“I’m going to go.” I shake my head as the tears I swore wouldn’t fall somehow win. Hot, salty tears wet my cheeks. “Let me ask you one more thing.” At this point, I don’t care anymore if I’m humiliating myself. Things like that mean nothing now.
“How long was this going to go? Had I not told you I love you, would you have continued sneaking around? Fucking me in your office like a… a… dirty secret?” I can barely get it out I’m crying so hard.
Turning, he tries to pull me into his arms as if I’m a charity case who needs a pat on the back.
“No!” I slap his hands away. “Fuck you. I thought…” I look up at the ceiling. “I thought you loved me, the same way I love you,” I scream at him, shaking with anger.
“Alexandrea, enough!” he yells, and though it’s the first real emotion to come out of him, I’m done.
“You’re right, Dean Powers. It is enough,” I spit. Turning, I grab my bag, not caring that I’m barefoot as I run outside, almost slipping on the sand.
I drop my bag on the driveway, frantically searching for my keys in my purse. Thank God, Iain returned my Honda from Jett and Raven’s last night before Brett and I got home in an Uber.
“Where are they?” I scream like a crazy person, wiping enough of the tears that won’t stop for me to find the fucking key fob.
“Alex, Jesus Christ, come back inside. I’m not letting you drive like this.”
Hands shaking, I grab my pepper spray and stand, holding it straight at him.
He stops.
“Don’t. Fucking. Come. Near. ME!” I’m panting, but so is he. Our eyes lock, and suddenly, I’m strangely calm.
I crouch down, and this time, I instantly find my key fob. I pick up my bag, sling it over my shoulder, grab my shoes, and unlock my car.
I don’t look back at him as I pull out. I don’t care that as soon as I’m away from him I start to cry again.
In fact, I don’t care about anything.
BRETT
“Pam, is Dean Murphy in?” Barely waiting for her to stop talking on the phone, I head toward Richard’s office, or should I say my office in two days.
“Dean Powers, he’s on a call…” I don’t stop and open his office door because that’s how I roll these days.
It’s been eighty-two hours since she left my house. My mind cannot let go of her pain as she aimed that pepper spray at me. Her love, pain, and anger spurred her forward while I stayed and drank.
I just walked back into my house and cracked open the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. It’s never failed me before, and I’m still waiting for him to come through this time.
Richard looks up as I burst in, boxes scattered around, all his diplomas and pictures already gone, nothing but his large desk and his big wingback leather chairs remain. He frowns when I drop into one and continues to talk.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, because I’ve come to confess. Christ, maybe I’m still drunk from last night, but he needs to know.
“Okay, that sounds excellent. He actually just walked into my office. I’ll pass on the good news.” Richard smiles, his wise eyes narrowing on my face because I’m not hiding.
Not anymore.
“You got it. I’ll send you a postcard.” He laughs, then hangs up.
“Christ, you smell like a goddamn brewery,” he says, sitting back in his large chair. “That was Ted Johnson. He’s excited about you taking over—”
“I need to stop you, Richard.” My voice is harsh, but then again, I’m starting to get used to it since that seems to be my new tone.
“You know that I think of you not just as my mentor, but as a friend?”
Richard leans forward, and his old hands reach for a box at the end of his desk.
“Why do I feel like I need one of these?” He pulls out a cigarette.
I don’t stop him as he lights up and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as if he’s stealing a kiss from an old love, a secret, private obsession.
And there my own obsession floats around in the smoke, her big green eyes blinking at me as her lips whispered her love.
Christ, I’m tired. I just want peace. Just one second when I don’t see her.
I clear my throat and he takes another deep inhale, then opens his eyes to look at me.
“I broke the rule,” I state.
“Go on.” He exhales.
“I fucked a student.”
His hands shake. Nodding, he leans forward to snuff the cigarette out.
“Diane would kill me if I had more… her and my cardiologist.”
“I will, of course, put in my letter—”
He holds his hand up, stopping me. I lean back in my chair.
“Is it over?”
“Yes.” The pain in my chest makes me stand and walk to the window. Otherwise, I might actually rub it, like that can make it stop burning.
Unacceptable.
“Does anyone know?” His voice sounds way stronger than I thought it would.
I look over my shoulder at him sitting calmly, hands crossed on the desk. “Only my family.”
“Then what’s the problem?” He looks at the massive piles of paper on the desk.
“Richard–”
“Let me stop you, Brett. You’ve been like a son to me. We all make mistakes. I don’t know why you feel like you need to confess your sins, but we’re not Catholic priests, for fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head.
“I heard nothing, Dean Powers. Friday, I will be honored to stand in front of the faculty and students and welcome you as head dean. It is everything you’ve worked for all these years and deserve.”
I cross my arms and stare at him. “Richard, if you’re worried about the project–”
“Worried? I’m not worried about anything. Brett Powers doesn’t disappoint, ever.” He cocks his head at me.
“Is there anything else?” he goes on. “I’m having the painters come tomorrow morning. Are you still wanting the walls white? I, myself, think a color would be better, but it’s your office.”
“Green. I want that wall green, almost emerald. The rest can be white,” I snarl, not sure why I feel almost robbed.
He just absolved me. Richard looks behind him at the wall I pointed at.
“Interesting choice.” He reaches for the phone. “I’ll call Freddie and let him know. Anything else?” But he’s already talking to Pam to get Freddie on the line.
“No, just let me know when I can start moving in.”
Walking out, I nod at Pam who lowers her reading glasses.
“See you on Friday, Dean Powers,” she calls after me.
I keep walking. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I text Derrick to go to my office and get it ready for the move. Then I text Josh.
ME: Going to work from home.
I turn the corner, my phone instantly vibrating.
JOSH: Is everything okay?
Is everything okay? I almost laugh because on paper it’s better than okay.
ME: Fine.
Pocketing my phone, I throw the glass doors open. I took my bike this morning and walk over to my reserved spot. The sight of two Lime scooters parked on the sidewalk makes my head pound. I straddle my bike, ignoring them, blocking out any thoughts of her, or the way she looked that day with her hands gripping the handlebars, her face when the cars passed her and drivers yelled and flipped her off.