Page 3 of Fault Line

“Go away,” I mutter.

His grin widens. “You’re really working yourself up about this proposal, aren’t you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but this”—I angrily point to my swollen, tear-filled eye—“has nothing to do with the proposal.”

“Ah.” He gives me a tight-lipped, sympathetic stare. It’s one that clearly screams,I’m not buying it, but sure ... whatever you say.

“It doesn’t,” I insist, resisting the urge to stamp my foot like a petulant child.

“My bad.” He holds both hands up in mock defense, giving me a low chuckle. “It was just an educated guess. You know, since you’re standing here crying outside of our department building,oh”—he glances at what I’m sure is an absurdly expensive watch, raising an amused brow—“about three and half minutes until your presentation time.”

“You’re kidding.” I audibly groan, dabbing under my eye to clear any last lingering tears. “I wanted to get everything set up at five ’til.”

He slowly unwraps a peppermint, popping it into his mouth before saying, “Well, looks like you’re shit out of luck.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I scoff, hooking one thumb underneath my backpack strap. “Anyway, I shouldn’t waste any more time out here. Good luck following up my proposal, by the way. It’s a good one.”

“I’m sure it is.” There’s that smug fucking grin of his again. “I know you always put yourbest effortin.”

“Are you really making fun of me fortrying, Becker?” The snort I let out is not a very pretty one. “What is this, middle school?”

“Not making fun of you at all, Karras.” He cracks his widest smile yet. A playful hint of peppermint peeks through the tiny gap in his teeth. “It’s one of your best qualities.”

I reel back, blinking away the false compliment. “Yeah, okay.” In this scenario, no reaction is the best reaction, especially because I know he’s trying to get under my skin. “Well, bye, then.”

“Hold up a second.”

“What is it?” I huff, folding my arms across my chest, impatiently tapping my foot. If he actually makes me late for this proposal, then he won’t live to tell the tale. “You have something else to say that’ll steer me off course?”

“No.” He takes a solid step forward, the rough pad of his thumb swiping across my cheekbone. He draws the corner of his bottom lip beneath his front teeth, a look of pure concentration on his face. “Mascara,” he murmurs, rubbing his fingers until the tiny black streak smudges away. “Tends to run when the tears come out.”

My eyes narrow as I step away from him, barely managing to suppress a full-body shiver. I blow out a hot breath and quickly recenter myself. Count to three inside my head, mutter a quick thank-you, and then book it inside the building without saying another word.

Fucking strange reaction, I’ll admit it. But I suppose when you’re running on fumes, even your own body starts to betray you.

2

HOLDEN

My God,I’ve never met someone as easily riled up as Kaia Karras. It’s likely because I’ve spent the last three years perfecting the act. Toiling over different ways to get a rise out of her. All I have to do these days is throw her a tiny half-smile, maybe cock my head to the side a little, and her entire body tenses up.

It’s one of my favorite pastimes.

Besides, I already know she’s going to stroll in front of that panel and knock this shit out of the park. It’s just the way she is. She’s probably been working on this proposal since the day she was accepted into our major. Meanwhile, I threw my idea together last week.

I know our advisors will like it because it’s solid translational research. There are clear, actionable benefits for the population we’re serving. Plus, I have community connections.

Professors always eat that shit up.

Don’t get me wrong, my idea’s a good one, but I’m not going to spend months agonizing over something like this. My final collegiate hockey season is about to start. I need to put on a good enough show to guarantee I’ll be signed after graduation.

I was drafted by the Carolina Tornadoes over three years ago, back when I was still a fucking kid. The team’s well aware that I want to finish college and secure my degree first, but it feels like there are an infinite number of ways to screw up this opportunity before then.

When all is said and done, the Tornadoes can still refuse to offer me an actual contract. Then, thirty days after graduation, I’ll be pushed into the free agent pool, floating around with the rest of the sorry fuckers who couldn’t secure a team.

The thought of that happening scares the living hell out of me.

Sure, I’ll always have a backup. A fail-safe. I’m graduating next year with a BS in Biomedical Engineering, after all. And, well, there’s always the small detail of my trust fund. That’s not something I take for granted.

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