FOUR MONTHS LATER, Bishop scrubbed at his forehead, pressing the phone so hard against his ear that the cartilage had started to ache. He’d advocated for thirty minutes already, but there was obviously no changing the school’s decision. Penelope had committed a zero-tolerance offense.
“No, I understand, Headmaster, but there’s no evidence Penelope is suicidal, or that she was even going to actually take the drugs. I can get her the best help, doctors who could assure you of her mental well-being before her return—”
“Professor Cole, I’m afraid the suspension is final. Any other student would have been expelled, but we’ve taken into account the recent death of her father, a generous benefactor of this school, and the arrangement we’ve agreed upon is simply all we can do.”
“But she’s so close to graduation.”
“We are no longer able to handle her, Professor. Penelope is your responsibility now.”
*****
Bishop stared at Penelope, thinner than before and curled into a tight ball under the sheets, her back to him. She was back at Sullivan Manor, in the same guest room she’d stayed in when she’d come home to see her father buried. Bishop had only communicated with her since then through texts.
He’d intended any messages from his end to be cursory. Logistical communications about whether she needed money or school supplies. Her tuition bills, cell phone bill and a monthly allowance were handled by her father’s estate attorney who had set up Penelope’s trust.
Bishop had quickly realized he couldn’t keep his texts cursory.
The first night she was gone, he’d lain in bed wondering how she was doing, but his good sense had convinced him not to contact her. He was in Penelope’s life for her benefit, and she knew how to reach him if she needed him.
The second night he’d tossed and turned until he’d finally relented, bringing his phone to life in the darkness to type out what he hoped was a fatherly text. Assuming you made it back to school safely?
He stared at the screen, his heart in his throat. What was wrong with him? She was a seventeen-year-old girl he hardly knew, for god’s sake. Why did it feel like so much hung on her reaction to him reaching out?
A message appeared. I was nearly dead in a ditch yesterday. Luckily I crawled out and made it to school.
He frowned at her response before typing back. Not funny.
The clock on his nightstand ticked off two minutes, and he’d just clicked the power button to put the phone in sleep when it vibrated to indicated a new text.
Are you in bed?
Unease crept in. Yes. Are you?
Yes, but I wish I was there. Let me come home.
He let the phone drop onto the mattress and rubbed his knuckles, thinking. Did she wish she was home, or did she mean in his bed? He had to be careful. She had a tendency to cross the lines of what was proper, and he didn’t trust himself. He decided not to address what she’d said.
Sweet dreams, Penelope.
After that, he texted her every morning to ask how she was and every night to say goodnight. He told himself that’s what a good guardian would do, but the truth was, he was drawn to the girl. He felt a connection to her he’d never felt with anyone else.
Of course, he’d never allowed himself to entertain a relationship of any sort with a woman in his adult life, not even a friendship. But then he’d never felt compelled to, either. Not like he felt with Penelope.
Dr. Sullivan hadn’t known about Bishop’s avoidance of women, though, when he’d forced Bishop to become involved in Pen’s life. Regardless, there was something about her that spoke to him. She was a kindred soul.
That alone disturbed him. His soul was not clean. Her soul, though, was innocent and brave. That much he could tell.
That innocence stirred a protective instinct in him, some alpha male he hadn’t known was lurking in his gut. So, he kept in touch, getting to know her a sentence or two at a time. She ended every night with, Let me come home. But he couldn’t allow that. Not with his dark history and her insistent flirtation.
Yet here she was. Looking as small as a child in the large bed.
Only seventeen, but since the moment she’d come close enough to him in the library for him to really see her, she’d never seemed that young. Now, soon, she’d be eighteen. A legal adult, and living under his roof. A hummingbird took flight in his belly every time that thought came to mind, and that was far too often.
He’d have to find a way to manage the situation. His relationship with her could never be anything other than fatherly. Anything else would be so many shades of wrong, and he couldn’t do that to her or the memory of her father.
He would control himself around this girl. He would keep the indecent thoughts that clawed at the perimeter of his mind, especially as he lay in bed at night halfway between wake and sleep, at bay.
He balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms until his skin stung. She looked so fragile and beautiful, and the urge to scoop her up into his arms and hold her, protect her, make her feel wanted and not alone, was killing him.
As tiny as she was, she was still shaped like a woman, and her presence was fierce, making him all the more fascinated with her. He suspected that tough veneer was calculated to hide an even bigger vulnerability.
And now that fragility was all he could see, as he looked down at her, wrapped up like she was trying to make herself disappear, like a cornered animal might, when hiding from a predator.
It wasn’t her fierceness or bad attitude that caused his jaw to tick. It was the defenselessness she was trying to disguise that was peeking out from under the surface. A bad man would take advantage of that weakness, and Bishop had worked so hard for so many years to control that side of him. He would not be that bad man.
He cleared his throat. “Penelope, we need to talk.”
No response.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked around to the other side of the bed, the side she faced. “Penelope,” he tried again, but she turned over, giving him her back once more and burrowing her face deeper into the pillow.
He sighed. “We need a plan, Pen. I need to understand what I’m going to do with you.”
She sat up then, so quickly he stepped back, as if she might pounce on him. “‘Do with me’?” Her voice was acidic. “Don’t you mean ‘deal’ with me? Like the problem I am?”
He wasn’t close enough to tell, but he thought she might be crying, and his chest burned at the idea, making him want to turn away, leave the room before the urge to touch her, comfort her, took over. But there was no running from her anymore, not now that she was going to be living in his house. He forced himself to stay rooted to the spot.
“You are not a problem,” he said simply. “This behavior is a problem.”
“Right.” She laughed acerbically and then sniffled, the sound assuring him she was indeed crying. “I’m not a problem? The school won’t let me come back, and you don’t want me here. You’ve made that very obvious.” She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. As if the fight had drained out of her, she turned away and slumped down onto the bed again, curling back into her fetal position and pulling the sheet over her head.
He returned to the side of the bed she was facing and sat down on the mattress, his heart pounding, careful not to come into contact with her body. She didn’t turn away this time.
Everything about interacting with her made him so anxious. Bishop hated that feeling. Couldn’t imagine living with that feeling every day, but the girl needed someone. And like it or not, he was all she had left. He had to suck up his issues and be there for her.
Besides, he’d been where she was, and it was her father who’d rescued him. Bishop owed it to the professor to care for his daughter in the same way.
Swallowing, he reached out tentatively and placed a hand on her arm, nearly trembling at the effort it took to fight back his fear of touching her. He’d rarely ever touched anyone in a way that was non-clinical.
“Pen, of course you can stay. I’ll get you a tutor. I’ve spoken to the school, and given your situation with your father, and your subsequent—” he cleared his throat, “—health problem, they’ve informed me that you can take your finals through correspondence and they will still allow you to graduate if you pass.”
She pulled the sheet down until her eyes peeked out. “Really?” she whispered, sounding afraid to hope.
“I don’t think it hurt that your father donated a lot of money in multi-year donations to the school in his will.” Bishop had been relieved about that. The future donations, not yet made, had gone a long way toward influencing the school to treat this as a private matter. Had they gone to the police, with the amount of prescription medication they’d found in Penelope’s room, she would have been starting her adult life with a serious criminal record.
She pulled the sheet down to her chest, her hair everywhere, and blew out a breath. “My health problem? Is that what the school called it? They think I was planning to kill myself, don’t they?”
“Were you?”
She met his eyes and grabbed his hand before he could move it, squeezing it in both of hers. He stiffened.
She shook her head emphatically. “No. I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be here, and I couldn’t think of any other way. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
He tried to ignore her warm hands on his skin, her fingertips tickling his palm.
“Do you have a drug problem?” He sounded uncaring, but he could hardly think of anything except her hands on his.
She chuffed. “No. I’d probably need friends to have a drug problem. I was never going to take those pills. I just needed to get caught with them.”
He frowned. “You got kicked out of school on purpose?”
She looked down at her hands on his and stayed silent.
“Answer me.” He squeezed her fingers hard until she looked up at him through her lashes.
“Are you very angry?”
He did pull his hand away then. “I don’t like being manipulated, and that was a seriously reckless thing you did.”
She flopped onto her back dramatically, making a noise of frustration. “You wouldn’t let me come back,” she stated, as if it explained everything. Tilting her head, she met his gaze. “My father wouldn’t let me come home, and you wouldn’t either. Honestly, I don’t regret it. I was done being rejected by the men in my life—men I never asked to belong to in the first place—so I fixed it for myself.” She shrugged and looked back at the ceiling. “You can call it reckless and stupid, but I call it effective. I just wish I’d thought of it sooner.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he didn’t know whether he should be angry or impressed. The little brat had come up with a foolproof way to get what she wanted, far from home and without any adult to help her.
He took a deep breath. “This drug thing—it can’t happen again,” he said firmly. “You can stay, but there will be rules. No drugs. No partying. You’ll study hard with the tutor and you’ll graduate. In the fall, you’ll enroll in college. I can pull some strings at Cooper, given your father’s reputation. It’s your best option, given your grades of late. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Thank you, Bishop.” Her voice had lit up, as if he’d just promised her a trip to an amusement park instead of a hardworking existence under his scrutiny.
“And counseling. You will get counseling. I’ll set it up.”
She groaned. “Please not that. My father forced me to get counseling after my mother died.”
“No arguments. Penelope, you were found with drugs. You got kicked out of school on purpose, and I’m worried you’re not dealing well with your father’s death. I don’t know how to handle this. I need professional help here.”
She put her hand on his arm, her touch as light as a bird’s. “You’re giving me exactly what I need, Bishop. A home base. It’s all I ever needed.”
She smiled up at him, and it was so beautiful it made his heart squeeze. Had anyone ever looked at him like he was their hero? Of course not, because he was the opposite of a hero, regardless of how Penelope smiled at him, and regardless of how it made him feel twenty feet tall.
He looked away. “I have to know you’re going to be okay, Pen.” His voice was gruff, and he swallowed hard, trying to chase away the emotion that was strangling his throat.
“Now that I’m here with you, I’ll be okay.”
He blinked rapidly, his eyes focused on the door and his escape. He hoped what she said was true, but he feared living together could mean disaster for them both. Father figure, father figure. He repeated the term in his head over and over like a mantra.
He stood and moved to the door, rubbing his arm where she’d touched it. “I’m…I’m sorry I sent you away in the first place. You obviously needed someone.” He felt like he was stammering. “No more acting up for attention. Follow the rules, behave, and you can stay as long as you want.” He closed the door before she could respond and nearly fled back to the familiar safety of his lab.
*****