Then Libby was bending low, peeking under the bed, urging Henry from underneath. He slid out as quietly as he could, taking the tape recorder with him. Dean was writhing in pain on the bed in his boxers, still blindfolded, hands over his head, the handcuffs looped between one of the wooden posts.
“Libby!” Dean yelled as she headed toward the door, gathering shoes and coats and pulling Henry in that direction too. “Don’t you leave me like this! Don’t you fucking dare!”
They closed and locked the door. It might afford Dean a little protection, if Marcus’s boys did show up-and at the very least, it would keep anyone from unhandcuffing him for a while, even if they did hear him yelling for help. Maybe even long enough for the cops to arrive.
It wasn’t until they were outside in the snow that Henry asked, “What did you do to him to make him scream like that?”
She shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin. “Apparently it’s true what they say about men’s testicles being sensitive.”
“Ouch.” He winced. He didn’t even want to think about it. He touched the tip of her nose, where a snowflake had landed and was melting. “Okay, Erin Brockovich, now what happens?”
“Now we take this information to the paper.” She took the tape recorder from his hand, tucking it into her jacket pocket and she showed him the notebook she’d taken from Dean’s backpack. It detailed not only the players involved, but beyond that there was a whole list of bets and an entire record of the ‘charitable donations’ people had made to the Literacy Tutoring Foundation that Dean had funneled elsewhere.
“The university paper?” Henry asked.
She set her mouth in a grim line. “No, the real one.”
Henry grabbed her hand as she turned to go, pulling her back into the circle of his arms and kissing her breathless.
When she broke the kiss, her eyelids fluttering open, snowflakes caught in her red lashes, she whispered, “I lied.”
“About what?” He couldn’t even imagine.
“I don’t like you.” She pressed her cheek to his chest, his heart thudding there under her listening ear, and he knew Toni had been right. He’d known all along who his soulmate was.
“Could have fooled me.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I don’t like you,” she repeated, her words muffled against his jacket, confessing, “I love you.”
He didn’t say anything-couldn’t speak-words had completely failed him. His whole life, they had failed him. They meant nothing, spoken or written. Like or love? It didn’t matter how they were spelled. It was the feeling behind them that mattered.
No words, he just held her, the world turning white around them.
Epilogue
Henry nuzzled Libby’s neck, not paying attention at all to the news report everyone else was glued to on Bel’s widescreen TV. It wasn’t just big news on campus-it was big news everywhere.
“News out of Ann Arbor today-Dean Mosher, son of University of Michigan Board of Regents director Stephen Mosher, was arrested Friday on charges of racketeering, fraud and embezzlement…”
“Serves him right,” Elaine said under her breath, but it was loud enough for Henry to hear her on the other side of Libby.
“Unreal.” Bel sat at his desk, shaking his head in disbelief.
The newscaster, a pretty blonde in a navy suit, went on, “Mosher senior paid back the missing funds to the Literacy Tutor Foundation charity himself and has resigned from the LTF board.”
“In other related news, reports of widespread gambling on-campus at the University of Michigan have focused on Fraternity Alpha Pi Alpha and members of the fraternity leadership are under investigation for racketeering.”
Elaine hopped off the bed and went to the window, gazing out. “Snowing again.”
“Cold, too,” Bel chimed in. “Nearly froze my balls off walking back from the library.”
Henry snorted. “What were you doing in the library?”
“Not making out with the redheaded librarian,” Bel replied with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Unfortunately.”
Henry put his arm protectively over Libby’s shoulders. “She’s not the librarian anymore.”
On the TV, the news was switching segments, the anchors talking back and forth.
The blonde turned to talk to the sportscaster. “Even in all that snow, University of Michigan won Saturday’s game against EMU, didn’t they?”
“No surprise there, Heather.” The sportscaster flashed a smile. His tie was awful. “They haven’t had a winning season since ninety-five. But good news for Michigan fans, even though Dean Mosher was one of U of M’s rising stars, the current word from the NCAA is that there is no investigation planned for the football program…”
Henry perked up at that news. The game had been won, so at least the guys who had been pressured or bribed by Dean to throw the game were off the hook.
“Hey, I gotta get to work.” Libby leaned over and kissed Henry’s cheek. “I left my shoes in your room.”
“Got your magnifying glass and your reporter’s hat, cubby?” Henry stood and held his hand out to help her up. The local paper that broke the story had given her a job, nothing major, just a copywriter position, but it was something-and today was her first day.
“You coming?” Libby called over her shoulder to Elaine.
“I’m gonna stay here a while.” Elaine stood talking to Bel, waving her roommate out.
Henry slowed as he neared his dorm room door. It was ajar. His heart leapt in his chest as he glanced back at Libby. Dean? Dean’s stuff had been boxed and moved out already-he’d heard Dean’s mom did it, but he hadn’t seen her. He’d just come home to half the room empty. But Dean’s family had connections. Had Dean sent someone after him? Or maybe Marcus’s guys had gotten wind of who had turned them in?
He pushed Libby back into the hall, slowly opening the door to reveal a guy with a suitcase and a duffel bag standing there studying the room. Henry breathed a sigh of relief-he’d almost forgotten the call he’d received just that morning from the housing department.
“Hey, you must be my new roommate.” Henry gave the kid his hand and the guy shook it. “I’m Henry Baumgartner.”
“John Hill.”
The guy seemed normal enough. Nerdy, maybe. But that was no crime.
“So do you, uh… play football?” Henry plopped down on his bed as Libby started putting on her tennis shoes.
“No.” John lifted his suitcase onto the bed.
“Into gambling?” Henry inquired.
John gave him a funny look. “No.”
“Got any buildings named after you?” Libby stood and held her own hand out. “I’m Olivia Stowe. Libby. I’m Henry’s girlfriend.”
“Nice to meet you.” John smiled, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
Henry frowned. “Are you into redheads?”
John glanced between the two of them, bemused. “I don’t have anything against them.”
“I gotta go.” Libby leaned over and gave Henry a kiss. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her properly.
“Good luck,” he whispered into her flushed ear. “Call me later.”
“She’s cute,” John remarked as Libby closed the door behind her.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Henry’s eyes narrowed as he watched his new roommate begin to unpack. Then he brightened. “As a matter of fact-here-if you ever get any ideas about my girlfriend and I’m not around…”
Henry reached under the bed.