by R. S. Elliot
She takes a step toward me. That shifting shadow at the peak of her brow wrinkles further. “Whatever I put on the line is mine to sacrifice. It isn’t your decision to make.”
“I’m not going to stand by and let you throw away something you’ve worked this hard for just because we can’t control ourselves,” I explain. It’s taking all the strength within me to keep my voice level. “We’re both adults, Aly. We can wait a few months until the-”
“A few months?”
Shit. Why did I say that? I got so caught up the argument, I completely lost my train of thought. Way to ease her into the decision.
“So now it’s not just the advisor you are trying to change,” she says. “You want us to stay completely away from each other? For months?”
How do I answer this without digging myself into a deeper hole? I could easily give her the money for the apprenticeship, the money to pay off her family’s debts, pay for her own practice even. Whatever she wanted. But how would that look? Me throwing money at a woman just so I can finally sleep with her.
That wouldn’t ease my guilt, and Aly would never go for it either. She wouldn’t want anything she didn’t rightfully earn. Yet there is no other way around this. We either stay away or risk it all. She may be willing to put her future on the line like that, but I am not so easily persuaded.
“Yes,” is the only answer I can think of at the moment. Even as a voice inside me cries out, no.
Her face relaxes.
All lines of frustration give way to an indiscernible emotion. The wrinkle in her forehead smooths, and her crystal blue eyes moisten. A muscle in her jaw flexes as she clamps down on her teeth, and I can tell she is struggling to convince herself I’m right. She lifts one hand in the air and shrugs.
“Fine.” She nods. “We wait until the end of the semester. And if there is still a connection...”
“There will be.”
Her round eyes stare back at me, unconvinced. Though who she imagines forgetting the other is beyond me. “We’ll see.”
Fight for her, that same voice emerges. She is everything I want, everything that makes me feel whole. But if I want to fight for her, this is the only way to do it. Battling myself and my own selfish desires before taking on the rest of the world.
Three months, I tell myself.
I can do this.
Three more months and Aly McKenzie will be mine.
Chapter Fifteen
Aly
So after he gave me the greatest sexual pleasure of my life, he told me we could no longer see each other.
It’s not the best greeting to open with when I see my mother, but it’s all I have on my mind at the moment. Even two weeks later, his touch lingers on my skin. Fourteen whole days placed between us, neither of us talking, focused on our work. And all I can think about is how wonderful he felt.
How wonderful he made me feel.
I suppose I’ll reserve the usual, “Hello, how are you?” greeting for her and then wallow in my own misery in silence.
To make matters worse, Lyndsey didn’t come home until late the next morning. And while I normally love having that time to myself, I could have really used a shoulder to cry on. It didn’t help that she was likely somewhere doing the very thing I wanted to be doing with a man who took the tired “let’s just be friends” conversation to a whole new level.
Instead, I drowned my sorrows in an individual-sized tub of rocky road ice cream and watched a few episodes of Snapped. No reason.
His suggestion wasn’t too far-fetched, was it? He could lose his job over something like this and never be able to work in a university again. And he loved his job. Isn’t that why he pushed students so hard, to see them flourish when they reached their full potential? Being with me would cost him everything. I couldn’t be the reason all of that went away.
Marianne had issued that same warning to me. On the same night no less. A warning I foolishly disregarded in favor of animalistic desire.
Was I being selfish? I hadn’t been the one to initiate the kiss. I tried to walk away with no more than a handshake for goodness’ sake! He had been the one to pull me back, to kiss me. And even though I begged for it with every last breath in me, he had also been the one to touch me. In the most intimate of places. Long before I even knew what was happening or what to expect.
And then in an instant, it was gone. For months.
I can wait for three months for him. There is no doubt in my mind about that. Sometimes I feel as though I’ve waited a lifetime, just for him.
I could wait. But could he?
I straighten, mentally preparing myself as I stand outside my mother’s home. Right there on the front doorstep, like an idiot, I’m coaching myself to put on a brave face.
It’s fine. I can live with this. If he does move on or finds someone more accessible than me, I will handle it the same way I have handled all the gut-wrenching disappointment in my life.
Burying it deep down beneath the surface until it festers like a gaping wound?
That’s getting old, isn’t it? It’s not like I wouldn’t be upset if he showed up in the next month with a busty blonde goddess on his arm. Or maybe a chic but sassy brunette is more his speed. I guess I’ll just have to wait and trust that he feels the same way for me as I do for him.
I focus my thoughts on the task at hand: walking through my mother’s front door. I have every right to be upset. But not here.
Not when my mother needs me to be strong.
One last breath and I have that game face I need: a fake smile and a confident stride. I open the door and find my mother at the kitchen table. She looks up at me, her palm pressed against her temple almost as if she had been sleeping right there in the middle of the kitchen.
“Baby, you’re home,” she says, groggy.
“Are you ok?” I ask out of habit.
“Of course.” She nods and holds up the coffee cup in her hands. “Just a little sleepy. Needed something to keep me going.”
She rises to her feet, and I do a quick appraisal of her appearance to reassure myself. Tiny wrinkles carve a path like spider webs on the bottom of her nurse’s scrubs. The telltale mark of someone repeatedly standing and bending down, the way she does when checking on her patients. So she went into work today. A good sign.
“So, tell me about school,” Mom says. “How is your proposal coming along?”
“Great!” I’m not lying for once. If the one shining beacon to come out of this is that I finally nail my proposal, it will be enough to satisfy me. Almost. “I’ve met with the owner of another organization that operates on a similar level. And she taught me quite a bit about how to line up funding, fundraisers, and to schedule volunteers.”
“That’s wonderful, baby,” she says, standing to rinse out the mug before placing it in the dishwasher. “I knew you could do it. You’ll have it all in the bag here soon.”
I force a smile. She’s way too tired for this to be normal.
I can never tell what mood she’ll be in from one day to the next. Some days she’s throwing a dish across the room, upset because “that pesky stain won’t come out.” Other days she’s normal. As normal as any of us can get. And other days she’s crying in a heap on the floor.
Those are the days that hurt the most. Your mother is the one who heals your wounds when you fall. She’s not the one who needs lifting up.
And that kind of thinking is what got her into this mess from the beginning. She never wanted me to see how unhappy she was, how miserable having my father torn away from us made her. Maybe not torn. That sounds too quick for the agony she endured all those years leading up to my dad’s death. When he finally gave in to his cancer. Not torn, then. A slow despairing drag down into an abyss from which he would never return.
And she went right down with him.
“Did you have to go into work early today?” I ask, probing to see if maybe she just pulled a long shift again.
“Eight to five,” she answer
s. Her eyes lock onto me. Suspicion blooms within that ice-blue gaze.
I shift where I stand, unsteady all of a sudden. My attention slips over the state of the house, partially for something to take my mind off my mom’s knowing glare and as another box to check for my peace of mind.
No overflowing dishes fill her empty kitchen sink. The floor appears freshly vacuumed. She even has a bundle of freshly cut flowers in a vase on the coffee table. She’s taking good care of herself for once. Or so it seems.
“Who got you the flowers?”
“What are you doing?”
Her stern response is enough to jolt me out of my inventory and back to her. When I face her, her arms cross over her chest, one hip cocked and head tilting to the side. Oh, shit. I’m in for it now.
I attempt to salvage what I can from the conversation, stammering. “I just want to know-”
“Aly, stop,” she says, and holds a hand outward. “I am not one of your patients. You don’t have to come over here and check up on me to ensure I’m safe and taking care of myself.”
“But you seem really…”
She shakes her head, shrugging as if to question me further. “What? Tired? I’m fine. Adults get tired. We don’t have the same amount of energy as we did in our twenties.”
She reaches out and lovingly strokes my chin between her fingers. “I’d be way more productive if I did, let me tell you.”
“I just don’t want you to-”
“What? Have another incident?” She chuckles. The word “incident” slides off her tongue in a frighteningly morbid tone. Not because of what that incident represents but how casual she sounds talking about it and how distant she now seems. “We all have those moments of weakness, I guess.”
The bright blue in her gaze shifts into a cloudy winter storm. She is far away from me, even while standing so close to me in the kitchen. Her mind is elsewhere, contemplating the events of that night or everything that led up to it. Was she thinking about my father? How much she still missed him? Or was she thinking about how badly she wanted to be with him again? Even if it meant leaving this world forever.
“Come on,” she says, collecting herself and moving me toward the living room. “I ordered us a movie and some pizza. A special treat, since you’ve taken so long to visit me this time.”
I laugh off her words. “Fine. But if it’s a musical, save the singing for another day.”
“But that’s the best part.”
“Is it a musical?”
She remains silent, her eyes darting guiltily from side to side.
“Is it one I know?”
“You’re gonna love it,” is all she says, eyes wide with excitement and taking a seat on the couch.
I can live through a musical. The greater feat is surviving a musical where my mother randomly bursts out into song. Despite all my teasing, I’d take it any day. Just to see her happy, smiling, singing.
A notification chimes on my cell phone. A message from an unknown number. This little ploy you’re using isn’t going to work.
My heart skips a beat, thudding to a halt for one brief moment before recovering. Ploy? What ploy am I supposedly using? And who the hell is accusing me of it?
Who is this? It is the only response I can devise to type back.
You think fucking your professor is going to get you that apprenticeship?
My blood runs cold as the letters form across my screen.
There’s no way. This had to be a joke. Only one person would be concerned about that apprenticeship. The one person determined to take it for himself and ruin my life in the process.
Jackson? How the hell did you get my number? I write back.
Not Jackson. Just a concerned private citizen worried someone like you is taking advantage of the system.
Right. For someone supposedly so bright, Jackson’s an idiot when it comes to covert affairs.
Then again, apparently, so am I. Otherwise, no one would have realized what was going on. I remind myself they have no proof. There’s no evidence to support this is even a legitimate threat. It could be anyone who saw me pining away for my professor in the lecture hall and simply put two and two together. Or so they imagine.
Don’t text me again. I write. You have no idea what you’re talking about.
I toss the phone to the side, ignoring any notifications that follow it. I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that being with Zach is going to land us both in trouble or that we’re going to be punished for these crimes without actually sleeping together. If I am to be accused of having sex with my professor, the man of my every wet and waking dream, I’m sure as hell not going down without a fight.
And I’m definitely not going to accept my punishment without reaping the full benefits of my crime.
Three months?
To hell with it. If I’m going to stand before the board while they strip me of my apprenticeship and hand it to Jackson, I’m not going to be doing it a virgin.
Chapter Sixteen
Zach
“I can’t take her,” Derek says.
I’ve only been asking him to take Aly on as his protégé for two weeks, while he keeps skirting around the question. Now, sitting across from him in his office, blocking all potential escape routes that don’t involve rappelling down five stories, he’s finally delivered an answer.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs and begins shoving the numerous papers littered across his desk. “I mean, I have too much stuff going on at the moment to be helping students with their proposals. This is a big undertaking, Zach, as you know. I don’t have the time for it.”
“If it’s the housing project you’re struggling with,” I say, “I can pick up some of the slack for you there.”
“It’s not just the housing project.”
The tension in his voice triggers a silent alarm. I’ve been so caught up in my own problems, I haven’t even bothered to think about what’s happening in Derek’s personal life. “What is it? Is there something going on I should know about?”
“No, man. Don’t worry about it.” He shakes his head and places the strap of his bag over his shoulder like a soldier. “I just have to take care of mine, and you need to handle this on your own. You got yourself in this mess with the girl, and now you need to man up and see it through.”
He makes it sound like I knocked her up and need to either marry her or send her child support payments. It isn’t like that at all. It wasn’t a mistake I need to patch up quickly.
It’s more like a mistake I want to revisit over and over again.
No matter what I tell myself, I can’t get Aly out of my mind. All I can imagine is her smooth skin beneath my fingertips. Her hot mouth gasping, meeting every move I make with equal passion and force. All I keep hearing is her call out my name, the sweet melody of her climax taking hold of her as she cries out in pleasure.
I adjust myself. Damn. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman. That’s the only reason I’m reacting this way. Or so I tell myself.
“I’m trying to put distance between us,” I say finally, partly in reassurance to Derek and mostly an affirmation to myself.
Derek folds his arms across his chest, giving me one of those sardonic glares that make men feel like fools. “What you need is to just get over it. If you like this girl, then risk it. Otherwise, stop whining about it and put it behind you.”
I’m confused. Did he just tell me to risk being with Aly? “Weren’t you the one who said I should hold back for a while?”
“I said, ‘you should be careful’. Now, whether that means taking a step back or just not showing her off around town, that’s up to you.” Derek closes the distance between us. His hand rises to rest on my shoulder. “That was before I knew you were going to be this sad mess of a man. It’s pathetic really.”
He moves past me toward the door, straightening his tie and checking out the door once before exiting. “You look like shit, and uh...I can’t be seen with
you.”
“Thanks.” I laugh it off and follow him out the door anyway.
We make it to the elevator, neither one of us speaking for fear of being overheard. But in the empty elevator, Derek offers his one last shred of advice. “Look, it seems like you genuinely care for her. So make it work. But keep your dick in your pants unless you’re completely behind closed doors.”
I groan as the doors open, and he walks out. “Thanks. Got it.”
The drive home is surprisingly less quiet, with my thoughts filling the emptiness around me. I want to be with her. But I don’t want her to get hurt. Where would all of this lead us anyway? Do I plan on seeing Aly long-term? Or is this something I need to do just to get her out of my system?
My thoughts follow me into the house, keeping me so distracted I don’t notice the man sitting in my living room. “Evening, son.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise up.
“Dad, what a pleasant surprise. How did you get in?”
My father shrugs casually, the shoulders on his navy suit jacket barely lifting with him. He’s wearing a button-down shirt underneath his blazer. The shirt flares at the top, the first two unbuttoned holes allowing for the two halves to fan outward. He looks so relaxed, so calm. Like the eye before the storm. “I’ve had a copy of your key for months. I bribed your maid.”
Great, so now she’s getting fired.
Who am I kidding? I can’t fire anyone. And she does such amazing work. I’ll just change the locks.
I drop my things by the door and walk across to the drink cart. I’m suddenly in need of a stiff drink.
“Shall I pour you a scotch?” The bottle lifts much easier than I expected. I raise it up toward the light and realize the liquor is almost completely gone. I haven’t even had a sip of this thing. But clearly my father has been waiting here for quite some time. “Another one?”
My father tilts the drink in his hand upward in a half-handed toast. Why is he here? Drinking all my good scotch, putting me on edge. I thought the most difficult issue I’d have to deal with today was Aly. Only now, I see the error of my ways, and there is absolutely no turning back once my father has you in his crosshairs.
