I've never been as nervous about Ethics as I am this morning. I tossed and turned in bed all night and checked on Bast twice to make sure he wasn't sick. At barely seven a.m., I slipped out of the apartment and went to the gym for an extra-long workout so I wouldn't run into him. 

Will he even turn up? His hangover will be brutal, and he might stay in bed until lunchtime. Believing that is better than thinking about the inevitable awkwardness if I do see him.

Dr. Garcia takes his place behind the lectern, and the volume of the chatter drops to a barely audible murmur of those eager to catch up with their friends.

I open the notebook and write the date in the top right corner. The door screeches, and my attention rivets on the doorway. 

Bast strolls into the classroom and says something to Dr. Garcia, who nods and proceeds to announce the topic of today's lecture.

I anchor my gaze to him, but the scent of Bast’s body wash travels over to me, and goosebumps spray over my skin.

“Hi,” Sebastian whispers.

I throw a look his way and refocus on my notes. “Hey.”

His backpack lands on the floor with a thud. Pens clatter against the fold-over desk, and the chair on my left groans under Bast’s weight as he sits.

Dr. Garcia points a hand toward the slide on the screen, but the lines I read tell me nothing. 

I prop my elbow on the desk and press a palm to my forehead. 

Bast tugs at my notebook. I slide it toward him to show I wrote nothing, but he doesn’t seem to need my notes — a pencil is in his hand, and my breath snags in my throat when he traces the first line.

One confident stroke after another, the sketch begins to take shape. Rocks jut out of the ocean, and waves crash against a lighthouse. After shading one side of it, Bast grabs the pen I gave him.

His hand hovers over the page. I doubt he’s going to write anything at all, but the sharp tip presses against the paper, and black ink bleeds onto it, forming the words.

I am sorry.

♡♡♡

Sitting through the rest of the lecture with Bast by my side is torture. As soon as Dr. Garcia dismisses us, I shove my notebook into my purse and bolt out of the lecture hall.

Missing classes wasn't in my plans, but as I leave the Humanities Building, it seems to be the best decision I could’ve made. 

I wrap my arms around myself and set out for the parking lot, dodging clusters of students I encounter on my way. Once in the comfort of my Maserati, I crank the engine. It rumbles to life, and I brace myself for the long drive.

I needed to stop by my father’s house anyway, just later. He won’t be home, but Cara will, and the thought of seeing her warms me.

The Van Doren mansion isn’t my first stop, though. Forty minutes later, I park next to the dilapidated fence and get out of the vehicle.

My steps break the late-morning quiet. As I lift my gaze off the gravel under my feet, I catch a glimpse of Blanche in one of the windows. She waves at me and draws the curtain.

The front door opens wide a few seconds later. Blanche waits for me and steps aside to let me in, giving me a sliver of a smile. “Tara.”

“Good morning.” I shift my weight in the tiny foyer. “Sorry for turning up like this.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy you’re here. Mav hasn’t been feeling well lately. I took a couple of days off to be with him, but I think seeing you will do him good.”

A mix of guilt and regret crushes my chest. I should’ve visited him more times over the break.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Blanche heaves a dejected sigh. Her gaze drops to her hands, and she runs her fingertips over the wedding band she’s still wearing. It’s been years since Blake left her and Mav, but neither has truly moved on.

“He doesn’t speak. Not even a word. It’s too cold now for those butterflies of his, but he spends all day sitting in the garden like now.”

“I’ll go see him then,” I say, gripping the door handle. 

“Maybe he’ll snap out of whatever trance he’s in if he sees you.” Hope glimmers in Blanche’s tired eyes, and I inject the confidence I don’t feel into the smile I give her.

“I’m sure he will.”

♡♡♡

A few minutes later, I lower myself onto the bench by Mav’s side and touch his shoulder.

“Hey. It’s me.”

He doesn’t move an inch, and his eyes stay glued to the bare trees his dad planted years back. 

I cover Mav’s hand with mine and lean my head on his shoulder. “Your mom said you didn’t want to talk. It’s okay. I just wanted to see you and tell you about my break. 

“Bast and I stopped by before driving to Ashwick, but you weren’t home. Sadie told me she saw your mom and you at the pharmacy. What a small world, right? You know what’s even crazier? Bast is sure he saw you in the woods behind his house before Thanksgiving.”

I keep rambling about my break, classes, and job for another ten minutes, but Maverick remains in the same position. Although he blinks a few times, I'm not sure he understands what I’m saying.

Half an hour later, I kiss his cold cheek and leave the garden. Blanche accompanies me to the gate and gives my forearm a reassuring pat. “It’s not your fault, Tara. You tried.”

“I wish I knew what to do, Blanche.”

“Me too, but if doctors couldn't figure him out, I doubt we can. I've run out of specialists I can afford.”

Words tickle my throat, itching to come out. But if I offer to pay, Blanche will be mad. She feels uncomfortable each time I give them something, no matter how small that thing is. 

“Let's hope he gets better,” I say. “I’ll visit again soon.”

Blanche thanks me, but my heart continues feeling just as heavy when I enter my father's house.

“Cara,” I call, taking tentative steps toward the sprawling marble staircase.

“Tarita!” The kitchen door bursts open, and Cara barrels toward me, her face lifting in a smile. “Why didn’t you call?”

I wrap her in my arms and press a kiss to the top of her head. “I skipped the last few lectures. I need to go to The Hill Cottage, but I remembered we had some balloons here. Do we have them?”

Cara rubs her chin. “The gold and silver ones?”

“Yeah, those. It's been years, but I don't think it matters.”

“Come with me.” Cara grabs my hand and steers me toward a narrow hallway leading to the service rooms. One is a storage room where we keep miscellaneous items — from cocktail straws to balloons and plastic cups. 

She pulls the door open, and I lean on the doorframe as Cara flicks on the light and bounces on her heels, examining the floor-to-ceiling shelves. 

“Balloons, balloons…there. Can you get that bag, Tarita?”

“Being short isn't fun, huh?” I wink, snatching the plastic bag from the shelf.

Cara slaps my butt hard enough to feel the sting through my jeans. 

“Ouch.” I rub it, wincing. “I thought you loved me.”

“I thought my Tara knew better than to height-shame a woman.” Cara tips her chin up and braces her hands on her hips. 

Her fake annoyance dissipates fast. All it takes is a kiss on her cheek. “I'm sorry, okay? I'm sleep-deprived and miserable, Carita.”

“And thin.” Cara’s chocolate eyes narrow. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

I clutch the bag with balloons to my chest and head out. “I am. I'm just worried. I went to see Mav, and he was acting weird.”

Cars huffs, trailing behind me.

I pivot and face her. “What?”

“I've been telling you he's weird for years, and you've only noticed now?”

“Cara.” I groan. “Let’s not. Didn't you teach me not to judge people?”

Cara’s bottom lip pales under the pressure of her teeth. She releases it, and her expression softens.“I just worry about you. You're too good, and the boy is strange. He lurked before, and he still lurks. Every evening.”

“He’s lonely. It's not like he has lots of things to do.”

Cara lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “Whatever. The world is full of weird people. Can you believe someone borrowed my car while I was in the kitchen? I think it was Tom, the gardener. Who else would leave dirt inside? I wanted to complain, but if I do, your Dad will fire him, and I know the poor bastard needs the job.”

“Someone took it and brought it back?”

“That's what I'm saying.”

“Did you ask Tom?”

“I've been too busy organizing your father's birthday party, Tarita. And I know it's him because he looks guilty each time we cross paths. Of course, if he'd left to buy cigarettes in his truck, someone would've noticed and told the boss. He could've just asked me."

“The party.” I lower my eyes to the marble floor. “Would my father be mad if I didn't attend?”

Cara lifts my chin with her thumb. “Not mad. Sad."

She's wrong, but I'm too drained to argue with her. "Will you be here at least? Then I'll hide in the kitchen with you, and we can drink wine and gossip."

"He gave me a day off. His people from The Flavor will be in charge."

“Why not you?"

"I'll do everything except cooking. I deserve a night off, baby."

"Of course, you do. I can talk to Tom if you want."

Cara shakes her head. "The gas was intact. Let him be. I also left my key inside, so I'm the one to blame. Will you stay for lunch?"

"It's Betty's farewell party. I'll eat with the kids, but don't worry; I'll visit soon."

Cara gives me a bone-crushing hug and peppers my face with kisses. She worries about me, but also my father, and I don't see that changing soon or at all.

♡♡♡

Laughter fills the group home's living room. The youngest kids are kicking the balloons Mason and I blew up, and the rest are eating cake while Mary, Betty, and I sit on the couch, watching the children as we drink champagne from paper cups.

Mason's been quiet, and once he finishes eating and rests his plate on the table, my eyes station on his, and I discreetly nod toward the hallway, rising to my feet.

"Come with me," I tell him once he's caught up to me.

My hand wraps around his, and I lead him to the kitchen. 

We sit at the table. I offer him some candy, but Mason rolls his eyes. "I'm not five."

"I'm twenty, and I still love candy—all except lollipops."

"Lollipops are disgusting."

Another guy said the same thing, and my heart squeezes. I don't want to think about him. Not tonight. Not ever.

"Agreed," I say. "I don't want you to be sad, Mase. Betty's leaving, but she'll keep in touch and visit."

"She's worked hard for too long. I know." Mason stares at his knees. "I'm just worried a bad person will take her place. And I'm scared you'll leave, too."

"Mary and I have someone in mind. Her name is Nora, and she's great. Mary and Betty have already talked to her. And you know I won't leave."

Mason hops off the chair, throws his arms around my neck, and pecks my cheek. "I'll go have more cake, okay?"

I give him a small wave. "I'll be there in a few."

It's when the sound of his footsteps fades that I rise to my feet. Stacks of dirty dishes cover the counter, and there'll be more when the kids finish the desserts. I roll up my sleeves and pad to the sink.

"Tara."

Betty rests her warm hand between my shoulder blades. "You've worked too much already. Leave the dishes and come with me."

Reluctantly, I do. That we end up in her office doesn't surprise me one bit. It looks the same, except now the desk is tidy, and the display of the kids' crafts is gone. Betty must've decided to take the things they made with her.

"So many years and just a few boxes," Betty says, walking over to her desk. "I'll miss this place."

"This place will miss you, too."

Betty opens the drawer, a wistful smile on her lips. "I sure hope so. And you might already know what I need to give you."

My heartbeat quickens when she hands me a small key. 

"I thought you'd want to collect what's in the locker before Nora starts working here. I'll give you a few. Join us when you're ready."

My throat is too dry to utter a word. I manage a nod, and Betty slips out of the room.

My gaze bounces between the small metal object on my palm and the locker.

Five minutes later, I slip the key into the pocket of my jeans, turn off the light, and close the door behind me.

I'll be brave one day. Just not tonight.

Hope you liked the chapter...and felt more tension.