CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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2018

          Naturally, I'd done what any sane person would do hours before they met their boyfriend's idol and secluded mentor: I sat down in the library with my laptop and Googled Stephen Delaroux.

          As expected, most of the information provided was stuff I already knew. He went through periods of time when no one knew where he was or what he was doing, and he preferred it that way, staying away from the public eye. He was a screenwriter, something I actually had some interest in and seemed right up my alley, away from the cameras, away from prying people. Finally, he was friends with most of the current teaching staff at my university and, most importantly, with my parents as well.

          Mentioning his name to my mother had immediately sent her into a monologue about how bonding with this man I'd never met would surely open doors for me if I ever wanted to make it into the film business—which was why I was studying film, anyway—and, though she'd always wanted to see me thrive as an actress, like her, or a director, like my father, screenwriting wasn't "that bad". Guilt struck through me like a burning spear, worrying I was getting her hopes up when I just wanted to meet Chase's mentor for purely selfish reasons that weren't in any way related to my professional future, but I'd always liked writing and, in my current situation, I was in no position to be fussy regarding career options. I was mediocre at everything else, at best.

          "We could try to set you up with an internship with Stephen this summer, or even after graduation," she'd mused, already planning out my entire future before I got a chance to think twice about it. I was used to it, though; it was far easier to let other people take the reins and make my decisions for me, as I couldn't be trusted with things of such importance. After all, I'd been the one to label my relationship with Chase shortly after we first met, when we knew barely anything about one another, and there I was, referring to him as my boyfriend, when we hadn't even talked about it yet. "Oh, Penny, this is a fantastic opportunity for you. I'm so glad you called. How did you hear about Stephen?"

          That had been one of the many times when I should have bit my tongue, let the blood flood my mouth and choke me. Instead, I kept talking,

          "My Introduction to Film Theory professor used to be mentored by him."

          "Oh? Who's this professor you haven't told me anything about?"

          "He's . . ." He was indescribable. My parents weren't the type of people to pry too much into my personal life, which I was grateful for, but I didn't want to risk saying too much out of fear it would give them a reason to worry. They still didn't know about the frat party and everything that had followed, and I was determined to keep things that way, so it was vital that I kept them at arm's length. "Well, he's new. He's just finished his PhD, and this is his first year as a lecturer. I just thought . . . maybe, if I met his mentor, I'd gain some insight into where to go and what to do after college. I don't think I'm cut out for a life in front of the cameras, but maybe academia would be interesting. Stephen Delaroux is a screenwriter, right? Screenwriting sounds fun, too, and it's not something that would overlap with you and Papi."

          She'd sighed, patiently, albeit the tiniest bit frustrated. "I don't think you'd be suited out for a career in academia. You've never liked speaking in front of an audience, so I don't know how lecturing would work out." I wasn't shy. My main issue with public speaking was that I'd never thought anyone would be interested in what I had to say, repeatedly obscured by the spotlight of people who were much smarter, brighter, and better than me, so I'd learned to fade into the background. "Honey, please don't ever feel like you have to limit yourself based on your father and me or our careers. You're your own person; you have to do what is best for you, not for us. We always thought you were great behind a camera, you know? You're very creative."

          "Maybe writing, then."

          "Maybe. I'll try to track Stephen down, but no promises. If that man doesn't want to be found or contacted, he'll pretty much drop out of the face of the Earth." We'd exchanged a warm laugh, although it was a lot more forced coming from me, since I was still busy ducking my head to prevent Savannah's friends from spotting me in the parking lot. "Listen, Penny . . . you know we want you to stay focused in school, but we also want you to meet new people, go out, be sociable. We heard a few things about the fraternity"—scorching bile had risen up my throat—"and I don't think it would be wise for you to hang around those people. Some frat boys have gotten arrested in the past. Rumors have always flown about what goes down at those parties, and, since some of those boys have been convicted in the past, I don't think it's not a cause for concern. I trust your judgment, but stay away from those boys. They're not good news."

          I'd gulped, vision blurred from all the tears forming in my eyes, and a flash of platinum blonde hair in the distance had instantly quickened my heart rate. "I know, Mom. You don't have to worry about me. I'm doing great. I've made good friends."

          Then, the rest of the week went by agonizingly slow as I ran out of things to do and keep myself busy with, but, at least, I had the promise of dinner with Stephen Delaroux that Friday night to look forward to. I hadn't said a word to Chase about it, as I was still hurt about having been unceremoniously kicked out of the lecture hall on Monday, and I wasn't sure how he'd react if he found out I'd tracked down Stephen Delaroux and disturbed his peace and quiet. Like my mother had said, if he didn't want to be found, there was often a good reason for it, yet there I was, wrecking everyone's lives for the sake of my selfish agenda.

          That morning, the heavy rain pelted the windows of the library and flooded the campus, a clear omen I was not meant to be there. I could feel my sanity slipping through my fingers the longer I stayed alone in my loft, with nothing to do, no one to talk to, and nowhere to go, and I'd since caught up on schoolwork, something that hadn't taken nearly as much time as I'd imagined it would. A week after the party, the whispering seemed to have stopped now, lowering my need to look back over my shoulder every time I turned a hallway, and there was no plausible reason for me to still be losing sleep over it. After all, nothing had happened to me, but I couldn't come up with an explanation as to why my paranoia still felt like it was at an all-time high. The group sitting two tables away from me had barely glanced my way, but, whenever our eyes met, I couldn't shake off the unabating, unbeatable sensation that they were watching me. The back of my head prickled and burned with their eyes glued to it.

          All the information I'd gathered about Stephen Delaroux was valuable, providing me with some insight into what to say, what to do, and how to behave around him. He'd been invited under the pretense of opening some future doors for me, and that was an act I knew how to put on all too well. I'd spent my entire life protecting my parents' image and reputation, and I was part of their inner circle, so I knew how to behave around their friends. They wanted perfection, and that's what I had spent the past nineteen years chasing after, so I'd fight for recognition and their joy. However, I did not know how to behave around Chase's circle of close people, especially in his absence, and this was something I couldn't wing or pull from past experiences. If all of this was new to him, it was even more foreign to me, being the object of someone's attention and affection and being on the giving end of it as well.

          "Hey," Ingrid greeted, interrupting my inner turmoil. When I raised my head to look up at her, I found a much different version of my friend than I'd grown used to. Her hair, which used to be so long, had been chopped down to her jaw, enhancing the already sharp features of her face, and she now looked extra intimidating with her septum piercing on display. I would pick her out in a room filled with hundreds of people, simply because her magnetism was too strong for me to stay away, but then Savannah would whisper she'd always liked the attention. I never saw her with anyone that wasn't me, not anymore, but I knew she had other friends, so Savannah must have meant it was my attention she was after. Hadn't I devoted enough to her already? Was I a terrible friend to both of them by refusing to choose a side in their unflinching feud? "Mind if I sit with you?"

          "Yeah." I gathered my belongings and freed up some space on the table so she could sit.

          "Thanks." She raised a hand as she sat, possibly to toss her hair over her shoulder, like she used to do, but abruptly stopped herself at the last second. Phantom limb syndrome. "How have you been? I didn't know you'd been cleared to come back."

          In theory, I had never been forced to stay away from campus, so no one needed to clear me. The only reason I was staying away was Chase's determination to keep me safe and healthy and, with Savannah on his side, I couldn't counterargue. In spite of the sleepless nights and the overwhelming crushing feeling of the world closing in on me, watching me, I was doing great, all things considered. This was something she would know had she bothered to reach out to me at any point during the week, which she hadn't done, and my feelings about it were contradicting at best.

          "Guess so," I said.

          "So, you're feeling better?" I nodded once. Not too much, as my head did hurt, and I didn't wish for my suffering to continue for longer than strictly necessary. She mimicked me, twisting her hands in each other, and I realized, with a sinking anchor for a stomach, that this was one of the rare times I'd ever seen her nervous or unkempt. Ingrid Vogel was always so sure of herself, so perfectly poised, calm, collected, that I didn't know how to handle her oscillations. "Look, Penny . . . I've been thinking a lot about what you told me outside the hospital last week. Sorry if it feels like I'm ambushing you, but this was the first time I've had the guts to talk to you since it all went down, and I didn't think something should be done through a phone. What happened on Friday wasn't your fault, but it wasn't mine, either. It wasn't Savannah's. The people who need to be blamed and brought to justice are those guys." I clenched my hands into fists. "I think there were many things that could have been done differently—"

          "Ingrid," I chimed in. "If you're here to indirectly blame me—"

          "I meant in the way that I shouldn't have left you. I just thought . . ." She looked away. "I didn't expect anything to happen, especially to you. I already had a target on my back and all I could think about was getting away from that place as quickly as possible, but I didn't think—"

          "It doesn't matter." I slammed my laptop shut. "Nothing bad happened to me."

          "But something could have happened. That's my point. I shouldn't have left you. I'm really, really sorry. I understand you're pissed, and I know there's a chance you won't ever forgive me for this, but I want to make it better. I want to try to make it better. Moving forward—"

          "Are you scared?"

          "Sorry?"

          "Are you ever scared of it happening again, or that people are staring at you and talking about you?"

          She shifted in her seat. "Yeah. I try to not let it bother me too much, or even let it show because it could make things worse, but I'm not entirely sure it's not all in my head." I lowered my head, thinking perhaps she had a point. Maybe I was making it all up; maybe no one really cared enough about me to even bother discussing what had happened. I didn't know how it had gotten out, but it was a given that people talked and tried to fill in the blanks whenever they didn't have the full story. "My therapist is helping, though. Talking to someone about it has really lifted a weight off my shoulders. Maybe you could give it a try."

          "Maybe."

          "This is probably sudden, I'm sorry, but I don't know how to approach the subject so I'm just going to go ahead and get to the point." I immediately straightened, my mind racing to the speed of light, shaken up by the terror of her having found out about me and Chase. Maybe she had put the pieces together and realized he'd been standing outside the frat house because of me, because I'd begged him for help, and that he was the one responsible for faking a gas leak. "Safety in numbers, right? There's this campus apartment I've been looking into, and I thought . . . I thought it would be a good idea to ask you to, at least, come visit it with me. I've already talked to Savannah and she's on board, but she said I'd have to talk to you myself. She doesn't think you want to see her at the moment."

          I didn't want to give my loft away or call another place my home. It was the one place I had for myself, the one place I could ever take Chase to, unable to provide him with any other safe space, and I had no idea how I'd explain this situation to my parents. They knew I wasn't a sociable person and, even though I'd told my mother I'd made friends, moving in with two people I'd met not that long ago would feel suspiciously abrupt. My mother's knowledge about the frat parties in general was dangerous, as opposed to the feelings of gratitude one would usually expect to have by having their own feelings validated, and there were secrets that were mine to tell—or to keep.

          "You don't have to give me an answer right away, but think about it," Ingrid continued, reaching out for one of my hands. "I'm really, really sorry to have put you in this position."

          In reality, I'd done most of this to myself. Had I been more assertive, they would never have gotten a chance to drag me to the middle of their strife, and I would have never fallen victim to their attempts at flame baiting the other or forcing me to choose between them. Had I been any different, had I been stronger, better, I wouldn't need to be scared of my own shadow or even care about what people were saying about me, regardless of how hard I tried to push a narrative in which it was just static background noise to me. Silly little me, too self-absorbed to only care about how things affected me, would have taken a stand, and pointed out how they were both missing out on the other's positive influence.

          Naturally, I hadn't done any of that.

          I nodded again. "Sure."

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          That evening, I was still reeling from my encounter with Ingrid, and that had reflected itself on my ability to make myself look minimally presentable.

          I hadn't been sure of what to wear to dinner with my parents and Stephen Delaroux, fearful I'd turn things into a bigger deal than they actually were, and had resorted to a comfortable choice by wearing dark clothes—a dress, even. Refusing to look like a damn fool, I'd picked a dress with a modest neckline and a hem that ended halfway down my thighs, paired with tights and a thin cardigan, but that was where my efforts had been maxed out. Everything else about me was a catastrophe; since I hadn't been sleeping much, my skin was ghastly under the lights in my family's manor, and that, coupled with the stupid sharp contour I'd applied to my cheeks and jaw, my dark lipstick, and the purple circles underneath my eyes, instantly raised concern around my parents.

           "I'm okay," I said, for the millionth time that evening, as I refused yet another glass of wine. Stephen hadn't arrived yet, though I'd heard my father inform the security team he was on his way, and I was getting restless, worried my expectations wouldn't be met, but I wasn't one to talk. "I haven't been sleeping much, that's all."

          "Penny," my father scolded, holding his own glass of whisky. "You know how harmful that is."

          "Yeah. I'm sorry." My mother, standing on the opposite side of the room, talking to her assistant on the phone, shot me a concerned glance. I didn't want to give them any reason to be worried about me, another reminder I could have put more effort into looking alive, but everything that had happened this past week had left me so frazzled that taking care of my appearance had been one of the last things in my mind. "Where's Stephen?"

          He placed his index finger on his earpiece. "Right outside the front gates. Send him in." He signaled the guards standing by the entrance. There had once been a point in my life when I thought all these security measures were a pure overreaction, when I thought no one could hurt any of us if we stayed together, but the second I flew out of their reach, everything had come crashing down. Far from their helping hands, I'd landed right in the middle of a frat party 'scandal', as described by the whispers I'd heard. The manor, however, was a secure fortress and, to my knowledge, nothing bad had ever happened in here, no one had ever tried to break in. "No need to be nervous."

          "I'm always nervous."

          He gently smiled at me. "You'll see what I mean."

          Stephen Delaroux was, for lack of a better descriptor, gigantic. He was almost as tall as our front door, something he proved by ducking his head as he entered, and, behind the salt and pepper beard, his face was unreadable, but it was one of those memorable ones, the type of face you'd expect to see in a seasoned actor. Built like a mountain, I could tell why Chase liked him so much without even hearing him say a word; he gave off an aura of self-assurance that pulled people in instead of repelling them, oozing charisma and not arrogance.

          "Penelope, right?" he said, with the faintest hint of a French accent weighing down on his Rs, greeting me with a firm handshake, after speaking to both my parents. I nodded. "It's nice to meet you. My people skills are a bit rusty, since your parents have successfully pulled me out of hiding for the first time in a while."

          "Penny here mentioned you used to mentor one of her professors," my mother told him, holding a champagne flute, and stopped next to me. She wasn't trying to put me on the spot—if anything, she wanted me to be more involved in their circles and conversations—but the information on Chase I'd given her was minimal for a reason. "What was his name again?"

          "Chase," I croaked out, unable to not feel like I was betraying him by daring to utter his name in front of a man who meant so much to him, who had shaped his life and career in ways I would never be able to comprehend. "Chase Steele."

          Stephen's face lit up like the sun. "Chase was one of the brightest students I've ever taught. We fell out of touch a few years ago—"

          "You fell out of touch with everyone," my father corrected, handing him his own drink. "I'm sure he didn't take it personally."

           "Yeah, yeah." Stephen focused back on me. "I didn't know he'd followed the academia path. I always told him not to be boring; lecturing is as boring as it gets. He had great ideas, a vivid imagination, but I never managed to make him settle down. He was always moving from one project to the next."

          My hands trembled. Was I one of those projects, too? Would he leave as soon as he found something better?

          "We could ask Penny to invite him over one day so you two can reconnect," my mother suggested. That was a terrible idea on multiple levels, but I couldn't get into the majority of them without exposing a relationship I had no idea where it stood anymore. "I'm certain he wouldn't be opposed to the idea."

          "We don't want people to start crying favoritism once it gets out," my father argued, coming to my rescue without ever realizing it. "That university is bursting with cliques as is."

          "So?" She downed her champagne, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I want out daughter to succeed, and I want a family friend to reconnect with his protégé. There's nothing wrong with looking out for our own." She threw me a pointed glance, then looked at Stephen, determined to convince him. "It's your decision."

          Stephen watched me carefully, but acquiesced. "That doesn't sound terrible."

          I exhaled through my mouth. How in the world would I explain this to Chase, let alone present him with such a proposal?

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hi

stephen delaroux rights

p.s. please check out my book triangle i didn't write 160k words in a month for it to be ignored