Her Rustanov Bully: the (possibly romantic?) tale of how I pucked around and found out
Her Rustanov Bully: Chapter 20

After a cold night inside my car and a McDonald’s breakfast that I really couldn’t afford, I arrived at the lecture hall for the Animal Behavior Seminar that Lydia had complained about having to take so early in the morning—only to replace out she wasn’t there.

My heart sank, and I glanced down at the beautiful, heirloom analog watch I needed to send back to Germany as soon as my bank account came out of the negative.

It was only 7:40, so maybe she just hadn’t shown up yet? But just in case I’d gotten her schedule wrong, I walked over to the one person I recognized in the hall, Dennika, the only other Black bio-chem major in my graduating class. My former graduating class, if I couldn’t correct the huge mistake I made last August. She was sitting on the edge of one of the upper rows, her laptop open to an online game of Viking Shifters.

“Hey, Dennika!” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Merry?” Dennika paused the game just as her large, red-haired Viking warrior was about to dodge a dragon’s fireball. “I thought you abandoned me to do a year abroad in Munich.”

“Mannheim,” I corrected before wearily informing her, “but that’s off. I decided to come back early and finish my degree here.” Like I should have from the start.

To say my impulsive decision to delay my senior year in order to extend my summer semester in Germany was a mistake would be an understatement.

Worst, most life-destroying choice ever? Getting closer.

“Oooh, did you see the Mannheim Steamrollers while you were there?” another student asked from the row below Dennika’s. She had the upturned nose and large engagement ring of an MRS major who didn’t actually plan to use whatever degree she’d signed up for at UMG. “They’re my mom’s favorite.”

“Funny story. That group’s not actually from Germany.” The memory of how I’d made the same mistake ached in my chest. “Most people in Mannheim have never heard of them.”

“What?” The MRS major blinked at me like a kid who’d just been told there’s no Santa Claus. “Then where are they from?”

I looked at my watch again. I didn’t have time for this. I’d parked the car I’d been living in since my mom kicked me out in the student lot without an official tag. I had maybe ten, twenty minutes tops, before I got ticketed by security—or, even worse, towed.

I so couldn’t afford to get my car taken away on top of everything else.

I rubbed at my temple, and instead of explaining that Mannheim Steamroller was actually an American ensemble founded by two guys from Ohio and Pennsylvania, I asked them, “Lydia Carrington’s for sure in this class, right?”

“You mean Restraining Order?” The MRS major crinkled her nose like someone had just farted. “Yeah, she’s in this class.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “No, I mean Lydia Carrington. Why would you call her that? Why would you call anyone that?”

The MRS major snorted and shifted back around to start texting on her phone.

I turned back to Dennika. “What’s going on?”

“Girl, you know I don’t like to kick anybody’s back in, but…” Dennika looked around, then leaned in to whisper, “Turns out Lydia’s been stalking Yum Rustanov!”

My eyebrows shot up. “The super blessed-in-the-face hockey player?”

“Yeah, girl. I know he’s fine, but Lydia took it to a whole new level!” Dennika bugged her eyes. “Hooked up with him while they were both in Berlin. Then, when he started ignoring her, she tried everything to get his attention. She came on to his teammate, reserved the carrel right next to his at the library, showed up at the student center every time he tried to eat there. I mean, she ain’t boiled no bunnies yet, but folks are waiting.”

“Lydia?” I repeated, totally not believing it. “Sweet Lydia, who goes out of her way to help everybody, is stalking Yum Rustanov?”

“It’s always the sweet ones you gotta watch out for,” Dennika assured me with a twist of her lips. “But Yum blew up her spot so bad, I wouldn’t be surprised if she dropped out. I know I would if I got caught stalking somebody like that….”

Dennika suddenly trailed off, her mouth falling open. And all the noise dropped out of the room, like everyone had decided to stop talking at the same time.

I turned to see what had caught her—and everyone else’s—attention. Then my mouth dropped open, too.

Lydia was walking into the lecture hall… hand in hand… with Artyom “Yum” Rustanov!

And it did not look like she was stalking him.

In fact, Yum’s other hand was curled over the hook of a sleek, black Porsche business backpack. I recognized it as the bag Lydia decided to buy for herself when she saw the one my German boyfriend had gifted me while I was visiting her in Berlin.

A dark cloud rolled in when I thought of how sad I’d been about not being able to introduce her to him. Stupid. I was so stupid.

“Merry? Is that you?” Lydia’s voice brought me out of my miserable thoughts. She took her hand and her bag back from Yum Rustanov and jogged down the stairs to pull me into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Lydia…” I answered, flaring my eyes at Dennika over my friend’s shoulder, like, What the hell???

Dennika just shook her head at me, wide-eyed and apologetic, but also like she was eating popcorn while watching a juicy reality show.

As desperately as I needed Lydia’s help, I had to pull back from the hug and ask, “What’s going on?” I glanced toward the ridiculously hot hockey player, who was still standing at the top of the stairs, like some kind of guard.

Lydia visibly winced and whispered, “Um, long story. Like, super-long story.”

She then waved over her shoulder at the hockey player she was supposedly stalking and called out in a much louder voice, “See you at lunch, Art—I mean, Yom.”

Yom glanced from her to me with a suspicious scowl. But then he appeared to make a reluctant decision to walk away.

“Anyway, what are you doing back so soon?” Lydia asked, as if my return was the biggest unexpected shock of the morning. “I thought you were supposed to be in Germany for the rest of the year!”

“Even longer story.” With an uneasy glance toward Dennika and several other students who were openly staring at us, I lowered my voice to ask, “Can I crash on your couch? Just until I get everything sorted out with the registrar and replace a work-study job? I tried to come by last night and ask, but nobody answered the door.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Lydia took hold of my hand with a sympathetic look that made me feel like an even more pitiful mess. It was hard to believe we’d met because she needed someone to both take and record their notes for our Introduction to Public Health class. Who desperately needed who now?

“You can stay at my place as long as you want, but…” Lydia’s eyebrows clenched with worry. “Is your mom okay?”

Of course, she’d be worried about my mother.

“She’s fine,” I assured her. Physically, at least. I mean, she clearly wasn’t handling my decision to track down my birth father well—hence, my suddenly homeless status.

But that wasn’t exactly a story to tell in front of her entire Animal Behavior class.

Lydia must have sensed that. “Wanna meet for lunch to swap stories and get you moved into my place?”

“I thought you had lunch plans?” I asked.

“This is obviously way more important than the Anything List,” Lydia answered, pulling out her phone.

I frowned. “What’s the Anything List?”

“Nothing,” she answered with a glower that let me know it was the opposite of that. “Anyway, I don’t have a field practicum today. Just text me the best time to meet up after you’re done with the registrar.”

I wouldn’t have to sleep in my car again tonight. My chest nearly caved with relief. But then I had to admit, “I don’t have a phone right now. I left it—” Tears threatened to well up in my eyes, but I squeezed them back down to finish telling her, “I accidentally left it in Germany.”

“That’s okay.” Lydia’s brown gaze became even more sympathetic. “Is twelve thirty cool to meet at my place?”

I nodded, feeling sick to my stomach—actually, really, really sick to my stomach.

Instead of thanking Lydia for her understanding and accommodation, I ended up shoving past her with my hand over my mouth.

I barely made it to the restrooms outside her lecture hall before ejecting my McDonald’s breakfast directly into the toilet.

And that was when I realized that the period I’d been expecting last week might not be behind schedule because of the stress of everything that happened in Germany.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Or, as my German ex had taught me to say during my time in Mannheim… Scheisse. Scheisse. Scheisse.

My German ex…

I panted over the toilet, somehow already knowing, without having to spend more money I didn’t officially have on a pregnancy test, that he’d left me with more than bad memories.

What was I going to do?

A knock sounded on the door. “Merry?”

It was Lydia.

“Yep. Give me a sec.” I stood up on shaky legs and opened the door to replace my ride-or-die friend looking beyond worried.

“You alright?”

“Yep, yep,” I started to nod—to assure her everything was fine.

But then the tears I’d been refusing to let fall since I blew all of my savings on a last-minute flight back to Minnesota suddenly sprang into my eyes. And my voice broke as I admitted, “No…”

“Oh, Merry.” Lydia drew me into her arms again, this time to comfort me. “I think you need to tell me your long story first.”