Page 56 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

After my presentation, nothing else matters.

Arasne tries to intercept me. I beeline past her, and she scoffs, offended.

I also dodge Davyeras, Thompson, and Narbeth until I’m racing out of the banquet room and sprinting through Bellanor Hall, slapping open the rear door and pulling out my phone.

Orok texted that Thio isn’t at his apartment.

There’s only one other place he’d go: Blooming Grove.

I check the public transpo app. Traffic’s minimal right now, but it still estimates thirty minutes to get there, and I growl at my screen as I jog for the bus stop and mentally tally whether I can afford a rideshare—

“Mr. Walsh!”

I trip on the sidewalk and rebound off—Hordon?

Thio’s driver.

I frantically scan the area. His car’s next to the curb, but Thio’s nowhere, and I don’t even get out a question before Hordon’s opening the rear door for me.

“He’s visiting his mother,” Hordon tells me.

“He’s—did he send you for me?”

Hordon straightens his suit jacket, his face impassive. “Mr. Tourael’s instructions were to deliver him to Blooming Grove despite our scheduled trip to today’s presentation.”

So… no.

One of my brows lifts.

“Given his change of plans over what I know is a very important event,” Hordon continues, “intensified by the fact that he seemed… uncharacteristically upset, I delivered him to Blooming Grove and took my break early.”

Hordon nudges the door wider.

Some of the tension unwinds from my shoulders, and I slump forward. “Thank you.”

He shrugs, like it’s part of his job, like it’s no big deal that he came to get me when he sure as hell didn’t have to.

“Wait right there!”

The door to Bellanor Hall bangs off the wall, and Hordon and I spin to see Arasne and Thio’s family pointing at us, looking slightly winded; which, for uptight, rich assholes, is the equivalent of being completely disheveled.

“Mr. Walsh,” Hordon says. “I do believe we should hurry.”

I dive into the car.

He shuts the door and calmly rounds the hood as Arasne and her brigade storm toward us.

Hordon takes the driver’s seat. Adjusts his rearview mirror.

“Seatbelt, Mr. Walsh,” is the only warning I get before the dude guns it into a full one-eighty.

Tires scream over the blacktop, the engine bellows like a cave monster, and somewhere behind us—beside us? We’re spinning—Arasne shouts about Hordon being fired.

“Um, Hordon, I think you lost your—”

“Seatbelt, please,” he repeats as he tears out of the parking lot, expertly weaving into traffic.

I obey with a discreet click, unable to scrape off my grin.

We get to Blooming Grove in under twelve minutes.

Hordon squeals up in front of the main doors and I lurch against the seatbelt as he slams the brakes.

“Would you like me to get the door for you, sir?” he asks evenly.

I stay glued to the seat, one hand gripping the oh shit bar by the window.

“Nah, man.” My voice is squeaky. “I’m good.”

“Very well, Mr. Walsh.”

“You got fired for us.”

Hordon looks back at me. “I have driven the Tourael family for almost twenty-five years. And your Mr. Tourael?” Gods, I like that, my Mr. Tourael . “I suspect I would not have been driving him much longer anyway. This is as good a time as any to take an early retirement.”

I pry my fingers off the handle and lean forward to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I will be here when you’re done.”

I climb out of the car and leap up the steps to Blooming Grove. The main doors release with a gust of cool air, and Nithroel’s got her arm stuck out over the desk already, a visitor pass in one hand.

“Courtyard garden,” she says by way of greeting. “Martha’s been trying to ply him with tea all morning.”

I stagger to a halt in front of the desk, reaching for the badge.

Hordon. Nithroel. Martha.

I wonder if Thio realizes he isn’t as alone as he’d thought.

Just like me.

Dad’s face flashes in my mind. His earnestness.

My smile is soft. “Thanks, Nithroel.”

She smiles back. “We’re not sure what’s happened, but—” She releases the badge to me. “Make sure he’s okay, yeah?”

I pin the badge to the collar of my shirt. I’d shucked my jacket during Hordon’s Fast it’s probably a lost cause at this point.

“Of course,” I promise her.

Blooming Grove is quiet this morning. I weave through the pristine halls, nodding at staff I recognize now, a few residents, too.

Outside, the courtyard is picture-perfect in springtime bloom.

A massive willow tree dominates the space, with vibrant flowerbeds framing the area and a pond nestled in the back corner.

A few wrought-iron tables are clustered around, two other residents and their guests settled in them, but my eyes immediately go to the tree, to Thio’s mom’s favorite spot.

She’s in a wheelchair, a blanket tucked around her lap, her head tipped as she stares up at the tree. Thio sits next to her, his back to me, one arm propped on the armrest to cradle his jaw, legs spread and knee bouncing.

Sweat breaks out across my palms, but I curl my fingers tight, release them, and make my way across the lawn.

The tree boughs rustle as I part them.

Thio glances up.

And shoves to his feet.

He’s wearing the same jeans and T-shirt he had on yesterday, his hair in a bun that’s unwashed messy, not intentionally messy.

The pinches of sorrow that’ve been grabbing me all morning convene at once, and I want nothing more than to hold him.

His mouth bobs open. “Sebastian. I can—”

“Just a sec. I’m here to see your mom.”

He freezes, surprise knocking him off-balance.

I kneel next to her. Her eyes drift to me, away.

“Hey, Dr. Holmes,” I say. “I wanted you to be the first to hear how the presentation went this morning.”

Thio sucks in a breath.

“It was fantastic,” I tell her. “Our research was well-received. Our research, because despite your son’s misguided decision to drop out, I gave him credit for the paper anyway.

The questions that the audience posed were all reasonable and expected, nothing that undid all our work, thank gods.

So, once our paper is fully reviewed by the Mageus Committee, your son will graduate after solving your research project.

That wasn’t part of our presentation, but he probably didn’t tell you: we figured out a solution to your topic because he’s fucking brill—sorry, cussing—he’s brilliant, and I know you’re proud of him. ”

I finally look up at Thio.

His eyes are tearing, chest heaving in tight, apprehensive jerks.

“I’m sorry I said you were like your family,” I tell him, still kneeling. It makes my words an offering. “That argument got out of hand, but I refuse to accept whatever penance you think this is.”

“It’s not penance,” he says, brittle. “You were right. I was thinking like my family. I let them sculpt me. I let them pick so many elements of my life, and no matter what job I get with this degree, I’ll be like them, won’t I?

I’ll be working in industries like theirs, hurting people like they do.

It was the only way I could think to stop what I saw happening. ”

“Quitting won’t stop that because you aren’t like them .

” I push to my feet. “I put you back on that paper because it’s ours, whether you like it or not.

Dr. Narbeth’s waiting for you to contact him and rescind your withdrawal from the program, because everyone was fucking heart—gods, sorry.

” I wince at Dr. Holmes. “Everyone was heartbroken you’d do that.

You don’t deserve that . You deserve this degree, Thio.

You’ve worked hard for it, and it’s yours, and that’s something your family can’t take away or corrupt.

Don’t give up a powerful tool in your arsenal.

You don’t have to use it for anything that’ll make you like them. ”

I close the space between us, finally touching him, taking his hands and pressing them to my chest.

“I know you’ve been trapped under them by yourself for a very long time.

” My voice is low but sure, more sure than I’ve been about anything.

“It’s daunting to face a threat like the Touraels on your own, and that’s why so many of us turn to magic.

Some conflicts are too big when it’s just us.

But it isn’t just you anymore. Because I—”

“I’m sorry,” Thio cuts me off, freeing his hands to loop around my neck, thumbs on my jaw. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you. I should never have looked up those names without your consent, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have said them to you ; and what I said about Camp Merethyl, too, I didn’t—”

I kiss him. Let his apology fill the air between our lips and he moans into the contact, a fatalistic whimper heavy with regret, with need.

It stays gentle against the heat welling in my chest, how even one night of not being with him triggers greed. We’re both gasping as our foreheads grind together; I wonder if Hordon will let us subject him to one more X-rated usage of the car’s back seat.

“Let me in, okay?” I whisper into our space. “I know that’s rich coming from me, but I will now, too. I promise. You’re not bearing any of this alone anymore, and I’m not either.”

He nods against me, grip on my neck pinching tighter, keeping me in this dimension.

“And you’re graduating,” I tell him. “Okay? You’ve done all the work.

You did it, not your family, and whatever you do with this degree, you’ll use it.

Not them. Just because you have the skills to work in their fields doesn’t mean you have to.

I’ll help you figure out what job you do want.

But get this degree. Get this stepping stone. It’s yours.”

Thio winces, breaks with a panting gasp. “I love you so much.”

I yank back from him.

He teeters, not letting go of me.

“You dick,” I snap with no bite whatsoever. “I wanted to say it first. I almost did say it first, but you cut me off.”

Thio grins. An unhurried, delighted smile, it bathes over me, settles the last of the worry.