Page 61 of Fault Line

* * *

I’mjolted awake the next morning by the blaring sound of my alarm, disoriented and groggy. Blinking my eyes open, I take a moment to orient myself. Surely but slowly, the events of the previous night filter in.

Holden must’ve carried me to bed after I drifted off to sleep. I don’t recall waking up during the journey from the couch to my bedroom down the hall. So I must’ve been truly out of it, hopped up on cold medicine or something.

With a yawn, I sit up in bed and stretch, slightly more well rested than yesterday.

There’s another note lying beside me, topped with Holden’s signature piece of candy. A reluctant smile spreads across my face as I pick it up.

K,

Hope you’re feeling better. Did you know that you snore like an old man? Very sexy. Get some rest and I’ll check in later.

H

Warmth fills my chest at his thoughtfulness. I never expected him to be so fucking nurturing and caring, especially not when it comes to my health. In fact, I didn’t expect him to even notice I was sick in the first place.

I have to admit that it’s a welcome surprise.

The rest of the week is spent at home, focusing on recuperating and catching up on classes. Holden took some detailed notes for me, and they’re surprisingly meticulous. Well, for him, anyway. For me, they’re fairly standard, but I know for a fact that he usually doesn’t bother.

As a whole, I’m feeling okay about missing nearly a week’s worth of classes. I thought that the stress, the pressure, would weigh me down. But I’ve been handling the isolation well.

I needed this time holed up alone to actually get better. Usually, when I’m sick, I trek on without any rest, and I never feel fully recovered. Now, with Holden’s help, I’m almost back to baseline already.

Unfortunately, the pressure’s back on as I prepare for tomorrow’s dissertation meeting. In truth, if our situations were reversed, I probably would’ve taken advantage of his illness to gain an edge.

I don’t know what that says about me, exactly, but it’s likely not a good thing.

I don’t want to come across as this coldhearted, standoffish person. Not when Holden’s slowly opening up to me, showing me a different side of himself—a side that I find myself truly connecting to.

It’s difficult to admit, but I’m grateful for his ever-growing presence in my life. For the comfort he provided me when I was sick, for the way he refused to let me push him away. It’s a strange feeling, but a good one.

I never thought I’d need someone to wait on me, to be a physical and emotional crutch. But maybe it’s not such a scary thing to lean on someone else, to let them take care of me in the way Holden so clearly wants to.

* * *

Friday finally arrives,and I’m feeling better, ready to face Dr. Khatri and her scrutiny once again. Holden sits across from me, looking composed as ever, but the nerves are churning in my gut.

I’ve been working my ass off this week at home, trying to make up for my past mistakes and prove myself worthy. But despite my efforts, there’s still a little voice in my head whispering that it’s not enough.

Dr. Khatri clears her throat, and I sit up straighter in my chair. “Kaia, your revised question is excellent,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “You’ve taken the feedback and honed in on what’s important for your research. I’m impressed.”

A wave of pride washes over me, but before I can bask in her praise, she adds, “I assume Holden helped you revise?”

I open my mouth to correct her, but Holden jumps in first. “Actually, this one was all Kaia. By the time I reached out to assist, she’d already figured things out on her own.”

“That’s good to hear,” Dr. Khatri says. “I reviewed the summaries you both sent over, and I can see that you’ve made some good progress. But Kaia, I think you may be able to eliminate some of the extraneous details from your findings. Holden, if you wouldn’t mind sharing some examples with her, that would be a huge help.”

“Of course,” Holden says.

“Kaia, you’ll be able to see how he’s written things. It’s a little more concise overall. I can give you a copy to look over now, and if Holden’s alright with it, you can use that as a reference for your own work.”

I tense up, my stomach whirling as I take the papers from her outstretched hand. I can’t help but feel embarrassed and inferior again, especially with Holden here to bear witness.

I quickly scan over the pages, reviewing his introductory remarks and summary table. But something’s off—the results he included don’t match his initial search.

“Sorry,” I say. “But I think there might be an error here.”

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