“Okay,” I said, sliding my stylus across the screen to annotate the diagram of a shoulder joint. “Walk me through the muscle groups involved in this motion.”
I didn’t have favorite tutees, but if I did, Derek Simmons would’ve been a strong competitor. Our arrangement was a little over a year old now and it had remained productive thanks to his being attentive, respectful, and determined to excel in Sports Medicine. He also happened to be an alpha jock, but he wasn’t irritating. Unlike someone. Who I refused to think about.
Leaning forwards, Derek tapped his pen against his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Deltoid for abduction, supraspinatus for the first fifteen degrees, and…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Teres minor and infraspinatus for external rotation?”
I nodded, pleased. “Good. You’ve been reviewing your notes.”
“Had to,” Derek said, his grin boyish despite his towering frame. “Can’t slack off if I want to keep up with you, Professor.”
The casual nickname would have annoyed me from anyone else, but Derek’s sincerity softened the sting. He was the anti-Max in every conceivable way—methodical, respectful, and uninterested in making my life a spectacle. I had no idea how he managed to be both an alpha and tolerable, but I appreciated it.
I suppressed a smile and forced my attention back to the diagram. Outwardly, I might have looked composed, but inside, I felt strangely gutted—like someone had scooped out my insides and left me hollow.
You’re just tired, I told myself. It’s been a long day.
I’d already sent the email terminating my arrangement with Max—unofficially for now, though it would become official once I contacted the Tutor Council tomorrow. I’d never ended an arrangement before, and it felt so much like failure I wanted to scream. But better to cut things off now before they got any worse.
For now, I just desperately needed the day to wrap up on a normal note. Forty-five more minutes, then I could finally go home.
“Next question,” I said, forcing my tone to stay brisk. “So, the groin region…”
I swiped across the anatomy diagram on my tablet, my stylus hovering over the spot I wanted to highlight. A half-second of silence hung between Derek and me as I drew breath, ready to explain the relevant muscle groups involved in hip flexion.
“The groin? What the hell is this?”
At first, I thought I was simply having an auditory hallucination. Haha, subconscious. Very funny. But even as I briefly closed my eyes to calculate the odds, I knew. The hairs at the back of my neck were prickling with recognition—that telltale, electric awareness you get when you realize trouble’s breathing down your neck.
And sure enough, I whirled in my seat to find Max Vaughn towering directly behind me.
He was still wearing the same clothes from last night—a Ridgeline Wolfpack hoodie with a noticeable coffee stain on the sleeve—and the moment I caught sight of it, my annoyance flared. But worse than the clothes was the smell. Not sweat or body odor, exactly. Something else.
I lifted a hand to my nose, trying to hide my mortification when I realized what it was: my scent. Hours stale, nearly drowned out by the library’s recycled air, but still unmistakably mine. Really? He couldn’t bother to shower or change? A flush of heat crept up my neck. If I could detect it, then Derek—sitting right beside me—definitely could too.
My stomach twisted. Having Max show up at all was bad enough, but showing up while still carrying traces of me on him? That was a level of humiliating I was even less prepared for. It felt like some absurd, biological neon sign, broadcasting last night’s lapse in judgment to anyone with half a nose. It was late, so the library was as good as empty, but the knowledge that Derek might pick up on it made me want to sink under the table and disappear.
My grip on the stylus tightened until my knuckles went white. I didn’t even have to look at Derek to sense his surprise; I could feel him stiffen beside me before twisting around to peer at Max looming behind us.
My pulse thundered in my ears; even my fingertips felt jittery against the smooth plastic of my tablet. I forced my shoulders to stay squared, but it felt like my composure might crack at any second. I took a deep breath.
“Vaughn,” I acknowledged as calmly as possible, each syllable clipped. “What are you doing here?”
For once, Max didn’t seem to have any interest in me. I could only assume that he was in some sort of denial and not thinking clearly. His face was unsettlingly blank, his narrowed gaze flicking to the chair that Derek was sitting in, to the tablet in my hands, then to Derek himself. I saw the exact moment his brain decided to blow up.
“Who the fuck are you and why are you sitting in my seat?” he demanded in a low voice.
Derek assessed Max’s stance and shot a confused glance at me. I shook my head at him.
Again, I tried to gain Max’s attention. “Vaughn—”
“Hey, beanpole,” Max snapped at Derek, ignoring me for a second time. “I’m fucking talking to you. Who the fuck are you and why are you sitting in my seat?”
Derek’s eyebrows shot up, and for a split second, I saw genuine confusion—maybe even a flicker of annoyance. He wasn’t used to being challenged like this. He leaned towards me, whispering. “Who the hell is this guy?”
An audible growl rumbled out from Max’s chest and I startled in my own seat as he suddenly kicked out at the legs of Derek’s chair. It didn’t budge under the other alpha’s weight, but Max might as well have shot at Derek for all he reacted: he shot to his full height with a responding growl, stepping away from the table and squaring his broad shoulders.
Max’s entire demeanor screamed challenge, while Derek’s body language braced for it. In an instant, I saw the storm brewing between them. Perceived territorial response, spiking adrenaline and testosterone… and me, in the splash zone. Fascinating, but not what I needed right now.
My gut twisted with humiliation at the realization that my scent was part of this combustible mix. The stale remnants clinging to Max’s hoodie likely only fueled Derek’s subconscious read on the situation—this alpha smells like Ainsley, so do I challenge him? It was the stuff of textbooks, yes, but in practice, it was far from academic. It was downright embarrassing.
I tried to recall the de-escalation techniques from the Instinct Management & Mediation workshop I’d taken last fall. Speak calmly. Use the alpha’s name. Do not challenge.
I cleared my throat, trying to wedge my voice in. “Max, Derek,” I said firmly. “We are in a library, and you’re acting like—” I stopped myself. Don’t call them cavemen.
I pressed my lips together, pivoting to a lower, calmer tone. “Both of you, take a step back. Now.”
They edged closer to each other.
“Dude, what the fuck is your problem?” Derek hissed. “This is a private session.”
“No,” Max shot back. “I’m supposed to be having a session. This is my time. That’s my seat. And Kerrigan’s mine. My tutor. So why don’t you come back tomorrow and find another nerd to help you with studying groins?”
This is exactly what the textbooks warned about, I thought, chest tightening at the irrational edge in his voice. God, if they actually started fighting… I opened my mouth to make another attempt to regain control, but Derek was already firing back, sneering at Max.
“Last time I checked, you don’t own this seat and you definitely don’t own Ainsley. So why don’t you—”
Max barked out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, I don’t own that seat? Check the bottom, bro. Pretty sure there’s a gold nameplate that says my dad donated over twenty million to this school, which means I own that seat and every other fucking seat on this goddamn campus.”
A muffled gasp came from somewhere behind the shelves—one of the few stragglers on the third floor, no doubt. My stomach lurched at the realization that we’d become the evening’s entertainment. Part of me wanted to grab my bag and bolt—throw the entire evening in the trash. Another part wanted to yank Max aside and demand an explanation, away from prying eyes. And a final, tiny part of me wanted to apologize to Derek for dragging him into my swirling mess of an existence.
“Max,” I said sternly. “Stop this. Right now.”
But Max was too far gone, operating on pure alpha instinct. I wasn’t even sure if he heard me or not. I watched his nostrils flare as he stepped closer to Derek, his shoulders rolling forward like he was ready to throw down. If you’d asked me hours ago, I would’ve said that Max was more likely to throw a tantrum than a punch, except right now he looked completely different than the goofy, good-natured Max I was used to. He looked like he was ready to take Derek apart if the other alpha so much as breathed wrong.
“You’re acting fucking feral, bro,” Derek threw out at Max. “Check yourself.”
Max clenched his fists so hard I thought he might crush his own knuckles. His voice cracked with raw frustration, pitching higher. “Yeah, I’m acting fucking feral. You’ve got no idea the kind of day I’ve had. I made a B on my calculus test this morning and now I’m benched from football for a whole damn year. Can you believe that? A year. Meanwhile, Zach—freaking Zach, who can’t even throw a spiral—gets my team captain patch.”
For half a heartbeat, Max’s gaze flicked my way, something like hesitation passing over his features—then his anger surged back, raw and wild. “I’ve been freaking out all day and Kerrigan here hasn’t answered a single one of my texts. Then I come to our session and I see you in my seat, my session? No. Absolutely not.”
I exhaled on a hiss, resisting the urge to ball my own hands into fists and start swinging. The reason behind Max’s latest idiotic spiral suddenly made painful, obvious sense: he was too meatheaded to understand academic policy. Shocker.
“You wanna study groins?” He sneered openly in Derek’s face. “I’ll give you a groin injury and you can study that. On your own. Pick another tutor, pick another seat—hell, pick another library if you need to—just get out of my face.”
For an unbearably stretched moment, the tension was so thick I could taste it, and I stood frozen, bracing myself for one of them throwing a punch. But somewhere throughout Max’s rambling threat, Derek must’ve ceased to perceive him as a threat, because he stepped back instead of escalating the situation further. Thank God.
“Alright,” he said, voice steady but clipped. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”
He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “We can reschedule, Ainsley. Thanks for your help tonight.”
I could’ve fallen over in relief. Instead I nodded stiffly, grateful he’d finally come back to himself. “Of course. I’m sorry for the interruption.”
Derek gave Max one last hard look before gathering his things and walking away, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Once he was out of earshot, I rounded on Max, my contained fury spilling over like a dam breaking.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, the words bursting out before I could stop them. My voice was loud, slicing through the tense silence Max had left in his wake. He flinched, just slightly, but it only fueled my anger.
“You storm in here like a lunatic,” I continued, my hands shaking as I gestured toward the empty space Derek had occupied. “You scare off my tutee—someone who actually respects my time—and for what? Because your ego can’t handle seeing another alpha sit in ‘your seat’? Because you don’t understand basic GPA requirements? Are you kidding me?”
Max’s mouth opened, but I wasn’t done. Nowhere near. “No, you don’t get to talk right now. You don’t get to explain or justify whatever that—” I waved a hand at him, “—that display was. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you looked? How embarrassing that was? You’re like a child throwing a tantrum because someone took his favorite toy.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Good. Because I wasn’t finished.
“And this,” I said, stabbing a finger toward him, “this is exactly why I terminated our tutoring arrangement.”
Max froze, his expression shifting from defensive to utterly blindsided. “Terminated?” he repeated, his voice quieter, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about?”
I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him. “Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t check your email.”
He stared at me for a moment, then slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket, with the same half-confused, half-devastated expression. I threw up my hands and let out an audible groan, the sound scraping against my throat. “Right. Of course you didn’t. Why would Max Vaughn bother with something as basic as reading an email when it’s so much easier to burst into a library and make a scene?”
“Ains—”
“No,” I cut him off sharply, pointing a finger at him. “No, you don’t get to ‘Ains’ me right now. Do you even realize how hard it was for me to make that decision? To terminate our sessions? I’ve never had to do that before, Max. Not once. But you—you made it impossible to keep going. You made everything impossible!”
Max looked like I’d punched him in the gut, his broad shoulders slumping, but I couldn’t stop. The dam had broken, and every ounce of frustration, every shred of exhaustion, was pouring out of me like a tidal wave.
“And last night,” I barreled on, “last night was a mistake. It was a stupid, impulsive, heat-driven mistake. I’ll take responsibility for it, because I should have known better. But you—” My breath hitched as my emotions caught up with me. “You don’t know how to stop pushing, do you? You can’t just leave well enough alone.”
“Ainsley, please—” Max started, his voice raw, but I steamrolled over him.
“Stop. Just stop,” I said, my voice breaking completely. “It’s done, Max. We’re done.”
His expression crumpled, his lips parting like he was about to protest, but nothing came out. His silence should have been satisfying, but it felt more hollow than I’d expected. I leaned into it anyway, telling myself it was better to cut the head off.
“I hope I never see you again,” I said, curling my lip as I swiped my tablet off the table. The words weren’t entirely fair, and I knew it, but I was too angry, too overwhelmed to care. I grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder with more force than necessary, and turned on my heel.
I didn’t look back as I stormed out, my footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. The weight of everything—my anger, my exhaustion, my regret—pressed down on me, threatening to crack me open. But I kept walking, because the alternative was unthinkable.
I was officially done with Max Vaughn.
----------------------------------------
Tutors may terminate an arrangement only when a valid and documented reason is provided. In cases where safety or well-being is compromised, immediate termination is permitted, but justification must be submitted to the Tutor Council within 24 hours. The Tutor Council reserves the right to review all termination requests.
Tutors are explicitly prohibited from engaging in emotional or confrontational discussions about the termination with the tutee. If a termination is found to stem from unprofessional conduct on the part of the tutor (e.g., personal relationships with the tutee, violations of the Council’s code of ethics, or inappropriate behavior), the tutor may face disciplinary action, including suspension or removal from the Council.
Stolen story; please report.
Tutors must provide tutees with at least 48 hours’ notice before termination becomes official, except in emergencies. Failure to follow proper procedures may result in penalties for the tutor.
I’d stared at the Tutor Council’s Arrangement Termination policy for over an hour, and all I’d achieved was confirming how utterly screwed I was. Every phrase seemed to mock me—“valid reason,” “evidence of misconduct,” “professional standards.” How could I possibly explain what had happened with Max without implicating myself in a dozen different rule violations?
So far, I’d calculated at least five rules broken. Which was five too many.
It wasn’t fair. He didn’t even understand the stakes—how could he? To Max, rules were just suggestions, obstacles to bulldoze through without a second thought. But for me, they were everything. The rules were what kept me sane, what kept my life from spiraling into chaos. And now I’d broken them. For him.
Slipping my glasses off my face, I rubbed at my eyes and slumped back against my pillows. My dorm was peaceful, utterly quiet, and the fresh scent of my newly washed sheets should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t. It just reminded me of everything I’d been trying to forget since the library. I could still feel the heat of Max’s presence, the way he’d looked at me—raw, desperate, hurt.
Good, I thought, then immediately felt guilty. Was it good? Max was an idiot, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He hadn’t been trying to ruin my life, even if that had very nearly been the end result.
The way I’d spoken to him… I groaned, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. I wasn’t the type to suffer fools and the library debacle had been ridiculous, but even I could recognize that I’d been cruel with him. Tactless, even. And unprofessional—again.
There was a part of me argued that that was the only way to deal with someone like Max Vaughn—you couldn’t give him an inch or he’d take a mile—and yet the memory of his face when I’d said we were done wouldn’t leave me alone. The flicker of disbelief, the way his shoulders had slumped just a fraction before he’d straightened and tried to act like it didn’t hurt.
Six days. That’s how long I’d known him. Not even a full week, and he’d managed to ruin me. My reputation, my routine, my sanity—everything was teetering on the edge of collapse, all because of one insufferable, overgrown alpha who couldn’t seem to leave me alone. The memory of our sex was still sharp and searing, no matter how much I wanted to push it away. His scent had been everywhere—on my skin, in my lungs, wrapped around me like a smothering blanket. And the way he’d touched me… God, it was humiliating how good it had felt. But that wasn’t me. It wasn’t real. It was biology, pure and simple. A chemical reaction fueled by circumstances I couldn’t control.
My stomach twisted at the thought of the Tutor Council finding out. They’d see me as reckless, irresponsible, just another omega who couldn’t keep his instincts in check. There was zero doubt in my mind that I would be removed from the Council. Everything I’d worked for would be gone in an instant, reduced to a footnote in their records.
Damage control, then. The Council didn’t need every sordid detail. They needed a plausible, professional explanation that ensured they wouldn’t ask too many questions. And if that explanation happened to omit certain... complexities, well, that was just good crisis management.
I put my glasses back on, adjusted them, and started drafting an email.
Dear Tutor Council,
I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to formally request the immediate termination of my tutoring arrangement with Maxwell Vaughn, effective immediately.
While I have done my best to uphold the high standards expected of us as Council tutors, I have come to the conclusion that continuing this arrangement is no longer in the best interest of neither myself nor Mr. Vaughn. Due to a persistent conflict of priorities and an inability to maintain a productive dynamic, I believe it would be more beneficial for Max to seek academic support through alternative means.
I understand the importance of providing detailed reasoning for such decisions, and while I strive to maintain transparency, I also want to respect the confidentiality of all involved. I can assure you that this decision was not made lightly and is rooted in my commitment to preserving the integrity of our tutoring program.
Please let me know if further documentation or clarification is required. I remain committed to assisting the Council in any capacity as we work to find the best solution for Mr. Vaughn’s academic needs.
Thank you for your understanding and for your continued support of our mission to provide exceptional academic resources to Ridgeline students.
Best regards,
Ainsley Kerrigan
I chewed my bottom lip, staring over what I’d written. Was it too much? Not enough?
A sharp knock jolted me from my thoughts. Three quick raps, then silence.
I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. No one ever came to my dorm unannounced—least of all this late. My first thought was Theo, barging in to demand an update on my “tragic tutoring drama.” My second thought was far worse.
The soft whir of my laptop’s motherboard faded as I closed it and set it aside. I crept to the door, ignoring the way my pulse hammered in my ears. Peeking through the peephole confirmed my fears.
The source of all my inner turmoil was standing there in the flesh, looking about as composed as a wet dog. He’d showered since the library and put on fresh clothes, but his still-damp hair was a mess and his red-rimmed eyes were fixed squarely on my door like he could will it to open.
For one irrational second, I considered pretending I wasn’t home. But the moment passed as soon as it arrived—I knew he wasn’t going to just leave so easily and I’d sooner jump out the window than deal with another embarrassing scene. It was better to just… deal with him. Once and for all.
With a resigned sigh, I opened the door.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t even speak at first. He just looked at me, and in that look, I saw everything I hadn’t when I’d turned my back on him in the library: his anger, his frustration, his desperation. And beneath it all, that stupid, earnest softness that made me want to slam the door in his face and let him in all at once.
“Ains,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “Can we talk?”
I wanted to say no. Every logical bone in my body screamed at me to slam the door and tell him to schedule an appointment—preferably never. But logic had been fighting a losing battle all day, and the way Max looked at me… it was like he’d run out of places to go. Like I was the last person who could fix whatever mess he was drowning in.
I sighed and stepped aside, holding the door open. “You have five minutes.”
Max blinked, like he hadn’t actually expected me to let him in. Then he stepped into the room, with that odd mix of confidence and awkwardness that only he could pull off. The air felt heavier with him in it, like his presence demanded attention even when he wasn’t trying.
“So,” I said brusquely, crossing my arms and leaning against the computer desk. “Talk.”
Max hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, first of all, I’m sorry about the library.”
“You’re sorry about the library?” I echoed in a flat voice, eyebrows arching. “Not the part where you acted like a feral lunatic in front of my tutee and completely embarrassed me?”
He winced. “Yeah, that part too. Look, I messed up, okay? I was pissed about the whole football thing, and I… I didn’t think.”
“That’s a gross understatement,” I muttered.
Max took a step closer, his gaze searching mine. “I mean it. I didn’t come here to fight. I just… I wanted to apologize. For everything.”
For everything. A derisive noise bubbled in my throat; I wanted to ask him if that included the way he’d barged into my life and turned it upside down. But before I could decide whether to say it, Max shifted nervously, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.
“And, uh…” He hesitated, glancing at the floor before meeting my eyes again. “I also wanted to ask if you’re… y’know.”
“Y’know?” I repeated, my irritation flaring. “No, Max. I don’t know. Try using complete sentences.”
“Pregnant,” he blurted out. The word hit the room like a bomb, leaving silence in its wake.
I stared at him, sure I’d misheard. “What?”
“Pregnant,” he repeated, louder this time, his voice pitching into dangerous territory. “The guys started talking about this guy from the football team who got his omega boyfriend pregnant last year and he had to drop out—apparently, he had like five or six. And it got me thinking. About last night. Because, you know, we didn’t exactly, uh, plan for… what happened. So I’ve been freaking out all day thinking about it. What if it’s… quads?”
“Quads?” I echoed, my tone flat with disbelief.
“Yeah. The Mega Heat Effect. I mean, look at us. Our genetic material is definitely top tier,” he said, gesturing vaguely to me and then himself. “And then I started thinking about how we’d even handle that. Four babies is like, forty diapers a day and four hundred thousand dollars the first year—”
The Mega… what? I already didn’t have the patience for this. Me, pregnant with quadruplets? Seriously? Why had I let him in? “Max—” I started to snap, an edge to my voice.
“No, listen,” he said, plowing forward like a runaway train. “We’d have to hire help. Like, professional nannies. But then how do you trust someone with four babies? What if one of them’s secretly evil? There’s no vetting process for that.”
I gritted my teeth. “You’re assuming—”
“Oh, and then there’s the stroller situation,” he continued, his eyes widening as he worked himself into a frenzy, beginning to pace. “Did you know they make quad strollers? They’re the size of a small boat. I saw a picture, and the mom pushing it looked like she was training for a triathlon. Do I need to start working out more for that? I mean, I don’t mind. You just have to tell me—”
I slammed my hand on the desk. “Max.”
He stopped mid-sentence, mid-pace, his hand frozen mid-gesture. “What?”
I stared at him, my patience hanging by a thread. “I’m on birth control.” Obviously. Nevermind that my genetics were hardly as ‘peak’ as what he was stating in the first place—did he honestly think I was stupid enough to risk pregnancy in college?
The silence that followed was deafening. Max blinked at me, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to process the words but couldn’t quite get there. “You’re… what?”
“On. Birth. Control,” I repeated, each word sharp and deliberate. “We’re not having quadruplets—which, by the way, is the biological equivalent of hitting the lottery while getting struck by lightning on the same day you find a four-leaf clover. We’re not having anything.”
He stared at me for another beat before letting out a breath of relief so exaggerated it was almost theatrical. “Oh, thank God.”
But then something flickered in Max’s expression on the heels of the relief, as if he’d just remembered something he’d forgotten to say. I braced myself for the next tidal wave of nonsense, already imagining the absurdity he might unleash. But to my surprise, it didn’t come.
Instead, he hesitated, his mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again. His brow furrowed, his lips pressing together in a rare display of restraint. I stared at him, equal parts shocked and impressed. He was actually holding back.
“You sure it’s, like, 100% effective? Your birth control?” he finally asked, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a dazed, almost sheepish expression on his face that I couldn’t decipher. Not that I wanted to.
“Ninety-nine percent,” I affirmed dryly. “You have a better chance of a meteor hitting this campus in the next five minutes than you do of me getting pregnant.”
He nodded slowly. “Right. Okay, cool. Good to know.” He took a hesitant step forward, but the sharp narrowing of my eyes stopped him in his tracks.
“Can I sit down?” he asked, his voice unusually polite. I should’ve said no, but I rolled my eyes at the unexpected courtesy and stepped away from the desk, gesturing toward its vacant chair.
Once he settled into it, I moved to my bed, leaning back against the wall with my legs crossed as I watched him warily. The space between us felt heavy, filled with too much unspoken tension for my liking.
Max took a deep breath and let it out in a big sigh, hanging his head between his knees. When he raised it and looked at me again, for the first time all night, there was no humor in his eyes. Just something raw and unguarded that made my stomach twist.
“So I’m benched,” he said quietly. “For two semesters. Football’s everything I’ve ever had, and now it’s gone. I don’t even know who I am without it.”
I waited, knowing there was more. The sooner he gets it all out, I told myself, the sooner he’ll leave and you won’t have to deal with him again. And sure enough, he pressed on, his voice low and uneven.
“I mean, yeah, I’m supposed to be this big, dumb jock, right? Football star, Vaughn legacy, all that crap. But it’s not just about the game. It’s… it’s who I am. It’s the one thing I’ve always been good at, the thing that makes me feel like I belong somewhere. Like I’m not just this… this idiot who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.”
His shoulders slumped, and he dragged a hand through his hair, looking more disheveled than I’d ever seen him. His voice cracked as he fought to keep it steady and I wondered, briefly, if anyone had ever seen him like this before. “Without it, I feel… lost. Like, completely and utterly lost. And the worst part is, I have no idea how to fix it. My grades are shit. They’ve always been shit. I don’t know how to bring them up on my own. I might lose my scholarship.”
“Your parents wouldn’t help you if you lost your scholarship?” I asked, arching a dubious brow.
“As in, pay for my tuition?” Max snorted bitterly and shook his head, a humorless grin twisting his lips. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
Noticing my frown, he elaborated. “The Vaughns are all about ‘hard work and discipline’ and earning what you’ve got. Paying for my tuition? Forget it. That’d be ‘rewarding failure.’ They made that real clear when I got into Ridgeline. If I couldn’t keep my scholarship, I wasn’t staying here.”
I blinked at him, unsure of what to make of his admission. That was… unexpected.
Senator Gregory Vaughn wasn’t just any Ridgeline alumnus, after all—he was a Ridgeline legend. From what I knew, his donations had funded everything from new athletic facilities to state-of-the-art lecture halls, ensuring his name remained synonymous with the university’s prestige. The Vaughn name was everywhere: plaques, scholarship programs, even the annual Vaughn Legacy Gala, which brought in more money than most universities saw in a year. So naturally, I’d assumed that Max was exactly what he appeared to be—an entitled rich kid who coasted through life on charm, connections, and his dad’s checkbook. But apparently not.
“The scholarship’s not just about the money,” he continued. “It’s about proving I’m not just some spoiled kid riding on the Vaughn name. Showing them I can actually do something on my own.”
For once, I didn’t have a response. My carefully crafted image of Max—the tantrum-throwing, privileged alpha who breezed through life—was fracturing before my eyes.
Max paused then, his gaze locking onto mine with a quiet desperation that made my chest ache. “That’s why I need your help, Kerrigan. I can’t do this by myself. Listen, I know I’m an idiot, and I know I’ve screwed up more times than I can count, but… I’ll do whatever it takes. Just don’t give up on me. Please.”
All I could do was stare at him, my mind a chaotic mess of thoughts and emotions. For the first time, I saw the cracks beneath his cocky surface. The fear. The doubt. The very human need for someone to believe in him.
And I hated it. I hated him. For the ache in my chest, for the way he somehow made me want to help him, even after everything. It was worse than the time he’d taken his scent patch off in the library—worse because a part of me knew better at this point, while the rest of me didn’t care.
This isn’t your responsibility, I told myself. He made his bed. He let his grades slip. He knew the consequences.
But another part of me, quieter but no less insistent, whispered that it wasn’t entirely his fault. Which was true.
I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “Max, I’m going to be honest with you the way everyone else should’ve been.”
“GPAs don’t magically bounce back with one good grade,” I told him, “Your 1.2 GPA is the cumulative average of every grade you’ve earned since you started here. That means even if you get straight As this semester, your GPA will only rise to about 1.5—maybe 1.6 if you retake some of the classes you failed.”
Max stared at me, his brow furrowed. “So… what does that mean? Like, for football?”
“It means you’re benched until you bring it up to a 2.0, which could take at least two full semesters—assuming you put in the work.” I folded my arms, fixing him with a pointed look. “And that’s a big assumption, given how much you hate even looking at a textbook.”
He flinched, but I wasn’t done. “That being said, this isn’t entirely your fault. Yes, you should have taken your grades seriously from the start, but the athletic department should have intervened a long time ago. They let you slide until it was too late, and now they’re acting like it’s all on you to fix. That’s not fair.”
Max blinked, his mouth opening slightly like he wanted to argue but didn’t know what to say. “So… what do I do?”
“You start by taking this seriously,” I said, my tone sharp but not unkind. “No more excuses, no more distractions. You’re going to have to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life, and it’s not going to be fun.”
“But… I don’t have a tutor anymore.”
“There are other tutors on the Council who can help you,” I said briskly, folding my arms over my chest. “Several of them are more than qualified.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” Max said immediately. “I want you.”
I stiffened. “Well, that’s not your decision to make.”
His expression faltered, and I pressed on, my irritation bubbling over. “I’ve already broken enough rules by trying to help you. Do you think I have nothing to lose here? The Tutor Council would have my head if they knew half of what’s happened.”
“What if I promise—”
Here we go. No. I wasn’t having it. Not again.
“To be on your best behavior?” I snapped, my voice rising. “Because I haven’t heard that before.”
“I mean it, Ainsley. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just—please. I need you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You’re the reason I got a B in calculus. You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I might not be hopeless.”
“I don’t know what it is about you,” he added, his words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them. “But you make me want to try. Not just because I have to, but because you actually make me believe I can.”
I stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. My breath caught in my throat, but before I could react, Max stood up from the chair and approached the bed where I sat. At first, I stiffened, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing—
And then he dropped to his knees. I blinked, stunned, as he looked up at me with something dangerously close to reverence.
“I’m begging you, Kerrigan,” he pleaded, his voice low and steady. “Don’t give up on me. I know I’m a mess, and I know I’ve been a pain in the ass, but you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m not just good for football. Please. Don’t give up.”
I studied him, noting how his big hands clenched into fists, then loosened as he exhaled shakily. His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, I thought he might break entirely.
Not just good for football. God, I hated how sincere he sounded, how earnest and vulnerable he looked, how his words made that ache inside me worse in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge. My resolve had been ironclad a moment ago and now—where was it? Gone. Completely gone.
Logically, I knew this was a mistake. Max was chaos incarnate, and I’d spent the last week cleaning up the mess he’d brought into my life. But I also knew that walking away wouldn’t solve anything.
Max’s GPA was a disaster, and without intervention, it was only going to get worse. The Vaughns might call it ‘discipline,’ but I knew better—letting him fail without giving him the tools to succeed wasn’t discipline. It was negligence.
And for all my frustration with Max, I couldn’t just sit back and let him drown.
But even as the words, Fine, I’ll help you fought to rise, I forced them back. I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. And if I was going to give him another—what was this, his third already?—chance, I’d make damn sure it was on my terms.
“If I agree to this,” I said slowly, my voice sharp enough to cut through his pleading, “there are going to be rules.”
Max blinked, looking cautiously optimistic. “Rules?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “Firm rules. No flirting, no inappropriate behavior, no wasting my time. You show up to every session on time, prepared, and ready to work. You give 100% effort, and you do exactly what I tell you. No excuses. No shortcuts.”
This was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake. And yet… his words clung to me like a burr I couldn’t shake. I hated the idea of letting him drown when I might be the only one willing—or able—to throw him a lifeline. I hated that I cared. But most of all, I hated how much I wanted to believe him. To believe that he could try, that he could succeed, and that my help might actually make a difference.
“I can do that,” Max said quickly, nodding so hard it was almost comical. “Whatever you say, Kerrigan. I’ll do it.”
I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the little thrill of satisfaction at his quick agreement. “You’d better. Because if you screw up even once, that’s it. No more chances. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” He nodded vigorously. “I swear. I won’t let you down.”
I doubted that, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I waved a hand toward the door. “Don’t let yourself down. Now get out.”
He scrambled to his feet, practically bounding towards the door. “Thank you, Ainsley. Seriously. You’re the best.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the room blessedly quiet. I stared at it for a long moment, my head swirling with thoughts I didn’t want to unpack. Then I slumped back against the wall, ripping my glasses off and dragging a hand down my face.
What in the absolute hell was wrong with me?