Page 84 of Fault Line

My brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Ask me again later.” She tilts her chin, glancing away from me in a shoddy attempt to hide her smile. “Ask me again when it’s not an afterthought.”

“Impossible. Fucking. Girl.”

I shift my body, hovering over her as I secure her wrists above her head. Then, I tickle her sides until she’s giggling uncontrollably, her cheeks flushing with heat. She flails her legs, attempting to kick me in the nuts, but I threaten to stick my tongue in her ear if she doesn’t stop.

Her laughter quickly devolves into a high-pitched series of shrieks, and they may be shrill and piercing, but damn do I love the sound of them anyway.

Honestly, I’m just happy she can finally let her guard down like this. And even happier that I get to be the one to make her feel this way—joyful, carefree, and fully fucking alive.

29

KAIA

The next morning,Holden and I lazily crawl out of bed, our limbs tangled together beneath the sheets. We spend some time under the hot spray of the shower, finding new ways to tease each other until we’re both satisfied.

And as we finish getting ready, I’m all sorts of happy inside—enveloped in my little cocoon—warm and content with the golden boy beside me. I’ve grown attached to these little moments with him. The pockets of time where we can be completely ourselves, free from the confines of our daily lives.

Once we’re dressed, we head out to the car and drive back to Dayton. We make small talk along the way, but our minds are preoccupied. My nerves bubble up to the surface as we get closer to the symposium, and I’m fully fidgeting in my seat by the time we arrive.

Holden’s hand finds mine, giving it a gentle squeeze, and a sense of calm washes over me. Despite being in my element here, surrounded by peers and researchers who share my same interests, that familiar anxiety gnaws at me. I’m overwhelmed by the prospect of attending sessions, making connections, and impressing our advisor all at the same time.

“You good, Karras?” Holden asks, his voice low and laced with concern.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I nod, attempting a smile. “Just a little nervous, I guess.”

He offers me another comforting squeeze. “You’re gonna do great,” he says. “Remember, there’s no pressure today. This is just a chance to network, to see how things will go for us come spring term. When we’re ready for it.”

He brushes the side of his hand against mine as we walk, bumping our hips together, and the physical touch serves as a welcome distraction, grounding me.

After a few minutes of searching, we meet up with Dr. Khatri, and she informs us of her plan. We’ve been advised to select separate sessions so that we can all regroup and debrief at the end of the day.

Once we make it inside, I’m struck by the sheer size of the place. People of all ages and backgrounds, each with a sense of purpose, fill every nook and cranny. I didn’t notice it last night, but this building is both huge and immaculate.

The main floor’s a bit sterile—cold and impersonal. But upstairs, there are these large glass walls on either side that let in all the natural light. It’s modern, sleek, and open. The most striking feature, though, are the blown glass pieces suspended from the high ceilings.

It’s beautiful up here, ornate, a space you could truly get lost in.

Dayton’s a top-notch research university and extremely well-funded, so it makes sense that their facilities are state-of-the-art. I’d venture to say that it’s even nicer than what Coastal has to offer.

After we’re done admiring the architecture, Holden and I officially part ways. Per Dr. Khatri’s recommendation, we’ve chosen different sessions to attend throughout the day, with a midday catch-up during lunch.

As I settle into my first one, I’m instantly intimidated. The speaker shares groundbreaking discoveries in telesurgery, where doctors have the ability to control robots from remote facilities. As I listen along, jotting down a few notes, I’m in awe of their wealth of knowledge.

It’s fascinating, but it’s also daunting as hell.

After the session ends, I gravitate toward a group of undergrads, eavesdropping as they discuss their grad school plans. They all appear to be fourth-year students here at Dayton, and they’ve mentioned applying to at least a dozen different schools each.

By the sounds of it, they’re all determined to cast a wide net.

At this point, I’ve mostly committed myself to Coastal’s program. I don’t want to put all my eggs into one basket, per se, but it’s always been my top choice. I’ve never wanted to live too far away from Boyer, and there are only a handful of other schools where I could picture myself attending.

The thought of being denied entrance, though, is terrifying. I don’t even know how to conceptualize my life elsewhere. Not only would I have to get used to someplace new, but I’d also have to endure all the stresses of starting grad school along with it.

As I exit the room, my original confidence wavers, and I’m left questioning things. Attempting to ignore it, I head to the next session, a talk about transdermal patches that sparks my interest.

But despite my best efforts, thoughts of inadequacy linger in my mind.

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