“I really think you should talk to him,” Kenzo said, his pace falling into rhythm with mine as we wove our way through the chaos of students flooding out of the school.
“Talk to him about what, exactly?” I asked, my voice taut and clipped, tension weaving into my bones.
We usually had Introductory Psychology Mondays and Tuesdays. Today, I didn’t attend the class because, well, I was scared. What if it was today Mr. Donald would decide to point me out? Besides that, his presence alone, knowing he was a man who knew my secret, unsettled me. I didn’t want to see him. Not yet. I felt like I would break if I did.
And Kenzo felt I shouldn’t have to live like that. This was a school, a teacher shouldn’t be allowed to taunt and psychologically bully students.
But what would talking to him fix? He hadn’t directly mentioned my name.
Kenzo sidestepped a kid who almost barreled into him.
“He’s clearly making you uncomfortable. And I think that’s what he wants. To make you scared. You need to ask him why he’s trying to make you scared.”
I tightened my grip on the strap of my rucksack, his words making my chest heavier.
“Remember what he said about being here for the rest of Autumn? Yeah, that’s still more than a month. Imagine going through anxiety for that long?”
I took in a sharp breath before speaking.
“Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it because he knows something. Confronting him will cement whatever he thinks he knows if it was just a guess before.”
“There are ways to do these things.” He slung an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer. “You have be coded when you ask him.”
I arched my brow. “And by coded, you mean?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His hold on me seemed to suddenly tighten protectively, his gaze somewhere far away. And when I glanced up at him, I noticed his expression hardening.
“What is it?” I followed his line of sight.
“What’s he doing here?”
Alarm prickled down my spine. And when my eyes finally fell on the black SUV he was staring at, my stomach lurched.
It was parked in the teacher’s spot, windows tinted, the weight of unseen eyes pressing, assessing.
My heart pounded.
He was actually not kidding?
30
BETH
I was insane.
I missed Callan.
I missed his softness, his gentle words, and the way his cheeks would tint when I said something nice. The way he would look at me like I was the most interesting thing he had ever come across.
I didn’t want this man sitting next to me. I didn’t want to hear his cold detached voice. I didn’t want his firm callous hand that had touched me like I was his to claim.
“Can I go home instead?” I asked, my voice slithering through the tense air, breaking the silence that had been weighing between us.
He hadn’t uttered a word since I stepped into the car. He hadn’t stated the reason why he decided to be my chauffeur. He hadn’t made known the terms of my presence here right now.
His jaw had been locked instead, lips in a firm line as he scrolled through the iPad. Callan’s iPad.
He seemed angry, very irritated, but was holding it in. I wondered who made him angry. I just hoped it wasn’t me. I didn’t have the strength for his ridiculousness.
