I’m so riled up and enraged that Pierce is the reason I just might get fucking expelled that I don’t even bother grabbing my bag and my book before marching straight past Professor Kendall.
As I do, I briefly catch the look of disappointment on his face. Not anger, not disgust. Just that cold, quietdisappointmentthat hits harder than a punch.
It hurts worse than the busted lip.
This is exactly the kindof situation I had hoped to avoid.
As I follow Jackson and Pierce down the long hallway to my office, my stomach knots tighter with every step. I dread the decision I’m about to have to make.
I may not have seen who started that fight, but I’d be willing to bet an entire year of my salary that Pierce owns the title of instigator. Especially after that comment about Dylan that I overheard.
I have to admit that’s part of the reason I was already so pissed off when I entered the study hall. And when I saw Jackson’s split lip, I was in a rage.
Of fucking coursethis would happen minutes after Richard’s visit, the memory of his threat still crawling under my skin. He’s the only reason I was granted tenure. If it were up to the rest of the committee, I wouldn’t have been. He won’t have my back if I fuck up again.
I have a feeling that, in his eyes, punishing his son would be fucking up.
But the timing feels…wrong. Deliberate.
After what he said about Jackson, aboutbeing careful, this feels too pointed to be coincidence. Everything feels like a testor a trap, like ever since Jackson walked into my classroom, I’ve been living my life in a constant state of paranoia.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I should’ve kept fucking walking.
When we reach my office, Jackson and Pierce stand on either side of the door, glaring across it at each other as I step forward and unlock it. Pushing the door open, I motion for them to go inside. I follow them in and shut the door before moving around my desk to stand behind it. I set my bag down, take a breath, and then look up.
“Which one of you would like to explain what that was all about?”
Pierce is the one to speak first. “He started it, Professor.”
“Fuck you, liar.”
“Watch the language, Mr. Ellis.” I keep my voice calm but stern. “You’re not exactly winning yourself any points here.”
Jackson’s eyes snap to mine. First, they’re filled with disbelief, as though he’s surprised I wouldn’t take his side. Then, they’re swimming with hurt. He lowers his gaze to the floor, his shoulders tense. The guilt that rises in me is swift and bitter.
Unfortunately, I have to think about my career. My name is already mud around here, so what if someone wants to accuse me of favoritism toward a colleague’s son? It’s not like my reputation can get any worse.
My career, however, could be at risk with one slip.
I know that, if my suspicions about Jackson are at all warranted, then reporting him could also come with risks. However, I’m pretty confident I’d rather face those consequences instead.
The lesser of two evils.
“I was just there to talk to him,” Pierce says. Or, probably more accurately,lies. His tone feigns sincerity, a fabricated concern, despite the bruise already blooming under his left eye.“I know he’s been having a rough week, and I’ve been really worried about him. Then he just lashed out. I think the pressure finally got to him. I wouldn’t say it’s his fault, but I didn’t mean for it to turn into a fight.”
I nod as though I believe him.
I don’t.
When I look back at Jackson, his eyes are still down. He’s shaking his head like he wants to argue but he’s already given up. It just makes me feel like an even bigger piece of shit for what I’m about to do.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant. You’re free to go.”
The little bastard fucking grins before catching himself and schooling his expression. “Have a good evening, Professor.”
He glances over at Jackson as he turns to leave, the look in his eyes nothing short of victorious. Jackson still doesn’t look up, but his clenched jaw gives him away.
