The Tennessee Angel

LUCIAN

The Blackthorne University library smells like old money and older books—leather, wood polish, and the faint trace of expensive cologne that clings to every corner of this goddamn place. It’s nearly ten at night, and the main reading room is mostly empty except for a handful of desperate law students cramming for tomorrow’s constitutional law exam and the four of us spread across our usual table in the back corner.

I’m not cramming. I don’t cram.

I’ve already read the material three times, outlined every major case, and memorized the precedents that matter. Now I’m just reviewing my notes, making sure there’s nothing I’ve missed, because second place isn’t an option. Not for me. Not ever.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Seb says without looking up from his laptop.

“What thing?” I flip a page in my casebook, scanning the footnotes.

“That thing where you look like you’re about to murder someone just because they exist in your general vicinity.”

“That’s just his face,” Dom adds from across the table, grinning as he highlights something in his own notes. “Resting murder face. It’s a condition.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

Nate doesn’t say anything. He’s three seats down, reading something on his tablet with that quiet, focused intensity he always has. The guy could probably recite the entire Constitution from memory at this point, and he’d do it without breaking a sweat.

These three assholes have been my closest friends since our first year at Blackthorne. Seb, with his old-money Boston pedigree and his ability to charm or eviscerate someone in the same breath. Dom, loud and competitive and loyal to a fault, always ready to argue just for the hell of it. And Nate, the quietest of us but also the smartest, the one who notices everything and says nothing until it matters.

They know what my family is. They know what my last name means in Boston, and they’ve never given a shit about it. That’s why they’re still here.

“How’s Tracy?” Seb asks, and I can hear the smirk in his voice before I even look up.

I don’t answer right away. I close my casebook and lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. “Why the fuck are you asking me about Tracy?”

“Because she’s been texting you nonstop for the last hour, and you’ve ignored every single message.” Seb finally looks up, one eyebrow raised. “I’m just curious how long you’re going to let that go on before you do something about it.”

“She’s clingy,” Dom says, like that explains everything. “Saw her in the student center yesterday. She spent twenty minutes talking about some charity gala her parents are hosting. I don’t think she took a single breath.”

“She’s nineteen,” Nate adds quietly, still looking at his tablet. “And she acts like she’s sixteen.”

“She’s a fucking nightmare,” I say flatly.

That gets their attention. All three of them look at me now, and I can see the amusement in Seb’s eyes, the curiosity in Dom’s, the quiet understanding in Nate’s.

“So why are you still with her?” Seb asks.

“I’m not.”

“You were with her two days ago.”

“That was two days ago.”

Dom laughs, loud enough that a few people at nearby tables glance over. “Jesus Christ, Lucian. You’ve been dating her for what, two weeks? And you’re already done?”

“I was done after three days,” I admit. “I just didn’t feel like dealing with the fallout.”

“And now?” Nate asks.

“Now I don’t give a shit.”

It’s the truth. I thought maybe I’d feel something for Tracy when I first asked her out—she’s attractive, she comes from a good family, and she seemed interested. But the more time I spent with her, the more I realized she’s everything I can’t fucking stand. Entitled. Shallow. Immature. She talks constantly but never says anything worth hearing. She treats people like shit if they’re not useful to her. And she’s not smart. Not even a little.

I don’t need someone brilliant, but I need someone who can hold a conversation without making me want to put my fist through a wall.

Tracy isn’t that person.

“Speak of the devil,” Seb murmurs, nodding toward the entrance.

I follow his gaze and immediately regret it.

Tracy is walking toward our table, her heels clicking against the marble floor loud enough to echo through the entire library. She’s wearing a tight pink dress that’s completely inappropriate for a library at ten o’clock at night, and her blonde hair is styled in perfect waves that probably took an hour to achieve. She’s smiling, but it’s that fake, performative smile she uses when she wants attention.

“Lucian!” she calls out, waving like I’m not sitting fifteen feet away from her.

I don’t move. I just watch her approach, my jaw tight, my patience already gone.

She stops at the edge of the table, her smile faltering slightly when she realizes I’m not getting up to greet her. “Hi, baby. I’ve been texting you.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“I’m studying.”

“Oh.” She glances at the books spread across the table, her nose wrinkling slightly like the sight of academic work physically offends her. “Well, I thought maybe we could go get drinks or something. I’m so bored.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy,” she says, and there’s a whine in her voice now that makes my teeth clench. “You never have time for me.”

Seb coughs, and it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Dom isn’t even trying to hide his grin. Nate just keeps reading, but I can see the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Tracy,” I say, my voice low and even. “We need to talk.”

Her eyes light up, like she thinks I’m about to say something romantic. “Okay! Do you want to go somewhere private?”

“No.”

The smile falters again. “No?”

“This won’t take long.” I stand up, and I’m aware of how much bigger I am than her—how much bigger I am than most people. I’m six-three and over three hundred pounds of muscle, and I know I’m intimidating even when I’m not trying to be. Right now, I’m not trying to soften it. “I’m ending this. We’re done.”

She blinks at me, her mouth opening and closing like she can’t process what I just said. “What?”

“We’re done,” I repeat. “This isn’t working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?” Her voice is getting louder now, high-pitched and shrill. “We’ve been together for two weeks!”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not even long enough to—”

“Tracy.” I cut her off, my tone sharp enough that she actually stops talking. “I don’t trust you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. You’re entitled, you’re immature, and you treat people like shit. I made a mistake asking you out, and I’m correcting it now.”

Her face goes red, and for a second I think she’s going to slap me. Instead, she stomps her foot—actually stomps her foot like a child throwing a tantrum—and her eyes start to water.

“You’re breaking up with me? Here? In front of your friends?”

“Yes.”

“You’re such an asshole!” she shrieks, and now people are definitely staring. “Do you know how humiliating this is?”

“You’ll survive.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!” The tears are falling now, but they don’t look real. They look practiced, like she’s done this before. “Everyone’s going to think I did something wrong!”

“You did,” I say coldly. “You wasted my time.”

Dom snorts, and Seb mutters something under his breath that sounds like “brutal.”

Tracy’s crying harder now, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “You’re going to regret this, Lucian. Do you know who my father is?”

“I don’t give a fuck who your father is.”

“My family has connections—”

“So does mine.” I lean down slightly, just enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me. “And trust me, Tracy, you don’t want to compare.”

That shuts her up. Her mouth snaps closed, and for the first time since she walked over here, she looks genuinely afraid. Good. She should be.

“We’re done,” I say again, straightening up. “Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t show up at my apartment. If you do, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

I don’t threaten her. I don’t need to. The weight of my family name does that for me.

She stares at me for a long moment, her face blotchy and red, her tears still falling. Then she spins on her heel and storms off, her heels clicking furiously against the floor as she disappears through the library entrance.

The silence that follows is almost deafening.

“Well,” Seb says finally, closing his laptop. “That was entertaining.”

“She’s going to tell everyone you’re a heartless bastard,” Dom adds, grinning. “You know that, right?”

“Let her.” I sit back down and start gathering my books. “I don’t care what people think.”

“You never did,” Nate says quietly, and there’s something in his voice—approval, maybe, or understanding.

“She wasn’t right for you,” Seb says, standing up and stretching. “You knew that from the start.”

“Yeah.” I shove my casebook into my bag, my jaw still tight. “I did.”

“So why’d you even bother?” Dom asks.

I don’t answer right away. I’m not sure I have a good answer. Maybe I thought I’d feel something eventually. Maybe I thought I could force it. Maybe I was just bored.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say finally. “It’s done.”

We pack up in silence, the four of us moving in sync like we’ve done this a thousand times before. By the time we’re ready to leave, the library is almost empty, the overhead lights casting long shadows across the rows of books.

As we walk toward the exit, I feel something shift in my chest—something I can’t quite name. It’s not regret. I don’t regret ending things with Tracy. If anything, I feel lighter, like I’ve finally cut loose a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying.

But there’s something else, too. A restlessness. A sense that something’s coming, something I can’t predict or control.

I’ve spent my entire life being in control. Of my emotions. Of my future. Of the people around me. I’ve built walls so high that nothing and no one can get through them.

But tonight, walking out of the library with my best friends at my side, I can’t shake the feeling that those walls are about to come crashing down.

And I have no idea what’s waiting on the other side.