Later, after I finished teaching my seminar class, I went down to my office to mark essays and clock a few hours on my thesis. Ian stopped by and asked if I wanted to hit the pub, but he was alone and I didn’t feel like dealing with him without the buffer of at least one of the other guys.

It was already evening by the time I finished with the essays and my research. I packed up my laptop and rubbed my eyes. I’d been at it for hours, and while I didn’t want to be home alone, I didn’t have the focus left to be productive. I shrugged into my coat and limped across the room, my hip stiff from sitting for so long. I needed a bathroom before I tackled the drive home. I was just about to leave when there was a knock. If it was Ian again, it was possible I just might take him up on the offer to go for a beer. Hanging out with him would be better than being in my apartment, which said a lot about my state of mind.

I opened the door to find Professor Calder on the other side, the most recent copy of my thesis tucked under his arm. It was Monday, and our next meeting wasn’t until a week from Wednesday. I could only assume his seeking me out meant he had further issues with my newest research.

“Ah, Miss Page, I wondered if I would find you here. Working hard?”

“I was just on my way home.” I looked beyond him at the empty expanse of hallway and wished I’d left five minutes earlier. I didn’t have the patience to deal with him.

“I’ve had a look at your most recent additions. It’s starting to take shape.” He held up the fistful of papers marked in red. “However, I’m afraid it’s still rather elementary. I was under the impression you’d read the articles I provided, but I see no evidence in here.”

I bit the inside of my lip, irritation flaring. I was done with his less-than-subtle attempts to bring me down. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “The articles are quite fascinating, and it’s definitely a topic I’m interested in learning more about. However, it’s not quite the direction I anticipated taking my thesis.”

“That’s rather unfortunate, don’t you think?”

“Excuse me?”

His smile was vulturine as he assessed me. “I wonder if you’ve given any more thought to my offer.”

My heart stuttered and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I glanced to the right, at the six-inch gap between his shoulders and the doorjamb.

“You still seem to be struggling to ground your thesis in solid findings, even with my guidance. Wouldn’t you like this whole process to be easier?”

“I’m sorry, Professor.” I gave him a syrupy smile. “I’m a little unclear as to what your offer entails. Do you think you could provide a few examples of what you expect with this more ‘hands-on approach’? That is how you described it, isn’t it?”

His smile faltered. “You’re an intelligent woman. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

In that moment I saw him for what he truly was—a predatory has-been who coerced his students to trade sex for grades. “Interesting you would say that, considering how much it conflicts with your general assessments of my research.”

His expression hardened and he took another step toward me, but I raised my hand to prevent him from getting any closer. I was done being pushed around, by him or anyone else. I wouldn’t allow him that kind of power over me.

“How many students do you offer these opportunities to, Professor?”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected me to question him. I was certain he was unaccustomed to being challenged. When there was no response other than his looming over me in his tweed jacket, I took the draft of my thesis from him.

“Shall I assume it’s safe to reschedule our next meeting, since we’ve already discussed my thesis now?” I moved toward the narrow gap between him and the doorjamb and waited for him to step aside. When he didn’t, I prompted him further. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be heading home.”

He seemed to recover himself. He stepped aside and swept his hand out. “Of course, Miss Page. I’ll see you two weeks from Wednesday. Have a lovely evening.”

I strode quickly down the hall and threw myself into the elevator, gritting my teeth against the panic as I descended to the ground floor. It was already dark when I got outside, and I headed for my car as quickly as I could with my limp. I fumbled with my keys and dropped into the driver’s seat. Slamming the door shut, I punched the lock button before I started the engine and turned on the heat. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I’d stood up to Professor Calder! Hayden would have been proud.

The elation was short-lived, however, considering where things stood with Hayden. I tried not to cry, but I was drained and couldn’t manage all the emotions. It had been less than forty-eight hours since I’d spoken to Hayden, and I already felt like I was in the throes of withdrawal.

I remembered how difficult it was after I left the hospital and the morphine haze lifted. Reality was an ice bath of agony. This was unnervingly similar. I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to depend on Hayden in the short time we’d been together. The urge to call him was almost debilitating. I pulled out my phone with unsteady hands and punched in the code. I’d missed several calls and messages over the course of the day. Many of them were from Hayden. The most recent text message brought on a fresh wave of tears. Three simple words:

I miss you.

I wanted so badly to give in, to ask him to come over and stay with me, to erase all the hurt. But if I did, it meant allowing this new addiction. I wasn’t so sure it was any better. It definitely wasn’t safer for my already shattered heart. Particularly not after all that revelation on Saturday.

I put my phone away. The drive seemed to take forever. My solace came in the form of a bottle of wine and more antianxiety medication when I finally got home. There was a knock on my door about an hour later. By that time I was in a medicated, alcohol-numbed fog. It was barely after nine.

I wobbled over and looked through the little peephole. Sarah was standing on the other side, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” I slurred, “come on in. Want some wine?”

“Um, okay,” she said, frowning as she looked me over. “How are you? I sent you a message earlier. I got worried when I didn’t hear from you.”

“Sorry about that, it was a rough day.” I went to the fridge and retrieved the bottle of white; there was an inch left in the bottom.

“Was that all you?” she asked, brow arched.

“I have more.” I grabbed a fresh bottle from the fruit crisper. Wine was made out of fruit; it was a logical place to store it. I unscrewed the cap and poured Sarah a glass, sloshing liquid over the rim. It pooled on the counter, but Hayden wasn’t here to get all anal about it, so I didn’t wipe it up.

“You do know getting drunk alone is the sign of a problem, right?” she asked, taking a sip.

“I’m not alone anymore, so I guess that solves the problem.” I had to concentrate hard on making it to the couch without weaving.

“Have you talked to Hayden yet?”

I shook my head and took a gulp of wine.

“How long are you going to shut him out?”

“I have to work tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll see him then.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, like she was debating something. “I know what happened at Lisa’s was messed up, and it’s totally justifiable for you to need some space, but it’s pretty obvious he cares about you. Chris said he’s never seen Hayden like this with anyone. Not ever, and they’ve been friends for like seven years or something.”

“You talked to Chris again?”

She nodded and ducked her head. “He gave me his number. Well, he’s done that before, but I threw it out a bunch of times. This time I kept it. He wants to take me out for drinks.”

“You should go.” I liked Chris. Sometimes he acted more like a kid than a grown man, but he was funny and sweet.