Chapter 2
Chapter two
Sawyer
Every organ in my body is seized up and quivering. I’m numb on a cellular level.
What the actual fuck was all that?
I shuffle one foot in front of the other, dazed and completely alarmed by what just went down.
A different emotion flares with each jilted step away from the dean’s office.
I want to cry.
Scream.
Run away or punch something.
Above all else, I want to get downstairs and fill Mercer in. I want to tell him everything and assure him it’s okay. And maybe be reassured myself.
I want him to hold me.
I want him to guide me out of the anxiety spiral that coils tighter in my chest with each passing second.
Tytus saved our asses back there.
I’m damn lucky that my childhood friend looks so similar to my much-older lover.
I’m also mortified…
If it weren’t for Ty’s quick thinking and morally questionable intimidation tactics, this morning could have gone in a drastically different direction.
I was nearly fired.
I was almost expelled.
After that interaction, I can’t imagine the dean will bring the situation up again. And I doubt he has any idea that the man in the footage, the one fucking me from behind in the locker room, is a professor under his purview.
Good grief.
What a fucking way to start the day.
An inkling of ire nudges at my consciousness.
Even now that the shock is dissipating, I don’t fully understand what happened.
Someone recorded Mercer and me on Saturday night.
Even after I cleared the facility.
Then tried to share the footage.
To what end? For blackmail?
Who the hell filmed me without my consent? And more importantly, who was the intended recipient of the original email?
The dean’s warning about distribution has stuck with me. What if other people have already seen the footage? What if it’s already been circulated or shared?
Panic claws at my chest and warmth radiates up my neck.
I’m overheated and agitated. Too fucking raw to go any farther.
I need a second to get my head on straight.
With a hand splayed over my chest, I stop in my tracks.
Ty nearly runs into me, catching my hips to steady himself, then holding on longer than necessary.
For the first time in a very long time, I don’t want his hands on me.
He saved my ass, and I appreciate him supporting me, but the touch I crave right now belongs to another man.
For maybe the first time, having Ty’s hands on me doesn’t calm me or satisfy me.
Tears accumulate in my eyes quickly and spill over. It’s too much. I swipe one away, only then realizing that one hand is no longer free.
Tytus has captured it again.
Clearing my throat, I tug gently.
Rather than let go, he holds on tighter.
Then he pulls.
Before I know it, he’s dragging me down the hall in the opposite direction of where I was headed.
My brain buffers as my feet carry me forward, my movements jerky, staggering.
No. Wait.
I don’t want to go with Ty right now.
I want to go to Mercer. I need to fill him in.
“We’re good now,” I placate, trying to extricate myself.
He doesn’t respond.
We take a right.
I look back over my shoulder. “Tytus. It’s okay. The dean’s not following us.”
What is his deal?
The danger has passed. There’s no need for this kind of escape.
Ty only tightens his grip on me, forcing my knuckles to grind together.
He’s holding me too tightly.
He’s holding me, and he’s not letting go.
His posture is stiff, his stride rigid. His silence is a blatant sign that he’s slipping. His energy is dark and seething.
Shit.
Forget slipping. He’s already slipped, and he’s trying to mask that he’s gone to the dark place.
“Hey.” I keep my tone soft as I jog two steps so we’re side by side.
Rather than acknowledge me, he widens his gait, forcing me to take even faster steps.
“Tytus,” I try again, pulling on his arm.
Again, no response, as if he doesn’t feel it. As if he’s not fully present.
“Ty, let go,” I demand.
In response, he takes a sharp turn, ducks into an alcove of vending machines, and pulls me in behind him.
In a swift, graceful movement, he swaps our positions. He pushes me into a corner and moves in close, his face inches from mine.
“You want me to let go, petit diable?” he seethes.
Petit diable.
Little devil.
He’s never called me that before.
His eyes bore into mine, his brows knitted and his chest heaving.
“No. Fucking. Chance.”
He cracks his neck, tipping his head one way, then the other. “Let go,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain.
Eyes narrowed, he looks over his shoulder. Then he whips his head back and takes a step closer, his chest pressing into my front.
“What happened this weekend?” he grits out.
“What I had to see? You just ensured I’m never letting you go again.
Do you really think what happened up there in that office was just for show?
” His eyes are so dark the irises practically blend in with his pupils.
“You think all that talk about marriage and us being together was just for the dean?”
Black dots swim in my vision. Only now do I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I exhale loudly, the tightness in my chest loosening.
“I won’t let you go,” he declares. “I’m not letting you out of my fucking sight. We’re going to walk through the doors of that classroom just like this.” He holds up our joined hands.
I slow-blink, confused.
“Ty,” I try, reaching up to cup his cheek.
This isn’t my best friend. While I recognize the anger and the darkness, he’s never once aimed any of his ire at me.
He turns his head, avoiding the gesture, but doesn’t drop my hand.
I tug, which only makes him tighten his hold further. “Ty, if you squeeze my hand any tighter, you’re going to hurt me.”
His lips curl in a wicked smile, but his grip does loosen.
“Then I guess we’re even, petit diable, because when you let that man fuck you in my jersey, right in front of my goddamn locker, you hurt me more than you could possibly know.”
I’m shell-shocked and speechless as I process the implications of that statement. My chest constricts, nausea swirling in my gut and burning up my esophagus.
One piece clicks into place, then another.
With a hand over my mouth, I choke back a cry. I think I’m going to be sick.
The footage of Mercer railing into me from behind, with Ty’s jersey number clearly on display.
The grainy footage shot from somewhere nearby, as if the person filming was watching from around the corner.
I gasp as realization settles in my bones. The answer clicks into place, but I still have to hear him say it. “How did the dean get that footage, Tytus?”
He bares his teeth. “How do you think he got the footage of you in front of my locker getting fucked by your professor while wearing my jersey, Sawyer?”
I slam my eyes shut and force myself to breathe.
This is my worst fucking nightmare.
Tytus took that video.
Tytus caused this entire situation.
I never would have wanted him to see that.
My stomach twists painfully.
Tytus doesn’t know that Mercer and I are together. Or he didn’t. I’d never want him to find out in such a harsh way.
And yet… I’m still missing a few pieces.
I swipe another errant tear from my cheek. “The dean said the footage was intercepted.”
“It was. An unexpected hiccup, but ultimately, it worked in our favor.”
The brutal smile on his face grows.
“I can see your wheels turning, petit diable. This is the part you haven’t worked out yet. The dean thought the footage was of you and me. Imagine what would happen if he knew it was actually you and the professor.”
Bile rises in my throat, but I choke it back quickly. It burns and it stings, incinerating me from the inside out. But the pain is nothing in comparison to the agony that hits me as Ty’s confession sinks in.
He did this.
On purpose.
Now he’s threatening Mercer. And for what? To prove something? To hurt him? To hurt me? Maybe he doesn’t realize we’re together. Maybe he thought he was witnessing a one-off or an interaction much more casual than it was.
Ty bows his head, his nose nudging mine. “I know what you’ve been doing, Sawyer. Or should I say who you’ve been doing. It ends now.”
All the stress and adrenaline plaguing me for the last hour curdle low in my belly.
Though the sick sensation quickly flares into fury.
Because this isn’t a misunderstanding.
This isn’t a strange string of coincidences.
It’s not a mistake, and it’s not an accident.
This is a series of malicious choices and actions directly targeted at me.
“Get fucked, Ty.” Pushing up on tiptoes, I get right back in his face.
He still hasn’t let go of my one hand, but I shove hard against his pec with the other.
“You filmed with me without my consent, and what? Thought you could use it to blackmail Mercer? What did he do to you?”
He scoffs. “To me? It’s what he did to you.” Finally, his control slips a fraction, his eyes wild and his chest heaving. “He humiliated you the first day in class. He’s been monopolizing all your time. He fucked you in my jersey.”
Rage boils my blood, my inside hot and unstable.
“I asked him to fuck me in your jersey,” I snap.
Ty’s face goes blank, his cold mask snapping into place once more.
It’s a reaction I’ve witnessed hundreds of times. He’s shutting down, protecting himself from pain.
It’s a move I know all too well. This is how he gets his head before he goes out on the ice. It’s how he copes. He locks down all the anger and rage that swirl inside him after all he survived, after all he endured.
He locks it all down, but it doesn’t go away.
It simmers. It festers. Eventually, it’ll boil over. But for now, he’s done.
His nostrils flare, but he takes a steadying breath.
“It’s over,” he declares, the words icy. “It ends now. We’re walking into that classroom together, just like this.”
He holds up our joined hands again.
“That asshat of a dean isn’t the only one susceptible to blackmail. You’ll play along if you want Eden to keep his job.”