Off route: recalculating…

“… And by the way, Rosewood was my home long before you showed up. Please do me a favour and start having lunch in the dining hall, so I don’t have to keep running into you,” my voice rasps out, rough as sandpaper, each word scraping across my teeth like it’s cutting me open. While Jaynie’s too stunned to notice how badly I’m shaking from all the adrenaline, I spin on my heel and shove my way through the crowd. Every eye — and every camera lens — within five yards is trained on us. I’d snarl at those make-believe paparazzi to piss off, but what would that even change? Maybe I should’ve let Grant make a move on her after all. Then he’d be the one going viral right now… And honestly? I’m way too furious to feel even the slightest guilt for wishing it on him. That’s when I spot a familiar face in the crowd — a girl who absolutely shouldn’t be here locks eyes with me… and suddenly bolts. I lunge after her without thinking, barely catching my balance on the tiles slick with the fountain spray. We move almost in sync — weaving through market stalls and ducking under garlands. Chasing her turns out to be a hell of a lot harder than I expected: the girl's a pro, deliberately leading me along the most cluttered route possible. Soon the Thriftmas Fair falls away behind us, but it’s not until Greensway that I finally catch up. She hesitates outside the greenhouse doors for a split second — and that’s all I need. I’m close enough now that she has nowhere left to run, and although my breath is ragged and my pulse is pounding, I’m stupidly, wildly thrilled by this small victory. “Alright, that’s it!” I shout at her back — and when she stops darting around, I add: “Cristina Trayvis, is that really you?” The only daughter of Ronan Trayvis — oil baron and devil incarnate — slowly turns to face me. Her expression is so unreadable that, for a moment, I wonder if she even recognises me. Which wouldn’t be that surprising: the last time we saw each other was at some charity gala hosted by our fathers… When was that? Two years ago? Then, all of a sudden, the girl curls in on herself like a ruffled owl — hunching her shoulders and burying her chin in a massive plaid scarf. “Tristan Knox,” she says, answering her name with mine, her tone clipped and careful. “I’d really appreciate you walking away and pretending this never happened.” For a few seconds, I just stand there, mouth slightly open, not knowing what to say. She can’t actually expect me to let her go… can she? “Where did you even come from? I thought you were off somewhere — travelling or whatever…” “No. That’s the story my father prefers, since he doesn’t know where I am.” “And why doesn’t he know?” And just like that, things start getting more and more interesting. I take a step forward, studying the large hazel eyes of my old acquaintance — but Cristina refuses to meet my gaze. After a long, stubborn silence, she finally surfaces from her scarf and sighs — a white cloud puffing briefly in front of her face. “You used to date Jaynie. Did she ever mention me?” “No, she didn’t.” I squint at her, trying to figure out how this fits into anything. “You know Jaynie then?” “Yeah…” Cristina replies — not to me, exactly, but to the air over my right shoulder. Then she starts to rock on her heels, hands tucked behind her back — and luckily, I’m smart enough to realise that this is how her nerves show. “What is it?” I manage to ask — just before the thought hits me. “Wait... Don’t tell me you’re that girl…” The look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” “Yet you say she didn’t mention me.” “Well, yeah! I knew Jaynie was poly and seeing someone else, but she never let on that it might be you. The idea was for her to talk to you first.” “Well, she didn’t.” So Cristina had no idea. Which means, from her side, it must’ve felt like being cheated. Twice. First with me — and then with James Crest. All because Jaynie couldn’t tell polyamory from an open relationship. “Christ… Looks like you got it worse than I did. At least in my case, it’s kind of karmic. I mean — I was that other guy once. The one someone cheated with.” I don’t know why I’m dumping this on her, of all people, but if Cristina finds it awkward, she doesn’t show. In fact, as soon as I finish, she finally looks me in the eye. “Karma’s a bitch. Did you know it was cheating?” “No, of course not. But if I’d been thinking clearly…” “Then it wasn’t your fault,” she cuts in. “What’s there to think about?” I let out a small, surprised laugh, then just shrug and ease myself down onto the edge of the tall wooden planter. Most of the crops have been cleared out before the first frost, and what’s left looks wilted and miserable — pretty much how I’d been feeling myself, until Cristina showed up and gave me something to focus on besides licking my emotional wounds. “So you’re hiding from your dad…” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, too curious to play it cool. “What are you up to?” She shoots me an unreadable look before settling on the corner of a garden bench and turning just enough to face me. Only then does she speak. “If things were different, I would’ve said I trusted you because Jaynie chose you. But right now, I’ve got some serious doubts about her moral compass. On the other hand, you already know I’m on the run — and maybe telling you the truth is the only way to earn your silence.” I almost laugh again — not because it’s funny, but because of the irony. “Oh, believe me — I have zero interest in helping your father find you. Quite the opposite, actually.” “I’m in witness protection, because I’m testifying against him in court.” In the silence that follows, I can hear the dead leaves crunching softly under her shifting feet. Somewhere nearby, crows call out across the greenhouse roofs. “Holy shit… That explains why Jaynie never told me about you. You always seemed weird and quiet… Who would’ve thought you were so fucking awesome?” And that’s hardly an overstatement — I’m seriously impressed. “I am weird and quiet. But you’d know me better if you’d ever bothered to talk to me.” “If you remember, I did try once — a couple of years ago. But all you ever wanted to talk about were bloody water striders.” “Water striders are criminally overlooked insects.” I must’ve hit a nerve because she crosses her arms and swings one leg over the other. “But I’m wondering… My answer seemed to impress you. Why were you impressed? Or is that a secret?” “No secret at all. I despise our rich bastard fathers and intend to take them down. The guys from Rosewood and I — we’ve put together something like an anti-capitalist movement…” I wince. “Well — technically, Jaynie made it happen. But it started with me.” At that, she lights up — uncrossing, unfolding, turning fully towards me. And for the first time, I see what Jaynie must’ve seen in her: a radiant girl with a fiery gaze and a voice charged with unstoppable conviction. “Listen.” She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. “I’ve been working on this article. Jaynie gave me the idea, but something tells me your part in it is way bigger than hers…”

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Turns out, Jaynie hadn’t held back much. She’d told her girlfriend — well, ex-girlfriend — almost everything: from how the Crests devalued an entire neighborhood to score a real estate win — to what role my father played in the whole mess. Given that she eventually got together with James Crest, it made zero sense... but it sure as hell was convenient. For all Cristina — or Chloe, as she asked to be called — lacked in social skills, she more than made up for it in writing. There’s no way I could’ve put it all into words half as well as she did. After we agreed to do an anonymous interview, we met a couple of times in the campus library. Then I came back there to work on a study project — mostly because it was too hard to focus at Rosewood. That’s also how I explain to myself why, even a week later, I keep showing up here almost every day — despite never having been much of a library guy. At Rosewood, everything reminds me of Jaynie, but around Chloe, I remember I’ve got more important things to deal with. “Even though I didn’t know about you, I wouldn’t call it cheating. At the very least, it wasn’t your fault.” I look up from the lines of code running across my screen. Chloe is still gently rocking in her chair, typing away on her laptop with the same detached calm — as if she didn’t just drop a provocative comment out of nowhere. “I never said it was. Why would you bring that up?” Why would she… Probably because it’s become impossible to ignore — like a giant red banner stretched taut between us. The one we’re both doing our best to ignore. And even if we don’t talk about her, Jaynie’s still here too — a lingering shadow, constantly reminding me just how badly I messed up. Maybe it’s time to finally let her go… “Maybe it’s time we talked about Jaynie?” Chloe offers — and I slam my laptop shut. “You can’t be serious.” “Studies show men tend to take breakups harder than women. Due to a lack of social support, they’re more likely to turn to self-destructive coping strategies and are at higher risk of depression and suicide.” She stops talking, stops typing, and fixes her gaze on me. That’s nuts. Is she actually worried on my behalf? You’d think, with everything going on with her father, she’d have enough on her plate already… “Alright,” I mutter. “What exactly do you want to talk about?” “Psychologists say the first step is to acknowledge your emotions. Want me to go first?” She doesn’t wait for a reply: “I think what hurts the most is that Jaynie was the first person I ever told about the trial and the witness protection program. She was also the only one who actually seemed to care about my random animal facts — or any of my random facts, really. The girls I’d been with before mostly just put up with it, but she liked me just the way I am… Your turn.” I have to bite back the urge to point out that acceptance is supposed to be a given in any relationship — not something that earns you a gold star. Then I pause — because, come to think of it, I don’t think Jaynie ever truly accepted me. “Well…” I tug at the collar of my turtleneck — as if this sudden realisation is physically tightening around my throat. “She’s a stunner.” “Tristan Knox, you’re not seriously telling me you fell for a pretty face?” Her genuine outrage makes me smile. I let my eyes linger on her for a moment, wondering — does she even realise how beautiful she is? “Well, did you know, Chloe, that when we see an attractive person, our brain releases dopamine? Which, conveniently enough, is also responsible for falling in love.” “That’s painfully academic — not to mention unromantic.” “Sure thing! Unlike water striders — now that’s passion.” Chloe flinches like she’s been struck. Without another word, she pulls her laptop closer — as if she could hide behind it — and very pointedly gets back to work. Idiot. I yank the turtleneck up almost to my nose and bite down on the stretchy fabric. Why do I keep bringing up those bloody insects? Maybe it would’ve been easier if Chloe weren’t so blunt. Or so serious. Or — let’s face it — so damn sweet. Truth is, I really, really wish we’d met under better circumstances. “I’m sorry, alright?” I sigh, letting go of my turtleneck and folding my arms. “If you really want to know… part of it was kink. Jaynie and I met at a BDSM club, and I guess I just assumed that if we were into the same stuff, the rest would just fall into place. And now I’m stuck with a bunch of expectations that never made sense to begin with.” Of everything I said, trust Chloe to pick up on… “Are you kinky?” She studies me for a couple of seconds, then delivers her verdict: “Okay, that actually tracks.” “Excuse me? Tracks how?” “You’re stubborn, intense, into a dangerous sport,” she starts ticking off — then cuts me off before I can argue: “And don’t tell me free soloing isn’t dangerous. What else… You wear black most of the time. I'm guessing you’re a Dominant — or whatever the proper term is?” Her insight is… unsettling. “You’re not wrong — dominance does come most naturally to me. Though with Jaynie, I tried…switching.” — As the words leave my mouth, I look away, pretending the table’s wood grain is the most fascinating thing in the world. Normally, I talk about my preferences openly — if anything, conversations like this are important because they help reduce stigma. But this time, the words catch in my throat, and I can’t — won’t — say more. Because if I do, I might end up admitting just how much I actually enjoyed it. And what kind of things I let myself imagine when Jaynie first mentioned that there was another girl. Sometimes I wonder if that was the beginning of the end. If my “Yes, Miss!” became the very thing that made her choose James. She wanted someone to conquer — and I gave in too easily. Summit reached, job done, on to the next climb. Just like free soloing. I swallow hard and, when I finally look up, I see Chloe watching me. Like I’m a water strider — no doubt.

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A week goes by before Chloe brings it up again. If I’d known that between editing her article and prepping for exams she’d decide to poke at our shared ex, I’d have picked literally any other spot to scroll through Pinstagem. “So, how’s Jaynie doing?” she asks casually while holding her place in the book with one finger. The Elements of Journalism, says the stark black-and-white cover. “And you're asking me why, exactly?” “Well, you live with her. I assumed you’d know.” And fair enough — I do. Hell, all of Rosewood knows: James’s fiancée is flying in from London any day now, and Jaynie’s been walking around looking like she just cried her eyes out. Then again, it’s James. What exactly did she think would happen? Arrogant posh boys don’t magically turn into tame little bunnies. I tell Chloe everything, finishing with a biting, triumphant “Ding-dong, the witch is dead!” “You’re still angry.” “Of course I’m angry. Aren’t you?” “What she did was horrible, but I don’t want to be stuck in that experience forever. There’s enough drama in my life as it is.” Chloe falls pointedly silent and returns to her book. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell what’s going on in that head of hers… “But you’re the one who asked how she’s doing!” A sharp “shhh” comes from a woman at the next table — probably a professor. Chloe throws her an apologetic glance, then turns to me and says quietly: “That’s because I still care. And I hope that once she grows up a bit and figures herself out… we might still be friends.” She really means it — I can tell. Which is why I don’t try to talk her out of it or list all the reasons why that’s never going to happen. Instead, I reach across the table and gently wrap my fingers around her hand. Chloe lets me — doesn’t pull away — and for a moment I’m caught, spellbound by the warm, honey-gold of her skin against the ghost-pale contrast of mine. “You know, I’ve always admired people who can stay friends after a breakup. Seriously, Chloe. That’s impressive.” I sigh and let go of her hand. “Unfortunately, I’m not built that way. With what I’m into, trust means everything to me — and she didn’t just break that trust; she…” Before I can find the words to explain why I’m still so angry with Jaynie, Chloe perks up, suddenly animated: “Did you know that kinks and fetishes aren’t exclusive to humans? Rats can actually develop a preference for certain cues if those cues are associated with early sexual experiences. For instance, in one study, rats who were dressed in tiny Velcro jackets during mating later showed significantly reduced sexual activity without them!” I look up at her, completely baffled. My first instinct is to ask if she’s lost her mind — but Chloe looks so genuinely enthusiastic that it kills any urge to be rude. Still, I can’t stay silent. A nervous laugh escapes my throat. “Did you really just compare me to a fetishistic rat?” “I… No. Of course not,” she replies quickly, lifting her book like a shield. Usually so composed and self-assured, Chloe suddenly seems deflated — and that throws me off more than I care to admit. Which is exactly when it clicks: that odd little fact wasn’t random at all. My heart skips a beat, tripping over the realisation. “You know, kink and fetish aren’t quite the same thing. And if you ask me, the animal kingdom isn’t exactly the best reference for either.” — I swallow hard, already knowing I’ll regret saying this — but she just looks so uncharacteristically sad, so unlike herself, I can’t help it. — “Take your precious water striders — don’t the males basically bully the females into mating? Not exactly a shining example of consent.” Brilliant. Now that’ll earn me an entire TED Talk on those creepy little things. But the way Chloe’s eyes light up? Totally worth it.

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As finals approach, the library becomes as packed as the dining hall, so we’re crammed into a tiny table wedged between two shelves and the wall. “It worked,” I say, barely above a whisper. “In the next few days, several hefty sums will hit charity accounts. On paper, it'll look like a botched recurring payment. Normally, banks let you cancel those — but I doubt my father will risk it. Clawing back money from a charity makes for terrible PR.” “You don’t look overly pleased,” Chloe notes. Today she’s wearing a new white blouse with a low cut. An intricate pearl lariat wraps around her throat and slips, provocatively, into the neckline. It takes all my self-control not to stare. “That’s because I had something far more grand in mind.” “We’ve been over this, remember? Playing Robin Hood will only get you in trouble — and paint them as victims. Exposing their shady dealings, though — that’s a different matter entirely.” Obviously I remember. When I first shared my plan with her, she’d been genuinely impressed — but just as firmly insisted we keep the risks to a minimum. What good would it do if I ended up in prison — or, more likely, quietly disposed of? It was oddly disarming, seeing someone care that much, so after a brief round of persuasion, I caved and toned it down. But even with the mass account hijack off the table, nothing could stop me from giving dear old dad a proper headache. And if he did manage to trace it back to me, I could always shrug it off as a prank gone wrong or a bit of overzealous performance activism. “You’re awfully righteous for someone who went up against her own father.” “Went up against him legally. And I’ve told you before, Tristan — if we’re working together, you have to play by my rules”. And I do. Her principles actually make a lot of sense to me. Besides, when Chloe’s set on something, there’s no point arguing. Not only because she never backs down — but because the moment she pulls that strict, battle-ready face, my brain melts like chocolate in the sun. Pathetic, I know — but if there were even the slightest chance Chloe was into guys, I'd be all over her. As of now, I seriously need a distraction. Because if I keep squirming like this, trying to ease the pressure in my pants, this damn chair’s going to give out. “Speaking of shady dealings,” I begin — but my voice catches, and I have to clear my throat. “Jasper’s throwing a Christmas party at his loft. Some of his guests might be tied to the case, so… I’m planning to be there.” Naturally, that’s when Chloe chooses to pat my hand in a show of support. “There’s no way I’m sitting this one out,” she says in that knowing tone — and as soon as her fingers graze mine, heat spreads under my skin like wildfire. Fuck.

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“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” We’ve parked just outside Jasper’s building and now stand awkwardly in a small patch of lamplight, boxed in between the road and a pair of overflowing trash bins. Grant’s father and the Crests really did a number on this place — the neighborhood is drowning in darkness and decay, and the last thing I want is to leave Chloe here alone. “I’ve got pepper spray,” she says, tapping her coat pocket meaningfully. “I’ll snap a few photos for the article, while you’re at the party, and if anything feels off, I’ll get back into the car. Deal?” I nod but don’t move. First the shared crisis, then the shared cause — over the past three weeks, Chloe and I have grown unexpectedly close. And now it feels like I should hug her — the way you’d hug a dear friend. Only it wouldn’t be friendly. And my conscience won’t let me forget that. So instead, I mumble a quick “Good luck” and begin to walk away, disgusted with myself, each step heavier than the last — like my boots had suddenly gained a hundred pounds, and the pavement had turned to swamp. “Tristan!” I stop and turn. She’s right there, in front of me — flushed and frowning, with that endearing little crease between her brows. “You forgot to give me the keys.” I hand her the car fob, and for a few painfully long seconds, we just stand there — eyes locked, our breaths curling and mingling in the crisp December air. Then, without a word, Chloe rises onto her toes and presses her lips to mine. At first, her touch is hesitant and slow, like she’s still trying to decide if I’m the one she wants. And even then, it takes everything I have not to pull her tightly against me. My whole body throbs with arousal; I have no idea what’s happening — only that I never want it to stop. Little by little, her movements — still incredibly gentle — grow more confident. It finally feels like a real kiss, and I let go: crash into her soft lips, and, finding no resistance, slide my tongue into her mouth, aching and hungry. I’m terrified I’ll come on too strong — but then Chloe grabs my hips and yanks me into her in a fierce, possessive move that rips a needy, guttural moan from my throat. Once we finally break apart, I brace myself for that inevitable moment of clarity — the one where it hits her how wrong this is… where she snaps out of it and pushes me away. But it doesn’t come. “I thought you liked girls.” Apparently, stating the obvious is all I’m capable of right now. Chloe shrugs. A curly strand of hair falls into her face, and she brushes it back with an irritated flick. “If you absolutely have to put a label on it, consider me bi-curios.” “But what about my kinks?” If vanilla curiosity were a thing, I’d gladly hurl myself into the depths of traditional sex for Chloe’s sake… But sadly, it doesn’t work like that. “I gave it some thought and decided there’s nothing wrong with slightly expanding my conformist sexual boundaries,” she declares with solemn conviction. “If rats can…” “Not to mention water striders,” I blurt out before I can shut myself up. “Water striders are a terrible example.” “Exactly! Nasty little fuckers.” Chloe gives me a playful punch on the arm — then flashes the most dazzling smile in the world. And all I can do is stare at her — so perfect, just the way she is.