Page 51 of Collateral Love
It all happened quietly. No charges or headlines. Just a sudden sabbatical announcement and a new interim hire who didn’t ask questions.
X and I searched for him. He was gone. He abandoned his wife and two daughters and left town.
Kenya never smiled about it, but I could tell that it made her uneasy that he just disappeared.
That night, we sat on the hood of my car, campus quiet around us.
“You handled that clean,” I said.
She shrugged. “Clean lasts longer.”
“You scared?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m always scared, X.”
That answer sat heavily.
“Why do you trust me like this?” she asked suddenly.
The question caught me off guard.
“Because you don’t posture,” I replied.
She studied me for a long moment.
“You know you’re changing,” she said.
“So are you,” I replied.
She smiled faintly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Silence settled again; the moment felt charged.
That’s when she looked at me differently, not like a partner, but like she was assessing an uncharted territory with me. She stared as if she were assessing a risk.
“You’re in love with control,” she said quietly.
I didn’t deny it.
“And you don’t confuse it with affection,” she continued. “That’s rare.”
My throat tightened.
“You ever think about what happens if we cross that line?” I asked.
She didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes,” she said finally. “That’s why we won’t.”
That hurt more than I expected.
But it also anchored something between us.
We weren’t pretending.
We were choosing restraint.
And restraint done right was intimacy.
