She Will Be Mine (New Horizon Book 2)

Part II: Two Years Later

Chapter 21: Ronnie

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I glance down at the printout in my hand, cringing when I see that the charge this time is a little bit higher because my session included a consult with the psychiatrist, who added a new prescription. Recalling the balance in my account that I checked and rechecked no fewer than six times before coming to my appointment, I know that I just barely have enough to cover my session. There will be nothing left over for another prescription.

“Um, can you tell me how much this prescription usually costs? I mean, if that’s something you can look up,” I say to the receptionist, who is still waiting for my signature so she can close out my patient file.

She clicks and types a few things on her computer, clicking her tongue as she reads, which I assume is a restless tic of hers.

“Well, it varies, but we do have some samples in stock currently. If you take your printout over there,” she gestures across the hall, “that lady in red can help you with that. You might be able to get enough to last until you figure out if it will help before you have to pay for it.”

“Okay, thanks. That’s perfect,” I tell her gratefully, exhaling with relief.

With some extremely careful budgeting, I’ve managed to stretch the excess from my grants and loans to cover not only my living expenses, but also my therapy and medical costs over the past couple months. But that good luck ends here. It’s still just under a month until my funds for next semester will be approved, and then I’ll have to wait an additional two weeks for it all to be applied to my account at school first before I’ll have access to any of it for extra stuff.

But after how last semester ended, I decided that I needed to give therapy another shot and find some way to make it work within my budget, even if it means taking on a part-time job in addition to everything else on my plate. What I will not do is let it become my mom’s responsibility. I keep telling her I have everything covered, and I’m going to find some way to cover it, damn it.

“Um, Miss Koppel? I still need that signature,” the receptionist reminds me. “And then you’re all set.”

“Oh, right.”

I reach out to grab the stylus for the signature pad and quickly scribble my name, releasing the poor woman of her obligation to me. Then I turn and march my printout across the hall to score some of those samples she told me about.

Here’s to hoping this new medicine has magical powers that will prepare me to meet the challenge of my final year of law school head-on, putting the disaster at the end of last semester behind me for good. And while I’m wishing for the impossible, here’s to hoping that there’s some of that magic left over to prevent my mom from ever finding out that I failed a class and put another dent in my GPA.

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Not even two weeks later, I’m bringing in the mail and notice a card from Aly, which is odd since my birthday was months ago and it’s way too soon for a Christmas card. But even odder are the other two envelopes that it shared the mailbox with, one from the financial aid office and the other from the organization that sponsors my merit-based grant.

I attack that one first, already suspecting what it is. I’ve been both expecting and dreading this moment, the moment when I find out that I’m losing the grant that’s been helping me pay my share of the rent and groceries. It is merit-based after all, and I failed a class. My GPA might still be within their target range, but this grant is highly competitive, and there are probably plenty of law students out there who appear far more deserving at this moment in time.

I open the letter and start skimming through, reading, “Dear Miss Veronica Koppel, We at the … blah blah blah … We regret to inform you that …”

That’s about far enough, I’d say. They’re dropping me, and that’s all I need to know. The rest of it is just meaningless placations and filler that I don’t care to read.

I get it. I’m well aware of what a disappointment I am. I don’t need them to remind me. They don’t even know me.

With a heavy sigh, I let that letter fall onto the kitchen counter and pick up the next one, the one from the financial aid office. Hopefully, it’s just a redundant notification about what I just read. Or if I’m really lucky, it will be some offer for a grant or scholarship to take its place.

Nope. No such luck. The bad news of this day just won’t end. The financial aid office is informing me that failure of one or more courses in my program results in automatic ineligibility for certain types of financial aid, including but not limited to one of my scholarships and the low-interest graduate loan I’ve been relying on to pay for books, some of my tuition, and my living expenses, the same one that I’d been hoping to be able to increase the amount of to cover the loss of my grant.

Basically, I’m left with one need-based scholarship, a small need-based grant, and the option to apply for the riskier and more expensive loans. I’m going to have to crunch the numbers to be sure, but I think that the letter I’m currently holding in my hand is essentially telling me I’d be better off packing my bags and going home with my tail between my legs because the amount of money I’d have to borrow would probably leave me in debt for the rest of my life.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but borrowing my way through law school is not at all how I want to have to do things. I came here to get an education and a leg up in life, not to end up further behind. And asking my mom for help is out of the question, not that she could offer it to me anyway.

With yet another heavy sigh which quickly turns into me struggling to keep a grip on myself and not hyperventilate, my eyes wander over to the remaining envelope. The one from Aly. As much as I hate the truth of it, I haven’t spoken to her in a few months, so I have no clue what it could even be about.

She’s my best friend, but it’s been too hard for me to reach out to anyone lately. I’m too afraid that they’ll ask how school is going, and I’m too terrible of a liar to be able to hide the truth. I’ve even been avoiding my mom’s calls as much as I can, opting to text her instead. I’m sure she suspects something is up, but she let it go when I told her I’ve gone back to seeing my therapist regularly. She knows therapy tends to dredge up a lot of stuff for me that I don’t like to talk to her about.

But Aly, I miss her. I want to talk to her, even if it means telling her the truth. Whatever her reaction will be, it can’t possibly be as bad as what I’ve already heard from Professor Adams, or even from these letters that feel like they’re ripping my future out from under me. So, I take out my phone and pull up her number, forcing myself to call her before I chicken out.

“Well, if it isn’t my old friend Ronnie, in the flesh!” she greets me cheerfully after only two rings.

I can hear a child talking in the background and one of her mates responding to him. Tyler, I think. Weirdly, I miss him too. I miss all these people who used to make me smile.

“Or in the phone at least,” I respond back to her, laughing but also holding back my tears. “I got a card from you in the mail, but I haven’t even opened it yet. So, if you could do my anxiety a favor and just tell me what’s in it -”

“Oh, Ronnie. I love you,” she cuts me off. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

It normally wouldn’t have, but I think I’ve just had too much bad news today to want to open another envelope, not knowing what’s in it.

“It’s a baby shower announcement,” she tells me. “We’re having twins!”

“Wait, what?” I’m surprised, excited, but also confused. Twins? Didn’t she just have triplets not long ago? What is going on with that body of hers? And how does she even do it?

“Twins, I said,” she laughs. “Two identical boys this time.”

“Do you guys even know how to make one baby at a time?” I tease her, but I’m only half-joking.

“Apparently not. But we are werewolves, so litters of pups are fairly common, especially for an Alpha.”

“Well, congratulations! Seriously, I’m super happy for you. That’s,” I pause to do the mental math, “Wow, that’s five kids already. How far along are you?”

“Well, by the time you get here for the shower, it will be about four and a half months,” she explains.

Knowing that werewolf pregnancies generally only last around six months, and with multiples labor can start early, that seems about the right time to be having a shower. It’s also not lost on me that she’s trying to influence me to come, even knowing that I probably won’t. I didn’t go to the last one either, as much as I would have liked to have been there.

I hate that I miss out on so much of her life, which always seems to be happening so quickly. She’ll have five kids soon, and I still haven’t met the first three.

“Aly,” I start to respond, still trying to figure out what I want to say to her.

“I know, Ronnie. You know I get it,” she tells me, but I can hear the sadness there even as much as she’s trying to sound chipper and supportive.

“Aly, I … I need you,” is what comes out next, and before my brain has even caught up to what I’m saying, I find myself confessing everything. “School is … it’s too much. I failed a class last semester. I’ve never failed anything in my life, but I failed that.”

“Oh my gosh, Ronnie! I’m so sorry. What happened?”

And there it is, the reason why I love this girl and she’s my best friend. She already knows something must have happened. She doesn’t blame me, she blames the situation, not even knowing what it was yet. She’s wrong, but I love her for it anyway.

“There’s this guy who has had it out for me since literally the first day of law school. We were the top two going in, and somehow, he figured out who I was and sought me out like a competition-seeking missile. And yeah, I mean, I know law school is competitive, but I wasn’t ready for someone like him.”

I sigh, just the thought of him stressing me out, and pretty much everything else about the story I have yet to tell.

“Anyway,” I continue, “There’s also this professor. I had her for a class my first year and she liked to dock my grade for really stupid reasons. She had this whole thing about how it shows her exactly who each student is, their character basically. Some students fought her, others rolled over and took the abuse. Not many people made it through her class, and I only barely made it through. And she told me at the end of it that I’m not cut out for law, I’m too weak and don’t have enough backbone.”

I hear Aly scoff about that and can’t help picturing the way she looks when she’s annoyed, wishing I was there to have this conversation with her in person.

“So, when I got her for another class last semester,” I go on, “I tried to get switched to another instructor, but I was told that she requested me, and I couldn’t transfer to any other session. I’d have to drop the class, which would have affected my financial aid. So, I toughed it out, but for this final project …”

I trail off as those tears I’ve been fighting back finally win, and I kind of lose it for a minute as Aly whispers soothing things to me over the phone, telling me it’s not my fault and whatever else she can think of.

“But that’s the thing, though. It is my fault,” I insist. “I panicked on the day of this big final I had to do, where we were supposed to present arguments before a jury of our classmates and withstand the challenges and push-back from the opposition, which for me was that guy. Anyway, I had a panic attack in the middle of it and ended up blacking out and having to go to the medical center, and the professor failed me. And before you say she can’t do that, she can. I checked. Besides, she’s not wrong. If I can’t cut it in school, I’ll never make it in this career.”

“But how is it your fault?” Aly questions me, and I realize I forgot to tell her the important part.

“Because I stopped going to therapy and taking my meds, which help prevent things like that from happening. I had no business even being in that class if I wasn’t going to take care of myself.”

I hear her suck in a breath, and then she says, “Oh, Ronnie.” I detect something in her voice, pity maybe? Sympathy probably. But I’m not done yet.

“It gets worse,” I laugh ironically. “Today in the mail, I got letters that were basically the final nails in the coffin for my law school education, because I don’t know how I’m supposed to finish my last year when I not only have to take an extra class, that one I just failed, which will cost extra time and money, but I’ve just lost about three quarters of my financial aid. So, that’s it, I guess. It’s all over, and it was all for nothing.”

And that’s it for my ability to speak anymore because the tears have taken over and brought their friends sobbing and hyperventilating along with them. Aly does what she can to comfort me over the phone, which I appreciate, but mostly I just have to wait until I get myself back under control because her words are just words.

“Ronnie, listen to me,” she says once I can finally breathe somewhat normally again. “I’m booking you a ticket, and you’re going to pack your bags and come stay with me. And then we’re going to figure this out together, you hear me?”

“Aly, I can’t-,” I start to protest, but she cuts me off.

“You can and you will. I already confirmed your ticket, so I hope between now and Friday is enough time for you to get your affairs settled over there. Your flight is at three, and I expect you in my dining room for dinner that night.”

“You’re so bossy,” I protest, smiling but also freaking out inside.

“I’m an Alpha and a mom. Besides, I think you need a little bossy in your life. You’re a mess, girl.”

“Ugh, don’t I know it,” I complain, glancing over at the counter where those letters are still sitting there mocking me.

“Look, dinner is negotiable, but you are coming. No more excuses.”

No more excuses, but more importantly, no better options. As much as I don’t want to have to put my education on hold, I don’t have a better idea of what to do for now. My therapist has been urging me to take a break anyway, especially since all our sessions have been about school lately.

I don’t want to go to my mom with any of this either, and I’m already three days late with my rent check and haven’t heard back from any of the jobs I applied for. If I leave now, my roommates should still have time to fill my spot before school starts up again.

Not to mention, dinner sounds pretty tempting to someone who’s been living on ramen noodles and crackers for weeks.

“I’ll be there,” I finally agree. “And I guess that means I’m coming to the baby shower too. Thanks, Aly.”

“You better. And you’re always welcome, Ronnie.”

After we hang up, I feel relieved. My burdens feel so much lighter. Considering where I’m headed, there are a lot of new worries popping up and old wounds I’m not quite sure if I’m ready to deal with, but none of that seems to hold a candle to how much better I feel just from talking to Aly and finally having a plan to start digging myself out of this mess I’ve created.