Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,68
when he needed it most.
“No,” she promised, “we’ll fight this together.”
For a brief moment, a flash of happiness raced across his face, but then it was as if a shutter dropped and his smile disappeared beneath a fierce wave of despair.
He stepped close and she could smell his unique scent when he wrapped his strong arms around her. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he whispered into her ear.
She tipped her head back. “Why? Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Because helping me would only hurt you. And I won’t let you lose your dreams too.”
He looked down at her and she could see herself reflected in his troubled eyes. His arms dropped away and he stepped back. “I don’t want your help. I don’t need your help. And you’re a fool to try helping someone like me at your own expense.”
A wrenching jolt of pain struck Leanne’s heart. “Is that what you think I am?”
He looked away, refusing to meet her eyes. “What we had was never going to last, Leanne. So why are you standing here, trying to rescue me? You’re trying to hide behind me and my failures as a way of justifying your own,” he said harshly. “And I won’t let you use me as your excuse. Ever.”
As she listened to his words, Leanne realized she’d never truly appreciated how much the simple act of breathing could hurt. Every short, shallow gasp sent a lancing pain through her chest. He was wrong. She wasn’t hiding behind his failures. She was done hiding from her life. But nothing she could say would ever convince him of that, would it? It would never be enough—there’d always be something that would act as proof of his shortcomings.
And hers.
The connection she’d felt had all been in her mind. Because if he felt anything for her, he’d never speak to her this way. The fling was over. Their time was done. And it was time for her to get on with her life. Because no one else would do it for her.
Dean Kessler’s deep voice carried into the hallway outside the auditorium, the volume rising and falling as latecomers hurried past Leanne. As the heavy doors swung open and closed, disjointed snatches of his introductory remarks came through like a badly played game of Telephone: “exemplary,” “noted journals,” “future star.”
Yet Kessler’s speech, as predictable as it was, still felt surreal, as though the person he spoke of was merely a compendium of parts and skills.
Of course, given her emotional state, it was entirely possible she was projecting.
At this point in the day, anything seemed possible.
The door to the auditorium opened once more but this time, instead of admitting another audience member, someone exited the room instead. Leanne turned, expecting to see the dean telling her it was time to take her place at the podium.
But it wasn’t Kessler at all.
It was Gillian, a tailored winter coat slung gracefully over her arm. Letting the door close, she stood in front of Leanne.
“What are you doing here?”
Gillian smiled. “How long have we known each other? Did you think I’d miss the biggest day in your academic career?”
It sounded less like a compliment and more like a threat.
“Yes, actually I did. After all, we’ve never liked each other. Why start now?”
“I couldn’t miss it,” Gillian explained gleefully. “I had to be here in person to see it happen. It just gives it so much more poignancy.”
Leanne straightened and looked her foe in the eye.
“Is there something you wanted to tell me? Because if there is, I suggest you spit it out. I’ve got more important things to do right now,” she snapped, her patience for Gillian’s cloak-and-dagger tactics wearing perilously thin.
She braced herself for Gillian’s next volley but instead of flying off the handle, she simply smiled and admired her flawless princess-cut engagement ring. “So, how’s Brandon these days?”
“B-Brandon?” Even saying his name was difficult, but she’d withdraw from the Walters Prize, drop out of university and flip burgers for the rest of her natural life before she’d ever let Gillian see the pain her question inflicted.
“I enjoyed meeting him Saturday night at our dinner. And he certainly seemed attentive to you. Very affectionate.”
Leanne couldn’t summon an answer. Her chest ached too much, keeping her short of breath so she contented herself with a dark and hopefully quelling glare.
“Surprising I didn’t see him inside then,” Gillian said, gesturing at the auditorium’s closed doors. “I wonder that someone so seemingly devoted