Chapter 5
Chapter five
Mercer
“Aword, Ms. Davvies.”
I let out a small exhale of relief, thankful my voice didn’t crack as I called out over the flurry of students gathering up their belongings and walking out the door.
She lifts her head for the first time in an hour, startled, as swollen eyes framed by sooty lashes clash with mine.
Since the moment she walked through the doors of the lecture hall, my skin has crawled with the urge to soothe her.
Something’s very clearly wrong, and I’ll be damned if I let another minute pass without knowing the source of her ire.
She rises out of her seat, and the Tremblay kid stands, too.
He walked in with her tucked into his side.
My sensibilities forced me to give them the benefit of the doubt.
She’s upset—he’s her friend. I thought perhaps he was trying to comfort her. But then he leaned closer. Sneered my way. Pulled her chair toward his until it scraped and dragged the attention of the entire class to the pair of them.
He wasn’t attempting to comfort her. He was preening in a clear display of possession.
The alarm bells sounded immediately, and they haven’t quieted since.
She looked absolutely distraught when she walked through the doors, and her condition hasn’t improved with time.
Despite the discomfort wafting off her, Tytus Tremblay doesn’t appear to have a care in the world.
If anything, there is more swagger to his step than normal.
Then there’s the look he gave me when I told Sawyer that we would talk after class.
His smug expression was filled with triumph.
As if he’d won.
As if he’d bested me.
That has to be my insecurities talking. Yesterday, I woke up with Sawyer in my arms. I texted with her all day. I spoke to her briefly this morning and nothing seemed out of sorts, other than her apprehension about her unexpected meeting with the dean.
Sawyer bends her knees and reaches for her bag. But before she can scoop it up, Tytus snags it off the floor and slings it over his arm.
Then he angles in close, practically looming over her, and whispers in her ear.
In response, her cheeks heat, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Rather than reply to him, she puts one foot in front of the other and slowly makes her way toward me. As she approaches, I try to look busy gathering up papers and sorting them into a pile on my desk.
When she’s halfway across the open space, the boy begins to follow.
By the time she reaches the podium, where I’m standing like a statue, he’s caught up to her.
Once again, his arm finds a home around her shoulders.
She stiffens the second he touches her, yet when he laces his fingers with hers, she doesn’t resist.
The green monster inside me spirals into a sandstorm of fury.
Tytus, clearly catching on to my inner turmoil, cocks his head to the side and smirks.
Sawyer presses her lips into a hard line but makes no moves to brush him off.
Her voice is small and shaky when she says, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”
Her formality throws me. Is she putting on a show for this boy?
I search her face, trying to get a read on her.
I’m far more anxious than I’d like to be right now, but I trust her, so I follow her lead.
Casually, I say, “I wanted to touch base about that meeting you mentioned with the dean.”
A spark of awareness flares behind Tytus’s eyes, though he quickly schools his expression.
Sawyer’s mouth drops open, then snaps shut just as quickly. She darts a look up at Tytus, who still has her wrapped up in his hold.
“It…” she stammers, then gives her head a little shake. “It was fine. Nothing related to my coursework,” she assures me.
Assured, I am not.
With another tilt of his mouth, Tytus sneers. “It was more of a personal matter, Professor.”
My blood boils. Does this fucker already know details? Why the hell would she call him first?
“Why don’t you come up to my office, Ms. Davvies? We have catching up to do since you had to miss our morning check-in.”
The pair before me exchange a heated look.
I cross my arms, annoyance coursing through me.
I’ve had enough of Tytus Tremblay’s antics for one day.
I’m about to tell him as much when Sawyer takes a step to the side, freeing herself, and holds out her hand.
“I need my bag,” she demands.
His eyebrows shoot into his hairline in what appears to be a challenge. He makes no moves to hand over her satchel.
My annoyance roils into genuine anger. What the fuck does this boy think he’s playing at?
“This is part of my job, Ty,” she reminds him.
Slowly, he grips the strap of her school bag and lifts it from his shoulder.
Instead of handing it over, he shuffles closer and places it on her body, his touch lingering on her collarbone in a way that kicks up all sorts of jealous anxiety in my gut.
Instead of straightening right away, he brings his mouth directly to her ear and speaks.
I can’t hear his words, but I catalog every detail of Sawyer’s reaction.
The way the apples of her cheeks turn pink.
How she sucks in a sharp breath and then clamps her mouth shut, as if fighting the urge to sass back.
Before he pulls away, he tugs on a strand of hair.
The urge to smack a student has never been stronger.
When he glances my way, he offers a casual chin tip.
“I’ve got to get over to the ice rink and check in with Coach. Let him know that I missed morning skate because of that meeting with the dean.”
Jesus H.
As if he needed to make it any clearer that he has more information than I do.
With a peck to Sawyer’s cheek, he strides out of the room.
I inhale deeply, gearing up to demand answers.
What the fuck was that?
What is going on?
Why is he touching her like that?
What happened in that fucking meeting this morning?
Before I can utter a word, Sawyer’s eyes fill with tears, and my instincts do a one-eighty.
The desperation to comfort takes over, the need to protect her and bring her peace tempering the rage brewing in my gut.
She holds up both hands, clearly reading my intentions, and whispers, “Wait. Please. Let’s get to your office first.”
I loathe the idea of waiting another second to comfort her, but I refrain from pulling her into my arms, per her request.
As I collect my things, an ache settles in my chest. When I’ve loaded it all into my bag, I circle the podium and hold out one arm, encouraging her to go first.
What I want to do is wrap her in a hug.
What I ache to do is hold her, cup the back of her head, soothe all her worries, and give her my undivided attention.
Instead, I simply usher her forward and say, “As you wish, Ms. Davvies.”