Almost Rotten (Men of Evercrisp Orchard #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Tytus

Sawyer’s hand is stiff in mine, her whole form trembling as we face the dean.

I made my declaration.

I played my cards.

I staked my claim.

And despite the twist in my gut that says Sawyer is struggling, I regret nothing.

The dean was startled, then embarrassed, then contrite, creating a trifecta of discomfort that distracted him from asking additional questions about our union.

Sawyer didn’t oppose my statement, just like I knew she wouldn’t. Her lack of opposition transformed the dean into a blabbering, embarrassed husk of a human.

Even better?

He was amenable to my demands once I made my case. Our status as a married couple supersedes the handbook bullshit he wanted to throw at us. Honestly I think the guy is relieved. This means he doesn’t have to go to the title IX meeting this afternoon or talk to Coach about the incident.

His only request? That we try not to “fornicate” in public spaces moving forward. He said it good-naturedly. With a chuckle.

Fucking creep.

Until today, I had no opinion of him, good or bad. But now that he’s seen my girl bent over and being railed by her scumbag of a professor?

I shudder, shoving down the darkness trying to seep in. The dean isn’t my target. He’s a bystander.

All my ire is saved for one man and one man only.

The professor who had the audacity to touch her. The man who will never touch her again.

I shift my weight, the fatigue of the two days catching up to me now that my work is done. I want to leave this office. I want to be done with this whole stupid interaction.

But I still have to ensure that the grainy video on his screen is never viewed by another soul.

With one hand still wrapped around Sawyer’s, I grip the desk with the other and angle forward. “Who exactly has seen this footage?”

The dean has the decency to go red in the face. “No one. No one else, I assure you. It would be a gross violation of policy and privacy if—”

“No one? Really? Then how did you receive it? Someone forwarded the video to you, correct?” I challenge. “You just lied to my face, Dean Stalworth. Tell me the truth.”

Sawyer scoffs beside me.

“Think carefully about how you respond,” I continue. “Who else has seen this, and how can we ensure that this footage of my wife hasn’t been distributed to others?”

Stalworth reddens even more.

“I-I can assure you, Mr. Tremblay,” he stammers, “this video was intercepted from an unknown sender by the university’s information services department before it reached its intended destination.

We use AI to scan for and flag potential inappropriate content on the servers.

” He stands a little straighter, making his paunch more prevalent.

“That system identified the video as potentially pornographic, which blocked its delivery and required review by a senior-level member of the information services team.”

Sawyer squeezes my hand, though there’s no affection in the gesture.

The move is a question. One I can’t and won’t answer.

After a handful of silent, tense seconds, when she’s realized I won’t divulge what she’s desperate to know, she zeroes in on the dean.

“And who was the intended recipient of the video?” Her voice is meek, her bottom lip trembling as she holds in the emotion boiling beneath the surface.

Like the man behind the desk, her cheeks are bright red. The color extends down her chest, a waterfall of crimson from her neck to her sternum. How low does it go? All that pretty pink. I bet it’s warm to the touch.

When the dean clears his throat, I snap out of my reverie and meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Dav—Mrs. Tremblay,” he says, correcting himself.

Good man.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Surely he knows, but I appreciate his discretion. He can’t trace the sender, but acknowledging that Professor Mercer Eden was the intended recipient would only confirm what I’m afraid Sawyer already suspects.

I did it.

I’m responsible for all of this.

I’m making a big-ass mess, and I’m not fucking sorry.

“Delete it,” I tell him. “Right now. Off your computer. Remove it from the cloud. I want all traces of this permanently erased before we walk out of this office.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Tremblay…”

“Dammit,” I snarl. I’m getting pretty fucking tired of his assurances.

“If that was your wife, Dean Stalworth, would you be satisfied taking another man’s word?”

Sawyer reacts to my tone with a high-pitched hiccup and another squeeze of my hand.

Get used to it, baby.

I’m not going to compromise when it comes to her. From this moment forward, I won’t let anyone even glance at what is rightfully mine without taking immediate action.

I’ve stalled out before. I’ve waited. I’ve hedged my bets and obsessed over the right timing too many times. That ends today. That ends right fucking now.

With a step forward, I look the dean directly in his pathetic eyes.

“You can’t possibly intend to write up a report that would require you to keep this video as evidence, can you?

” I arch a brow. “What would it even say? You called in two students and falsely accused them of having inappropriate relations, only to find out they’re married?

” A sardonic huff escapes me. “There would be questions. Like how long you had access to the video. How you identified the subjects. And how many times you watched it. Once. Twice. Three times?”

He blanches. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

I hold up one hand, cutting him off. “I want to believe you. But if you’re not willing to remove all evidence of the footage—”

“Fine.”

Sawyer startles and yanks her hand out of my grip. I let her go. For now.

“Fine,” he repeats, calmer, muttering as he takes a seat behind his desk and moves his cursor across the screen.

He navigates through his emails, checking to make sure I’m watching as he deletes two messages then moves to the cloud and deletes files there as well.

He freezes as the files hover over the garbage icon on the screen. Then, with watery eyes, he scans my face. “We couldn’t trace the source, so please understand that any impending distribution is out of my hands. By deleting this, there will be no evidence or option to follow up if—”

“Delete it,” I demand.

He swallows, the wrinkled skin of his throat quivering, and nods. Once he’s clicked on the trash can icon, he navigates to the option of clearing it permanently.

When that’s finished, I press both hands into the desk and lean forward until the wood creaks under my weight. “Do you need anything else from us, or are we free to go?”

Trepidation and a hint of fear war behind his beady eyes, but he lets out a sigh and says, “No. That will be all.”

The slight derision in his tone rubs me the wrong way. So does his resistance and reaction. It makes me wonder if maybe he did watch the video. It makes me not want to walk out of here so fast after all.

“No apology, Dean?” I goad.

“Tytus,” Sawyer hisses under her breath.

I snag her hand once more, this time interlacing our fingers.

He saw what’s mine.

He knows what sorts of sounds she makes.

No one should know those details but me.

He stands again, but even at full height with his shoulders pulled back, he looks smaller than ever.

“I apologize that your week has started in such a disruptive way, and I’m sorry for the gross intrusion of privacy that has occurred.

My sincere hope is that neither of you will ever be required to visit this office again. ”

You and me, both, buddy.

“Appreciate it.” I rap my knuckles on his desk, then turn my back on him and walk away.

At the door, I usher Sawyer through first.

At the threshold, she pauses, hitting me with a withering, vengeful look. She remains that way, challenging me, until I cock a brow and extend one arm.

“After you, wife.”