Chapter 20
TAJ
—Home by Edith Whiskers
A good belly laugh is needed sometimes.
It’s cute that Professor Horák believes he has the upper hand.
I was born in this country. I remember the time when people were still unashamedly unaccepting of foreigners, especially those of us with darker skins.
I know exactly what kind of survival this place demands.
Horák has no idea what it takes to make it through that, no idea how kids like Kingsley and I learned early on that you don’t get very far by making yourself small, or hoping things will get better on their own.
So, no, we didn’t survive by cowering, but by learning other ways.
“You’re talking out of your arse, prof, and you know it.” I don’t bother keeping the irritation out of my voice as I move to stand beside Kingsley.
He glances at me briefly, his eyes gleaming with glee.
Hockey has softened him in some ways, I know.
It has given him somewhere to put all the energy that used to spill out in other directions.
But I’m glad he’s here right now. I’m not exactly menacing on my own.
I’m too skinny for that, and while I have the death stare on my side, it doesn’t carry the same weight as Kingsley’s six-four giant frame.
I run my hand along my jaw out of habit, smoothing down my non-existent stubble; it’s a grounding gesture.
I really have to give myself some credit for my self-control, because the moment I walked in here and saw Horák caging Mike against the wall, I wanted to rip his head off.
I’m not even a violent person, not really.
But Mike has been mine from the moment I saw him in that club, even if I didn’t know it then.
And the fact that he’s leaving Prague doesn’t change anything in my head. Distance is not a barrier, and I’m not accepting it as the end. Wherever he is—Abuja, London, anywhere—it doesn’t matter. I can move and follow him.
“If you have any evidence of whatever you saw, you wouldn’t be here blackmailing him or dishing out threats,” I say to Horák.
Anger flashes across his face. “I don’t need evidence,” he bites out. “Who do you think they’ll believe between m—”
Kingsley moves the knife just enough for the blade to press in. Horák lets out a brittle sound as blood appears on his neck. It’s not a deep cut, but it lets him know it can be . . . depending on how he behaves.
Before anyone else can speak, Mike’s voice cuts in from where he’s still standing near the wall. “I have a voice recording of you blackmailing me.”
God, it hurts seeing the panic on his face, like he’s trying to hold himself together and failing at it.
Something in me twists at the sight of it.
All I want is to kiss the fear away until it stops being so loud in his eyes.
My instincts are screaming for me to do it.
I walk to him; a shaky breath escapes him as he hands me his phone.
The recorder is still running. I mentally praise him for having the foresight to get it on tape. I stop the recorder and play the first few seconds, watching Horák’s face.
He visibly deflates as soon as he hears it, and it might be the knife still at his throat, or the recording, or both—but whatever it is, it drains the fight out of him.
“Do you want to make more threats?” I ask him.
He shakes his head quickly, his eyes flicking to Kingsley warningly. I’m not entirely sure if he follows hockey or not, but if he does, I imagine it’ll change for him forever.
“We can settle this amicably by you apologising, and me promising not to use this,” I hold up the phone. “Trust me,” I add. “A dean of the Faculty of Law blackmailing his subordinate is far more scandalous than a student and teacher having consensual sex.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, his voice unsteady and his body visibly trembling now.
“Kingsley.” I turn to him, lifting my chin to the dean, “Can you escort him to his car?”
Kingsley nods and removes the knife from Horák’s neck, and the dean wastes no time stepping back and wiping his throat as he’s ushered out, the door closing behind them.
Mike stares at me with wide eyes, making him look younger than I’ve ever seen him. “Is he going to kill him?”
A small laugh slips out of me, more relief than humour. “Not at all. Might teach him a lesson or two about touching what’s not his, though.”
Mike relaxes in front of me, the tension draining out of his shoulders. “I, uhm,” he starts, then scratches the back of his neck. “I was going to handle him.”
“Hey.” My voice comes out softer than I expected. I step closer to him. I don’t want any space between us right now. “We handled him, okay? That’s how we should do it because we’re a team.”
“W-we are?” he stutters.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I blurt out. Then I shake my head, because that’s not enough, not even close. “Take me with you,” I add, my hand finding his tie and curling into the fabric to anchor myself.
“Taj,” he breathes, and I already feel that familiar drop in my stomach. I brace for the rejection that’s coming.
But then he looks at me, and something in his face breaks open instead of shutting down. “Thank fuck,” he exhales, the words coming out rough. “There’s nothing I want more.”
Relief courses through me to the extent that it makes my knees weak.
And the words that have been stuck in my throat rise up before I can stop them.
I can’t hold them back any longer. I’ve been doing so this whole time, convincing myself he would leave and forget me, and that I’d just have to live with that.
But standing here with him now, that feels untrue, and I need to tell him how I feel.
“I love you, Muffin.” My voice cracks this time. “I’m in love with you.”
“I love you, too,” he says, and before I can even begin to process it, he’s lifting me into his arms. “I love you so fucking much.”
Our lips meet in a kiss that starts slow . . . and even though I’m aware of where we are, that we should probably lock the door and not push our luck, the thought leaves as quickly as it comes. Because what are the odds of us getting caught twice in one day? It seems statistically impossible.
So, I deepen the kiss instead, letting the fear, tension, and everything else fall away. And for the first time since all of this started, I let myself rest in it, in him, in the simple certainty that I have him, and he loves me.