Page 62 of Fault Line

Holden clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there are nearly forty results listed, but only about three-quarters of them are reflected in the summaries.”

“Ah, right,” Holden says, shifting in his seat. “Well, it’s still a rough draft, right?”

“Hm, that’s something I didn’t take note of during my cursory review.” Dr. Khatri quickly scans over the assignment again. “Holden, you’re correct that this is a preliminary draft. Unfortunately, you were meant to have all of your results summarized regardless.”

“Okay, I can fix that easily,” he says with a confident smile. “No problem.”

“I’ll have to deduct some points for turning in an incomplete assignment, but it shouldn’t affect your final grade to a great degree.”

“No problem,” he says. “I understand.”

But as Dr. Khatri looks away, he tosses me a stern look, and I sink down in my seat. The frustration in his brow only serves to tighten the knot in my stomach. It’s clear that I’ve made a mistake here, that I’ve essentially thrown him under the bus without meaning to.

I try to backtrack, to make it clear that I thought this was a genuine error, but Holden cuts me off with a terse “It’s fine, Kaia. I’ll fix it later.”

I can tell he’s hurt, and I don’t blame him. Even still, I hate the way it makes me feel like we’re suddenly back on opposing ends. Fighting against each other like we always have. But I can’t take back what I’ve just done, and I’m not sure how to make it right.

The meeting ends, and Holden doesn’t say another word to me as we pack up our papers, heading out of Dr. Khatri’s office. The silence between us is suffocating.

I long to break it, to shout and fight and make him understand that my mistake was an honest one. Sure, he may be reacting exactly the way I would normally, but I’ve grown to expect more from him—the voice of reason, the one who always has something clever to say.

Instead, I’m left chasing after him now, feeling like I’ve ruined something fragile.

As he turns the corner, he finally stops and faces me. “What was the point of that?” he asks, voice low and rough.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say. “I just blurted out the first thing I noticed, I swear.”

“You sure you weren’t trying to make me look bad on purpose?” he asks, eyes narrowed. “Because you were embarrassed in there for whatever reason? Because you can’t take even an ounce of genuine criticism?”

“That’s not true,” I protest, but he just shakes his head, turning away from me.

“Fuck, I really can’t do this right now,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Left standing on the sidewalk, I feel guilty for costing him his grade. Was he trying to take shortcuts all along, or was it a genuine mistake that I brought to light?

Either way, he’s partially right. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth in the first place, especially not after how helpful he’s been this week.

And now that he’s left things unresolved, I hate the way I’m feeling—both ashamed and insecure. I don’t know if I even have the mental capacity or the emotional bandwidth to deal with this right now.

I’d rather not risk disappointing someone else in my life.

I feel lost as I head back to my apartment. And while I lie in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, the feeling only grows stronger.

Holden still hasn’t returned any of my texts. I know I messed up, but I wish he would talk to me, tell me what I can do to make it right. Or hell, maybe I should just forget this whole thing in the first place, and we can go back to the way we used to be.

Distant rivals. Fairweather acquaintances. Only checking in to throw a quick barb in the other person’s direction.

It was easier that way. Cut-and-dry, just how I prefer it to be.

22

HOLDEN

It’s been a long,exhausting day. After our meeting this morning, I rushed to our midday practice, and then I had to suffer through PT with Dr. Reynolds.Again. She seems to have chilled out after our conversation a few weeks back, but she still insists on keeping me at least once per week.

It’s annoying, but it’s manageable.

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