Chapter 18 Tytus
Chapter eighteen
Tytus
Nineteen days after the incident, the doctors and trainers have finally released me to attend class and limited practices. The way everyone keeps emphasizing over and over again that I need to rest has required an extreme amount of patience.
I fucking get it.
I fucking feel it.
I dutifully served the two full weeks of bed rest, and I’m following all lift restrictions and avoiding the stairs as much as possible.
I’m only not in pain if I’m lying on my right side with my legs tucked up, and only after I’ve taken the prescription pain pills Atty keeps feeding me.
Even sitting up for more than a few minutes tugs at the healing incisions and strains my intercostal muscles in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
Everyone around me needs to chill the fuck out. I feel too damn shitty to even consider pushing myself.
Now that I’m returning to practice, Coach insisted I skip morning skates to get more sleep, but I’ll attend each afternoon, unless I’m not feeling up for it.
Despite the lingering pain, I’m determined to get back to class.
If nothing else so I can see Sawyer.
Atty swears she’s fine. He had dinner with her twice last week. Without me. And he assures me they text daily.
But his version of “fine” isn’t good enough for me.
This morning, I finally broke down and texted her. Thought I’d give her a heads-up that I’d be in class today and figured she may want to mention my intentions to the professor, too.
But she hasn’t answered.
It’s taking every ounce of willpower in me, but I didn’t call or swing by her dorm on my way to class.
I push open the door to the lecture hall, that move alone pulling at my injuries and making me grimace.
I scan the space, muscles tensing. I showed up earlier than usual, not wanting to have a full audience when I came through these doors for the first time since the incident.
The room is already half full, so I wouldn’t say I succeeded.
Showing up early also helps ensure I snag my usual seat, right next to Sawyer. Just in case anyone else has tried to take my place since I’ve been gone.
Avoiding the stray stares and hushed whispers, I amble toward the front row.
Every muscle hurts as I lower myself into the rigid chair. It’s going to be a long fucking hour having to sit up straight like this. No way will I make it through class and afternoon skate.
I pull out my phone to email Coach, and as I’m typing, my head lowered, the lecture hall doors open and the room grows quiet.
Holding my breath, I keep my head down and peer in that direction.
When the broody man with dark hair comes into view, my spine snaps straight. My entire body tenses, my gut clenching, my anxiety on high alert. It takes effort to breathe. Just the sight of him has my survival instincts screaming.
I try not to react outwardly. I don’t want to draw extra attention to myself. I refuse to cause any more problems for her. Inwardly, I’m still reeling as Mercer Eden stalks into the room, hair falling in his eyes and a scowl plastered on his face.
At the front, he unburdens himself of his bag, then takes out a stack of papers and glowers as if they’ve personally offended him, his every move made with precision.
He hasn’t noticed me yet.
He’s about halfway to the first row when the energy shifts.
To his credit, he barely reacts. Just the slightest flinch—one I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t studying him like a wounded animal cowering to a predator.
My gut screams at me to run. To flee. Or at the very least to divert his attention.
Against my better judgment, I force myself to look up.
He strides closer.
As he barrels for me, my stomach riots, the breakfast burrito I forced myself to choke down so I could take my meds this morning threatening to make a reappearance.
But I maintain eye contact. I don’t move. I won’t show weakness.
It’s bad enough that I’m sitting. Once he’s close, he’ll loom over me.
When he’s about a meter away, Eden subtly lifts both hands, holding them up as if to say he means no harm. Or in this case, he means no more harm.
With raised eyebrows, he stops—asking for my consent to approach, I realize.
Anxiety and anger swell inside me, the urge to jump to my feet and get the fuck out of here clawing up my throat.
Swallowing it back, I nod, then I blow out a breath and sit back, trying to look unbothered.
He takes three more steps toward me, and when he’s close enough, he holds out the first paper on the stack.
I reach for it, not taking my eyes off him the entire time.
When I grip the edge of the paper, he doesn’t let go.
“Just tell me she’s okay,” he begs, the words desperate, low, and only meant for me.
My gut bottoms out.
He hasn’t talked to her?
“She won’t take my calls,” he says. “She hasn’t responded to a single email I’ve sent.”
Instinctively, I glance over to her desk.
Head lowered, he shakes it, suddenly looking smaller. “She hasn’t been back since that night. I haven’t even laid eyes on her. I know—”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then, he pulls the paper that’s been suspended between us out of my hand and places it on my desk. With a pained look at the doors, he rakes one hand through his hair.
“I know it seems futile,” he says, zeroed in on me. “I’ve given up hoping for any version of reality where she forgives me. I just want to know how she’s doing.”
The desperate edge to his words is too familiar. The raw hopelessness of his plea has me honestly feeling bad for the guy.
Fuckin’ A, mon ange. You’ve got us all past the point of ruin.
Three weeks ago, I would have used this show of emotion against him. I would have taunted him about being cut off from the woman we’re both clearly obsessed with.
But I can’t even bring myself to feel smug about his desperation.
If Sawyer hasn’t made any efforts to contact Noah, Mercer, or me, that means we’ve all lost.
It also means my girl’s shouldering the fallout alone.
I survey the empty desk again. She really hasn’t been here for over two weeks? Shit. This isn’t just a class to her. It’s her livelihood: the assistantship that allows her to be here at Holt University with Atty and me.
It’s why my threats to share their sex tape were so effective. While no one would want to lose their job, Sawyer needs hers. Losing it could affect her student visa and enrollment at the school.
Just a few weeks ago she’d give anything to stay here. With him.
And now…
I try to blow out a slow, centering breath, but when the tugging, burning sensation on my left side flares, I wince.
Weighing my options, I crack my neck from side to side. I don’t know what compels me to be honest. For some reason, after all the shit that’s gone down, it feels like the only option that will serve both of us.
With a shake of my head, I whisper the truth. “I haven’t seen her or talked to her since that night at the hospital.”
He balks, his head rearing back and surprise knitting his brows together. The look is only there an instant before he schools his expression and he once again looks like the pompous professor we all know.
So the orchard owner must not have given him the update. Or maybe they didn’t believe me.
“She’s okay,” I offer with a shrug that sends white-hot pain down my side.
Fuck. The smallest movements make my body scream in agony.
“Her brother’s seen her, gone out to dinner with her a few times.”
I don’t know why I’m offering him reassurance. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop myself.
“Atty says she’s fine. But his version of fine is different from mine…
” I shift forward in my seat and grit my teeth.
I fucking hate that she’s icing us all out.
But more importantly, I hate that she’s alone.
“He would tell me if something was really wrong,” I say, the solace intended as much for myself as for the man standing before me.
Eden stares at me for a breath, surprise painted across his face.
That’s probably the most I’ve ever spoken to him without using threats.
Yeah, buddy. I’m just as shocked as you.
His watch beeps, and he shudders, as if jolting awake from a bad dream. “I need to start class.”
He reaches out, like he’s going to adjust the paper he placed on my desk, then quickly pulls back like he’s been burned.
When he doesn’t walk away, when he only continues to assess me, my anxiety spikes again.
“There are many things I wish to say to you. I will not embarrass either of us by doing that here. In fact, I vow to cause no harm to you ever again…”
Dread washes over me. Fuck. I clench my teeth together, fighting the sensation. I can talk to him about Sawyer all day, apparently, but as soon as he acknowledges the bigger issues between us, the darkness creeps in.
I won’t lose it.
I won’t even slip a little bit.
It’s been almost three weeks since I’ve given in and let myself slide into the dark place. It’s taken everything to keep my shit together—especially without the ice as an outlet.
But I swore all this wouldn’t be in vain.
I’m changing. I’m fucking trying.
If there’s even a chance, the slightest possibility she comes back, I’ll be different. Better. I want to promise I can be good for her and actually keep that promise.
“Just—just keep me in mind. If you do see her or hear from her,” he says. With a rap of his knuckles on my desk, he turns and walks to the podium to begin class.