— Chapter 49 —

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I'd washed my hands five times, but the phantom feeling of Noah's blood beneath my fingertips still hadn't faded away.

There'd been an uneasy feeling in my stomach all morning. I had no idea if I'd made the decision by choosing to stitch Noah up myself instead of taking him to a hospital like I wanted to in the first place. My stitches weren't as neat as Angela's, but they'd at least hold up Noah's side.

I'd done my best to remove any broken stitches. Leaving them in would have been a nightmare to deal with later, so I could only pray that I hadn't missed any strands of snapped thread.

Noah had to take his sedatives to be able to fall asleep, which he didn't do often in an effort to avoid developing a tolerance. And he was hopped up on painkillers to numb the pain in his side.

I'd called Angela at some point in the night, once Noah had finally passed out.

It probably wasn't up to me to make that decision, but my worry had gotten the best of me. I needed her advice, because having Noah sedated, on medication, and recovering from blood loss didn't instill much confidence in his safety.

It was a weird conversation.

I'd explained everything to her so that she could understand it as best as she could. But her responses afterward seemed... oddly somber.

It was the same feeling I got down at the bar, too, when I'd asked what had happened to Noah's father. It was as if she knew something I didn't. Her words didn't seem to relate to what I was saying.

She kept repeating that she should have known, and that it was happening again. That no matter what, I had to keep my eye on him.

"I'll be over tomorrow," she'd told me. "Thanks for telling me, Elliot. I'll take care of it."

I'd already left the apartment when she'd come to check up on Noah.

My admissions meeting with the college was today.

The last thing I wanted was to leave Noah when he was so unwell, but I figured that I couldn't be of use to him to begin with. Angela would be there, anyway. The most I would do is take up space.

So I didn't cancel my meeting. Instead, I found myself hopping on a bus to the city, sinking myself in one of the back seats while music played in my earphones. Considering the mid-day traffic, I could only hope I showed up to the college on time.

My phone buzzed with text messages. Picking it up to read through all of them, I smiled at a message from Noah.

His text read:

And, surprisingly, a few texts from a group chat that someone had invited me into. I couldn't help but chuckle at the name of it.

Today at 12:21 pm

Lucille:

Riven:

Nate:

Elliot:

Riven:

Lucille:

Nate:

Riven:

My cheeks grew warm with embarrassment. In my defense, drunk me must have thought it was powdered chocolate—though in hindsight that still didn't make much sense either. So maybe I could see their point.

Elliot:

Nate:

I was going to ask, but Nate sent the text through before I could. His answer sunk my spirits—James was going to be there. Needless to say, I wasn't at all ready for that conversation.

Lucille:

I read the text message a few times over before sucking in a breath and putting my phone in my pocket.

I wasn't one to say no to a party, but they'd never really been my thing. That was just the introvert in me, though. A lot of my best memories came from stepping out of my comfort zone and making moments with the people in my life.

The memories were all I had. Like the ones of us playing our hearts out as a band wherever we could make a stage. Or taking spontaneous road trips down to the beach. Crashing that one random family's party with Riven, doing karaoke with Lucille and Nate, or laying on the road and staring up at the stars with James—all those little things were big enough to give life meaning.

Even if I didn't have that anymore.

It was an hour or two before I finally got to the college campus.

One of the smaller colleges on the edge of the city, it wasn't anything flashy or outstanding in comparison to some of the colleges in the state with smaller acceptance rates. A couple dozen acres big, it had classic, cream-colored buildings pointing up to the sky, some marked up with posters for tutorials, study groups, events or frat clubs. There was lush grass as far as the eye could see, and a walk through the campus only exposed more of its facilities.

A white sciences building, sparkling clean with chatty students relaxing at tables outside. There was a metallic design building, with its architecture unlike anything I'd ever seen before. And the business building looked to be one of the newest amongst all of them, its pale grey color contrasting with its massive windows and ivory steps.

Going to college here would have been perfectly fine for me. It looked great.

After asking for directions once or twice, I managed to find the admissions building near the heart of the campus. I was met with the cold air-conditioning the moment I pushed open the glass doors and walked in.

The first thing that greeted me was an expansive reception desk made out of dark wood. Behind it, a middle-aged female receptionist, staring flatly at her computer over the thin rims of her glasses. The silver nameplate before her read simply in bold letters: Naomi Sawyer.

The second her intimidating stare landed on me, I was painfully aware of my own anxiety. My hands had gone clammy—I'd totally forgotten the words I'd rehearsed to say beforehand.

"Ms. Sawyer. Hello," I finally forced out, wishing I could hit my forehead miserably on her fancy oak desk. "I'm here for an appointment with the dean of admissions."

Her cold eyes examined me briefly, as if judging me for even breathing the same air as her. Eventually turning back to her computer screen, she asked, "Elliot Taylor, correct? We spoke on the phone."

"Yes, that's me."

"You're ten minutes late," she said, cutting down any hope I had of making a good impression. "I understand that things happen, but the dean is a busy woman with a busy schedule. Please try to be on time—should you step foot in her office again."

"Of course," I stammered, "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

Ms. Sawyer ignored my words completely. "I trust you brought all your papers with you? Any portfolios, documents, forms, things like that?"

I held up a thin binder of papers for her to see. "Yes. Yes, they're all here."

She licked her chapped lips briefly. "Well, at least you came prepared. Her office is through that door there. I'd advise you to knock before entering."

Pointing to a heavy-looking door just a few feet to the right, it wasn't long before the receptionist turned back to her computer again and began typing away. I gave her a grateful look.

"Thank you," I mentioned softly.

The entire conversation had crushed my confidence tenfold. The dean was going to chew me right up and spit me out if she was anything like the receptionist working beyond her front door. She'd probably eat me alive.

Remembering to knock a few times on the door, I eventually twisted the copper handle and entered the room. It smelled faintly of air freshener, and was illuminated brightly by the sunlight pooling in through clear windows. In the middle of the room, a chunky black desk, overrun with papers, files, and stationery. A computer sat off to the side of it all.

And behind the desk, the dean of admissions.

She was a tall woman, certainly taller than me, standing by her chair in a grey suit and expensive Louboutin pumps. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, with a few greys evident at her roots. Talking on her wired telephone, her kind eyes rested on me when I walked in.

I found myself distracted by the size of the room while she was preoccupied with the person on the other end of the call. It was one of the biggest offices I'd ever seen.

Her coffered ceiling seemed ages away, high enough that a wooden ladder was required for the wall of honey-colored shelves she had behind her desk. There were textbooks, binders, papers, and novels everywhere—shoved into her shelves, tucked away in boxes at the corner of the room, and stacked near her desk. With an exquisite carpet and a lingering smell of books, it appeared as a kind of personal library as much as it was an office.

"Thank you," the dean said, finishing up her phone call. "Yes, of course—I'll have that to you by Friday afternoon. Thank you. Yes, goodbye."

Setting the phone down, she dusted off her suit and stepped forward to shake my hand. I took it quickly, doing my best to avoid looking like an absolute tool.

"Sorry about that," she began, her handshake firm. I could only pray that my hands weren't clammy. "My name is Mrs. Ledger. You're Elliot, right? It's lovely to meet you."

"Hi. Nice to meet you too."

Taking a seat in her fancy chair, Mrs. Ledger pulled herself in so that she was sitting straight and clicked a few buttons on her keyboard, briefly messing about with her computer.

"Please," she said, gesturing to one of the chairs across from her. "Sit."

Quickly adhering, I planted my sorry ass in one of the uncomfortable seats. "Thank you for agreeing to see me. I really appreciate it."

"Do you have your papers with you? Your resume, school transcripts, forms?" She asked.

I picked up my binder and passed it over to her. Watching as she flicked through the papers, self-consciousness itched through my nerves.

"Your GPA is not the best this college has ever seen," she told me, putting it straight. "As for your grades, they're passable. SAT score... bare minimum, but acceptable. Perhaps with a greater attendance rate during your senior year, this could have been improved."

I swallowed nervously as she continued.

"You've got quite the... interesting resume here," she said. "You work two jobs, is that right? A bartender, and now also a sales assistant with a small convenience store. Prior to this you worked part-time as an employee of a supermarket chain... and had a casual gig as a musician."

"Yes, that's right."

"I understand from your application that you're looking to major in business," she told me, leaning back in her chair. "Why business, young man? Truth be told, it seems like an unusual decision considering your academic history. I'd love to know more as to why you chose the subject."

I bit my cheek briefly and pressed my hands between my thighs to stop them from trembling.

"I was, um, inspired by my mother at first," I admitted. "When I was a kid, she used to tell me all about this small floristry business that she started after college. She always told me that it was one of the happiest times of her life. I've always easily understood business myself, and it was one of the subjects I was better at, so I decided to follow in my mom's footsteps. After working all these jobs and learning so much from my employers, I, um... I think it would be interesting to create a business of my own in the future."

Kiss-ass, my thoughts mocked me.

Mrs. Ledger had been listening attentively throughout the time that I'd been speaking, resting her chin on her hand. Her gaze never once left my face, and I found myself frequently looking anywhere else in an effort to avoid being so uncomfortable with the eye contact.

"You clearly have the motivation," she finally said. "I can't say it doesn't make sense, looking at your resume now. But I'll be honest with you, Elliot... your application as a business major isn't why I invited you to meet me here today."

Confusion made my brows furrow.

"W-What do you mean?" I stuttered. If she hadn't invited me because of my application, then what on earth was I sitting in her office for?

The dean cleared her throat.

"When your application first crossed my desk, it was your extensive list of extracurriculars that caught my eye," she explained. "It was almost a full page, and all of it was music-related. You were in your school's band group for several years. A strong guitar player as well, where you participated in school-based concerts and events. But you were most gifted in choir—your music teacher even praised you for having one of the best voices he'd ever heard. And on top of all that, you also had performances with a band of your own."

I still didn't understand where she was going with her point. I'd only listed those in as support for my application—otherwise the extracurriculars section would have been totally blank.

"Yes, that was all on there," I nodded slowly. "But... I don't understand why that's important?"

The sound of papers slapping together filled the air as Mrs. Ledger abruptly shut my thin binder.

"Why choose business?" She asked me, thankfully getting to her point. "We have quite a renowned music program at our college, but you avoided it completely in your application. So why did you choose business over music, when music seems to be something you're extensively skilled in?"

I found my fingertips pressing into my palms.

"I've... never had any interest in being a musician," I said, picking my words carefully. "It's not something I've ever thought of doing in my life and I don't think it would make me happy. I don't sing anymore, Mrs. Ledger, nor have I been a guitarist since I graduated. I chose business over music because it's something that I can see myself advancing in, and it's a major that I have more interest in doing."

The dean of admissions interlaced her fingers and observed me for a moment.

She spoke, "The reason I invited you here today was to offer you a spot in one of our prestigious scholarship programs for music."

Oh.

Ms. Ledger continued. "Your extracurricular history as a musician surpassed most—if not all—the applications we received for our scholarship program. I was hoping to offer you a position personally, because I believe you could achieve great things with our college and within the field of music if you reconsider your choice of major. Not only that, but the scholarship would relieve you from a large fraction of your tuition fees. I understand that you were wishing to discuss loans with me today—this scholarship would render that unnecessary."

I felt entirely winded by her words, slowly leaning back in my chair. I hoped there wasn't a pensive look on my face, because there was nothing but surprise and frustration whirling around in my thoughts.

Figures.

I didn't know whether I wanted to cry or go crawl into a desolate pit somewhere.

One of the only colleges I was hopeful for in Boston didn't even think I was worth my salt as anything but a music major. This interview had basically taken hold of my dreams and crushed them to dust right before my eyes. And yet, part of me couldn't help but be slightly curious at her offer.

Dramatically decreased tuition fees—four words that would have made me cry out from joy in any other context. The college was local, too, so I could keep my jobs and save myself the trouble of moving. My biggest dream had always been to leave Boston, but I guess some sacrifices always had to be made for success later on.

It wasn't what I wanted, but it was the only offer I had on the table. And beggars couldn't be choosers.

Defeated, I asked Mrs. Ledger, "What's the catch?"

She crossed her arms and rested her elbows on the table, tilting her head slightly as she spoke to me. Her blue eyes were so regal, the same color as sapphires, and appeared to read me like an open book.

"You'd be majoring in music full-time," she answered simply, making my heart sink in my chest. "The University would be open to allowing you to minor in business so long as your main focus is within the music scholarship. But I will say that it's quite the demanding course of study if you choose to go down that route."

In other words, kiss your jobs goodbye.

I sat for a few moments, letting silence fill the air while I contemplated the offer. It's better than nothing, at least... right?

Music was a chapter of my life that I'd slammed shut a long time ago and I'd never had any interest in going back on my decision. But now, when it was the last thread tying me to my hopes for the future, it looked like I was being forced to reconsider that choice.

I queried, "Can I have some time to think about it?"

Mrs. Ledger's deep-toned voice replied considerately. "It's quite the offer, so I don't expect you to make a choice right away. Fortunately for you, the program doesn't begin until the first week of June, so you have quite some time to come to your decision."

"Thank you," I said softly. "I'll give it a lot of thought."

Her kind smile was the only answer I got in response.

But part of me was itching to know the answer to a question that had been running through my head since she'd first told me about the program. Sitting up straighter, I scratched the back of my neck and met her gaze.

"Can I ask you something?" I began, clearing my throat. "If I hadn't mentioned my extracurriculars at all, would you have... would you have even considered me as a business major?"

Mrs. Ledger's smile faltered.

And for a moment, regret crossed over her sapphire irises.

"We had quite a lot of applications," she hesitated, her forced optimism rubbing salt into the wound. "Based solely on what you provided us in your submission... I don't think we could have promised you the acceptance you were looking for."

I couldn't help the disappointment I felt with myself. Just as I was beginning to think I'd finally stumbled on a win, I'd totally jinxed it all.

At least I know the truth.

"I'm sorry, young man," Mrs. Ledger apologized.

I shook my head and did my best to pull a half-smile on my face, but that didn't change the fact that my nails had dug into the flesh of my palms yet again.

"It's fine," I said. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course."

I stood up from the chair, feeling that the interview had come to its natural end. Shaking hands with her briefly, I took the binder back while she leaned back into her chair.

The interview couldn't have gone in a more terrible direction.

Though, just as I reached to open the door, the dean of admissions stopped me with the sound of her voice.