Page 34 of I’ll Find You

Chapter

Twenty

Alex

Idon't say anything. Something about the whole thing doesn't sit right with me. The way Chelsea showed up. The way everything felt rehearsed. Rose seems lighter afterward, and I won't take that from her by questioning her friend's motives. Still, even when she smiles and tells me she feels better, something doesn't quite fit. I feel there’s something she’s not saying, but I decide not to push it.

The rest of Thanksgiving break passed faster than I wanted it to. I enjoyed getting to spend that time with Rose. We’ve gotten closer, and I’ve become someone she looks forward to being with, whether we're watching a movie or walking across campus. I haven’t pushed for more, but I can tell things are progressing when she places her head on my shoulder, sitting next to one another on the couch, or leans closer on our walks, so I’ll continue to be that person for her.

I want to be someone she can rely on, and, most of all, someone she can trust. I’ve even gone back to sleeping on the couch, even though my body begs for her closeness, and I’ve sought release in the long showers that take the edge off when I’m around her.

The break ends before I’m ready for it, and we’re already back on campus, slipping into routines that feel familiar but not quite the same. I barely have time to settle in for my first one after returning from break, before I get the message.

Report to the dean’s office.

There’s no explanation or context for what it could be. When I walk into the dean’s office, Rose is already there.

“Rose?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, but the way she holds her shoulders tells me she's just as confused as I am. I set my backpack beside the chair and take the seat next to her. When her hand falls to her side, I lace my fingers through hers, bringing it to my chest before pressing a light kiss to the back of it. Whatever this is, we'll face it together. She stares straight ahead, her expression guarded, as though bracing for whatever waits ahead.

The secretary barely acknowledged me before telling me to have a seat. That should've been my first clue that something was wrong. Getting called to the dean's office is never a good thing, yet here we are with no explanation. Unless this has something to do with the vandalism to Rose's car—or maybe something happened to someone else we know. My thoughts race until the dean's door opens.

“Hello,” he says formally. “Won't you please come in?” He beckons us forth, and I notice that when he opens the door, there are two other people in there.

The second sign that something is off is what's waiting for us inside. I glance at Rose, wondering if she knows what this could be about, but she goes still beside me. I give her hand a gentle squeeze, pulling her attention back to me. She seems to come out of it, but her eyes remain wide, and I feel a tremble go through her, as we rise from our seats in the waiting area and walk a couple of feet into the dean’s office.

Maxwell sits there with his father beside him. The mood changes the moment we step inside. It feels as though decisions have already been made and whatever's been set in motion is already underway. Maxwell appears composed, and he looks better than the last time we saw him. Maybe a little time at home away from that situation helped. His father, though, doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at Rose. His gaze is cold and assessing. Blaming. I feel it before anything is even said.

Rose is tense beside me, and I let my hand brush hers without thinking, reassuring her before either of us even sits down.

“Thank you for coming,” the dean says, motioning us to sit. His tone is measured and careful.

I almost scoff, like we had a choice, but I stay in passivity, and most of all, quiet. You can learn a lot about a person’s intentions by just listening and letting them talk.

“Dr. Somersworth contacted me over the break about his son’s well-being,” he continues, his eyes moving briefly to Maxwell before returning to us. “Specifically, he—and another student, Lucinda, your former roommate—believe recent events involving the two of you contributed to Maxwell's current condition.”

Both of you? My jaw tightens, but I don't interrupt. I feel Rose go still.

“We were also told,” the dean adds, his eyes directly on me now, “that you’ve been closely involved in this situation, Alex.”

There it is, and that fucker still won’t look at me. He’s watching Rose.

“I’m not sure what you think I’m involved in,” I say, evenly. “But if this is about him, then let’s be clear about what actually happened.”

Rose’s voice cuts in, removing the focus from me. “They didn’t confuse anything. Alex has been helping me after what happened,” she says firmly. Her lips press into a thin line, shooting to Maxwell, and he dares to look aghast.

I glance at her, and I can see it, the effort it’s taking just to sit there and take it.

“He called me names,” she continues, “outside the library. In front of people.”

The room is still.

“Slut,” she adds. Maxwell has the gall to flinch because it sounds terrible, and it should.

“That’s a serious accusation,” the dean says.

“It’s not an accusation,” I cut in, already pulling out my phone. “It’s on video.”