The Professor: A Standalone Novel

by Akeroyd, Serena

  The Professor

  A Standalone Novel

  Serena Akeroyd

  Copyright © 2019 by Serena Akeroyd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  SONGS THAT WERE IMPORTANT IN THE MAKING OF THIS BOOK:

  Nicholas

  Phoebe

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Nicholas

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Nicholas

  Phoebe

  A few things…

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  Also by Serena Akeroyd

  SONGS THAT WERE IMPORTANT IN THE MAKING OF THIS BOOK:

  Without Me - Halsey

  Pray - Sam Smith

  Ain’t No Mountain High Enough - Tammy Terrell and Marvin Gaye

  Tainted Love - Marilyn Manson

  Nicholas

  The beat on the dance floor was sultry, and though it was warm out, inside, the air conditioning kept things at a delicious temperature that made it comfortable for me to sit here and watch.

  My seat was on the cusp of the mezzanine that overlooked the rest of the club. In the VIP area, I could see everything up here. Everything—

  “Hey darlin’, would you like to dance?”

  I scowled at the intrusion. “No.” When the woman pouted, her over made-up eyes flaring wide in surprise that anyone would refuse her, I sighed. “Thank you, but no. I’m waiting on someone,” I lied.

  She huffed and tossed her wavy black hair over her shoulder, but the lie seemed to work, and she flounced off with enough drama that I actually watched her go.

  Not that I was interested in her.

  I wasn’t.

  Sure, she may have had an ass I could bounce quarters on, and her tits were round and pert in the bustier-style top that narrowed into a sleek tube skirt, but she might as well have been a man to me, that was how little attention she merited.

  I had eyes for one woman and one woman alone, and she worked the bar. When I sat here, she was whom I watched. She was more entertaining than a stripper, even if she didn’t mean to be.

  In her work uniform of a denim skirt, sneakers, and a simple tee, she outclassed every other woman in this fucking joint. She made the bitch who’d just tried to dance with me look cheap, even though that other woman was wearing designer gear and had two matching rocks in her ears I recognized as diamonds.

  The trouble was, I knew it wasn’t just me.

  Phoebe lit up the room, illuminated it in ways that made the shadows recede. But I wasn’t the only one affected. She had men swarming around her, men who wanted to hurt her. Some might say I wanted to hurt her too. Some might say that I meant her harm, but I didn’t.

  If anything, she meant me harm.

  She tormented me with her beauty, reminded me of everything I couldn’t have anymore. She tortured me with her friendly smiles, and made me miserable when I thought about how similar she was to another woman who’d made me suffer along the way.

  Still, she needed protection.

  There were too many eyes on her at all times, and the only way I could rest was if I knew she wasn’t in danger, and in this city, danger was always around the corner.

  Here, she was relatively safe. I didn’t like the number of gazes trained on her, but I felt like I could protect her from my booth. This was my spot. I’d paid for it a long time ago when I’d put up the money for the club, and though he rolled his eyes at my dictates, Jay, my cousin, usually let me get away with murder because this sick club was only sick because of me. Without my funding, he’d never have gotten it off the ground, and I wasn’t averse to taking advantage of that fact.

  Not where she was concerned.

  In class, I’d heard her on the phone one day. She’d been upset as I walked in, and because my radar always flickered to life around her, I heard her over all the other idiots in my classroom. They were talking about parties and who was fucking whom. Phoebe? She was worrying about making rent, about paying her bills.

  She’d needed a job.

  So, I’d gotten her this one at Crow.

  Of course, she didn’t know. She never would either. I didn’t intend on ever revealing what she was to me, but some nights, like tonight, when I saw the way men hung on her every word, when she looked tired from a full day’s work, I wished I had the right to make her life better.

  I didn’t.

  Even though she was my everything.

  But to her, I was and always would be nothing.

  Someone in the shadows her light couldn’t touch. Someone too dark, too hideous to ever be loved by someone like her.

  It hurt, sure, being so close to heaven. It was like hovering my hand over a naked flame on a candle and expecting it not to burn, but I’d deal with it, would endure it, because she needed me.

  She didn’t know she did, of course. But everyone needed a savior. Even if that savior was a monster.

  Sometimes, monsters could be heroes too.

  I gnawed on my bottom lip when she reached up on her tiptoes to grab some of the expensive liquor from the top shelf. Her skirt rode up, revealing strong, sleek legs, and her breasts jiggled as she moved… a fact I wasn’t the only one to notice.

  Crow was definitely not my cup of tea. It throbbed with music I loathed, was semi-dark even with the strobe lights blasting all fucking night, and there were big blobs here and there forged from an odd kind of plastic that glowed and morphed from one color to the next in a flurry of psychedelic hues. Up here in the VIP section, those weird blobs made up the tables and banquettes. Because of the stupid décor, I was literally alight and she still didn’t see me.

  She never would.

  I reached up and pinched my bottom lip. Tugging at it, I stared down at my phone and the notes I’d been making for tomorrow’s class. She’d be in it, and I always made sure that she knew she had my attention. It was the only time I could ever truly look at her without reprimand, and I took full advantage of it.

  Maybe I was hard on her, maybe I was bitter.

  Even monsters had feelings.

  Eying the lesson plan, I thought about what we’d discuss, and then thought about how early I’d have to be up too.

  Stalking wasn’t easy. I swear, people didn’t give credit to stalkers, and they seriously should. That level of dedication couldn’t be bought. Of course, Phoebe had it worse since she had to work throughout those hours, whereas I just hung out. But still, we’d be going home shortly before she had to wake up at four for her shift at the coffee shop.

  I had papers to grade so I’d stay busy from my little corner where she never saw me, where I always sat so I could see her reflection in the glass opposite me. It was hit and miss, but it was better than nothing. I could watch her, know she was safe in the mom-and-pop joint that really needed more staff at four AM. How could I rest knowing she was in danger?

  How could I sleep in my warm bed knowing she was not only working, but she was in peril?

  The answer was, I couldn�
�t.

  And I stayed with her.

  Kept her safe.

  Last month, only my presence had averted a mugging, and she didn’t even know. How could she? She’d been in the kitchen when a guy had come in and started ransacking the register. Had she come out, he’d have blown her brains out. Instead, with the skills that enabled me to stalk her, I edged out of my booth, shoved my own gun behind his head, and told him to back off.

  Politeness worked sometimes.

  My lips curved down at the memory.

  Phoebe was in constant danger, and with it, I was constantly stressed.

  When the lights flashed as a particularly irritating song was blared over the speaker, I took advantage and hungrily ate up the sight of her.

  She was as pale as white silk, and her mass of curls made me wish I had the right to grab those waves in my fist so I could urge her closer to me. She had the brightest green eyes, and the softest lips.

  She was a woman, all woman.

  My woman.

  She just didn’t know it, and she never would either.

  Phoebe

  Chapter One

  Squinting at the red lights of my alarm clock, I winced when I saw the time.

  “How can it be four AM already?” I muttered to myself, then immediately yawned.

  I’d been asleep for four hours. I’d arrived home at ten after a six-hour shift at Crow, the bar where I worked, but my mom being my mom, had left the place a sty.

  I wouldn’t care for myself or for her, but Scottie lived here too, and I wouldn’t have him living in the filth our mother could subsist in.

  Not only had I cleaned the place as much as I could, I’d cleaned him up too. His butt had been bright pink from the diaper she never changed from the last time I had cleaned him, and once again, I’d been tempted to call Child Welfare. Tempted, so badly, to let him go just to make sure he was safe, but this wasn’t a perfect world. I’d spent too many years of my own childhood in Child Welfare, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, certainly not the baby brother I adored.

  I had three months left of my last year at college. I had to pray that when the time came, I’d be able to get a semi-decent job and I’d be able to take care of my family better. Hopefully, I would also be able to be around Scottie more and get him away from our hag of a mother.

  He was my brother, but he was almost my son. On yet another of her sessions, she’d managed to get knocked up by some lowlife I was half-certain was a regular client of hers, and I’d been graced with a newborn baby brother when I was twenty.

  I could never resent him, but her?

  Hell yeah, I could.

  Especially when every aspect of his care fell to me.

  The alarm I’d snoozed began blaring again, and another yawn escaped me until my eyes flared wide.

  It was Wednesday.

  God, I hated Wednesdays. And Mondays and Fridays.

  I had Creative Writing those days, and though I loved that class, I hated the professor. He was a jerk and way too mean to be that hot.

  Seriously, the guy looked like he belonged on the book cover of the novel he was making us finish for our final project.

  Professor Maclean was the definition of hunky, but he was meaner than a rattlesnake.

  Whenever I thought of him, I thought of that old adage, “Those who can’t do, teach.”

  It wasn’t a nice phrase, and to be honest, I was belittling myself since I was aiming to be a teacher, but I didn’t care. Maclean deserved it.

  With a huff that belied the dread dawning in my stomach at the prospect of a two-hour class with him, I hauled myself out of bed and began to shuffle out of my crappy bedroom and into the hall.

  From this angle, I saw my mother slouched on the recliner she slept in, and eyed the disaster she’d made of the room I’d cleaned a few hours before.

  For a second, my heart fell and my eyes burned with the futility of trying to keep this place up. Then, even that misery was forgotten when I saw the lit cigarette in her left hand lolling over the armrest, with two empty containers of bottled liver cirrhosis tumbled on the carpet beneath them. Fear immediately flushed through me.

  It wouldn’t be the first time she’d set fire to something while she was drunk. It had happened twice already, and the sofa and the carpet bore the burns to prove it.

  Hustling over, I snatched the cigarette from her hand and stubbed it out in the overflowing ashtray I’d emptied last night.

  When she didn’t stir, I shook my head as disgust flowed through me. She’d once been a pretty woman, but my dad’s death had hit her hard. She was sick, I knew that, and tried to repeat it to myself over and over when I came home to Scottie sobbing because he was hungry, when she almost set fire to our damn sofa, and spent half her time lying around in a puddle of her own piss, but it was harder to remember she was sick and not just a noose around my neck.

  Sucking in a calming breath, I tried not to think about the woman she’d once been. When her cheeks hadn’t been tunneled in, when her skin hadn’t been like paper, and her eyes didn’t look constantly bruised. Her nose was becoming bulbous and had red broken veins all along the tip.

  Was it horrible that I was hoping she’d just drink herself into a coma and die?

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to disperse the thought, because, of course, it was horrible, but it didn’t take the hope away. She was my mom, and I didn’t want anything to hurt her, but she lived in a constant state of misery, and that misery diffused itself onto Scottie and me.

  Because the hatred spilling through me was enough to make me cry, and twice in one morning was excessive for anyone, I turned on my heel and headed toward the second bedroom.

  It was too much to expect that she’d have checked on Scottie before she passed out, so I hustled in and had to smile. His diapered butt was in the air, his face smooshed into the blankie I’d saved up over a month for. Unicorns were his favorite, and though we didn’t have much, I’d wanted him to have something.

  Because he was okay for the minute, I didn’t step inside, not wanting to disturb his sleep.

  Shuffling into the bathroom, I quickly showered and dressed in the uniform the café, where I worked the early morning shift, insisted I wear.

  It wasn’t fresh, and tomorrow I’d need to do laundry, so I sprayed a crap ton of deodorant over myself in the hope it would veil that slightly sour smell that came from clothes that had been worn just a little too long.

  Crinkling my nose in disgust, I wished, and not for the first time, that I could afford a second uniform, but my money was better spent elsewhere.

  As I tugged my curly brown hair into a messy bun, I didn’t even glance at my face other than to note it was clean, and rushed back into Scottie’s bedroom. I found him awake, peering at me through the bars on his crib as though he were in a jail cell.

  I had to admit, he was.

  And I hated that for him.

  He couldn’t roam around the floors, crawling around to his heart’s content. Couldn’t explore things like regular kids could. He was either stuck in his crib, the car seat Mrs. Linden had given us, or his bouncer seat.

  Why?

  Because I couldn’t allow him on the carpet.

  I’d cleaned the place last night and my mother had already dumped ash onto it. There were bottles there, and I had no way of knowing if there was broken glass hidden within the fibers. Even in here, the carpet wasn’t safe from her unless I vacuumed before I let him go exploring.

  I picked him up, laughing when he gurgled at me in delight. Patting his bottom, I pressed a kiss to his hair and smiled. This kid was the only joyful part of my day, even if he was my biggest worry.

  If it wasn’t for him, I’d have gone, been out of this dive a long time ago. But almost like she’d known I was close to leaving, Mom had gotten pregnant and she’d needed me. Had promised she’d turn over a new leaf, and she kind of had. I hadn’t seen her drunk once during her pregnancy, she’d smoked though, but despite how often I’d c
omplained, she hadn’t quit. The second Scottie was born, she’d made up for the months of staying sober, and had been worse ever since.

  “I love you, baby bro,” I whispered into his hair. “I hope I’m doing right by you.” If I hadn’t experienced Child Welfare myself, I’d say I wasn’t, but I knew the creeps that existed in the foster system, and I didn’t want my innocent baby brother anywhere near it.

  Three months.

  That was all I had to wait.

  It wasn’t long.

  We could survive until then, right?

  I wrestled him onto his changing pad and quickly sorted him out. I didn’t have time to bathe him, which would have to wait until tonight, so I baby wiped him all over, changed him, and got him ready to take downstairs for the morning.

  With him tucked on my hip, a plastic carrier of fresh diapers and a couple of bottles of formula I grabbed from the fridge in my hand, and my school stuff on my back, I headed out the door without a backward glance at my mom.

  Rushing downstairs, because I didn’t trust the elevator in my building, I aimed for Mrs. Linden’s flat. She was nearly ninety, wasn’t as spry as she’d been just a year ago, but she was my best friend, and looked after Scottie until I got home from school—she was my godsend. I really didn’t know what I’d do without her.

  Knocking on her door, I pressed a kiss to Scottie’s head and started my farewell song, but when nobody answered, I started to worry.

  Another knock on the door heralded the neighbor across the hall to open hers. When she saw me, she winced. “Mrs. Linden was taken to the hospital last night,” she said without preamble.