffed. I was so done with this conversation. There was no catalyst, no reason I could ever figure out. “She suffers from major depression. I think that’s obvious.”

  “No, that’s true. But depression comes from somewhere, especially when it’s to this degree.”

  I’d done a ton of research on depression over the years and I’d discussed it with Dr. Hirsch. “It could be chemical. There doesn’t have to be a specific trauma.” But whatever he’d discovered had prompted him to act and I wanted to know what it was. “What do you think caused it?” I tried to remember if there had been a death in the family or something that could have set my mom on this course.

  He cleared his throat and pain crossed his face. He had my rapt attention now. “Before that first episode she’d suffered a miscarriage.”

  “What?” I had no idea she was pregnant after me or was even trying.

  “It was a surprise but we were both so happy.” A small smile ghosted on his lips as he remembered. “We were ecstatic.” Pain crossed his face. “Then she suffered a miscarriage at fifteen weeks and we were devastated.”

  All of the wind rushed out of me. “I’m so sorry.”

  He held his hand up. “We knew it was a risk because she was a little older, but you never think it will happen to you. At first, I figured it was normal to have episodes where we’d be sad, not able to eat or get out of bed. I was suffering too. I thought what she was going through was normal.”

  He did. That explained why he made himself scarce keeping busy with farm work here and on neighboring farms. My mom went into hiding and my dad kept busy.

  “I tried to stay as busy as I could so that I wouldn’t have time to think about it—to grieve. I suggested we try again. The doctor said there was nothing medically preventing us from getting pregnant again. I was desperate to try, but she didn’t want to. Any time I suggested it, she accused me of not loving the child we had been pregnant with.”

  I wanted a family so badly myself, I couldn’t imagine losing a child. “She needed time to grieve for that child.”

  “And I gave her time, hoping that once she got past her grief she’d want to try again. But she never did. She just spiraled more and more.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling guilty for every time I’d been angry at my mother for checking out on us. I was still angry but now I understood at least. “Thank you for telling me that.”

  He ran fingers through his hair. “I’d like to get a doctor here to evaluate her. Do you think it’s possible?”

  “I’m sure it is.” I was relieved and hopeful that we were finally going to do something that could help the problem and not cover it up. I could talk to my therapist and see what she suggested. More than anything, I wanted to talk to Sawyer about it, which was a new feeling for me. Sharing this burden with someone else was freeing and comforting. I didn’t have to bear this alone. “Let me check some things out and talk to some people.”

  Dad grimaced. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “I know. I’ll be discreet.”

  “Good. Thank you for coming. I know we haven’t told you this a lot over the years, but thank you for everything you did to hold this family together when we couldn’t.”

  It felt good to have his admiration, his gratitude, for picking up the pieces when I was still a teenager. “I don’t think I was successful. Lindsey was always off doing whatever she wanted and mom still won’t get out of bed.” And I couldn’t reach you at all over those years. It would have been nice to have one parent’s support.

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nbsp; “You were a child, Stella. You shouldn’t have had to step up at all. This is on me. I wasn’t there for you, your mother, or your sister during that time. And it’s my biggest regret.” We weren’t a touchy-feely family necessarily, but I was. I crossed the steps that separated us and wrapped my hands around his waist. He smelled the way he always had, like the farm, my home, and my childhood.

  “Thank you for saying that.” He squeezed me back and I pulled away. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll do some research for you.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  I looked away from the tears I saw in his eyes.

  I opened the screen door, and walked out onto the porch to see gray clouds moving in with an impending storm. I sighed, feeling drained. My parents had sapped all of my energy with that one meeting. How did they always manage to do that? I had good memories of playing and helping out on the farm until my mom came out of her room less and less. Then the play turned more into work, keeping the farm running, making sure dinner was on the table, making sure my sister wasn’t running off with some guy.

  I felt relief at my dad’s words but also guilty, because I’d been angry and bitter for so many years when there was a good explanation for her depression. Why hadn’t he told me sooner? So I could understand. As happy as I was that he’d told me the truth now, I wanted to know earlier—before the bitterness seeped in. But would I have stayed longer knowing what I know now? Would I have halted my education, my career, if so? Maybe he had his reasons. I couldn’t regret where I’d ended up.

  I DROVE TO CAMPUS HOPING to catch Sawyer—to talk to him. I needed his support. It wasn’t lost on me that this was the first time I’d sought out a man’s support for my issues with my family. My friends knew what was going on so they were a viable option. But I wanted Sawyer’s arms around me, his concerned eyes on mine. The realization jarred me a little because I trusted that he’d take care of me.

  I parked in the lot nearest his building and made the short walk to his office, hoping to catch him in between classes. I didn’t know his schedule yet. Seeing his door ajar, I knocked softly. Then I heard murmuring.