Chapter 6 - Isaac
This is exactly the kind of situation I had hoped to avoid.
As I follow Jackson and Pierce down the long hallway to my office, my stomach knots tighter with every step. I dread the decision I’m about to have to make.
I may not have seen who started that fight, but I’d be willing to bet an entire year of my salary that Pierce owns the title of instigator. Especially after that comment about Dylan that I overheard.
I have to admit that’s part of the reason I was already so pissed off when I entered the study hall. And when I saw Jackson’s split lip, I was in a rage.
Of fucking course this would happen minutes after Richard’s visit, the memory of his threat still crawling under my skin. He’s the only reason I was granted tenure. If it were up to the rest of the committee, I wouldn’t have been. He won’t have my back if I fuck up again.
I have a feeling that, in his eyes, punishing his son would be fucking up.
But the timing feels…wrong. Deliberate.
After what he said about Jackson, about being careful, this feels too pointed to be coincidence. Everything feels like a test or a trap, like ever since Jackson walked into my classroom, I’ve been living my life in a constant state of paranoia.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
I should’ve kept fucking walking.
When we reach my office, Jackson and Pierce stand on either side of the door, glaring across it at each other as I step forward and unlock it.
Pushing the door open, I motion for them to go inside.
I follow them in and shut the door before moving around my desk to stand behind it.
I set my bag down, take a breath, and then look up.
“Which one of you would like to explain what that was all about?”
Pierce is the one to speak first. “He started it, Professor.”
“Fuck you, liar.”
“Watch the language, Mr. Ellis.” I keep my voice calm but stern. “You’re not exactly winning yourself any points here.”
Jackson’s eyes snap to mine. First, they’re filled with disbelief, as though he’s surprised I wouldn’t take his side. Then, they’re swimming with hurt. He lowers his gaze to the floor, his shoulders tense. The guilt that rises in me is swift and bitter.
Unfortunately, I have to think about my career. My name is already mud around here, so what if someone wants to accuse me of favoritism toward a colleague’s son? It’s not like my reputation can get any worse.
My career, however, could be at risk with one slip.
I know that, if my suspicions about Jackson are at all warranted, then reporting him could also come with risks. However, I’m pretty confident I’d rather face those consequences instead.
The lesser of two evils.
“I was just there to talk to him,” Pierce says.
Or, probably more accurately, lies. His tone feigns sincerity, a fabricated concern, despite the bruise already blooming under his left eye.
“I know he’s been having a rough week, and I’ve been really worried about him.
Then he just lashed out. I think the pressure finally got to him.
I wouldn’t say it’s his fault, but I didn’t mean for it to turn into a fight. ”
I nod as though I believe him.
I don’t.
When I look back at Jackson, his eyes are still down. He’s shaking his head like he wants to argue but he’s already given up. It just makes me feel like an even bigger piece of shit for what I’m about to do.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant. You’re free to go.”
The little bastard fucking grins before catching himself and schooling his expression. “Have a good evening, Professor.”
He glances over at Jackson as he turns to leave, the look in his eyes nothing short of victorious. Jackson still doesn’t look up, but his clenched jaw gives him away.
The door shuts, and the silence between us thickens.
I let it stretch on for nearly half a minute, thinking about all the things I wish I could say to him.
That I know Pierce is a lying sack of shit.
That I know how difficult it is to be a queer person in this town.
That I know how it feels to be outed. That if he needs someone to talk to, I’m here for him.
Even if I could say any of that, I can’t let go of my suspicions so easily.
“Do you have anything you’d like to add, Mr. Ellis?”
He shakes his head again, still not looking up. The tension continues rolling off him in waves, sharp enough to cut through the air.
“No, sir.”
Good. That at least makes this a little easier.
Because right now, everything in me wants to ask the questions I shouldn’t.
Who sent you?
What do you really want from me?
Instead, I do the only thing that will keep me safe.
“Very well. May I see your student ID?”
Without a word, he pulls a wallet out of his back pocket, takes out his ID, and steps forward to hand it to me.
Retrieving my phone out of my bag, I open my email app and type up a short message to the head of the disciplinary committee, including Jackson’s name, his student ID, and a brief explanation of the incident.
My finger hovers above the send button.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be reporting them both or neither at all.
What the hell is Jackson going to think of me now?
Probably the truth. That I’m a selfish asshole.
Finally, I force myself to send the email before handing his ID back and dropping my phone on top of my bag.
“Is that all?” he asks, his voice tight.
I stare at him a few moments longer while he still refuses to make eye contact with me, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. I hate the thought of just sending him on his way after making his bad week even worse.
“I understand you’ve had a rough few days, Jackson, but…”
My words fade the moment he finally looks up, his jaw set and his nostrils flared. His gaze is hard, anger and betrayal swirling around in their green depths, stopping me cold.
“With all due respect,” he starts, not sounding like he means that one bit, “you don’t understand shit. You’re just like the rest of them.”
With that, he leaves my office, and all I can do is watch him go. When the door clicks shut behind him, the sound echoes around the empty room. I don’t move, staring at the spot where he was.
You’re just like the rest of them.
His claim hits harder than I want to admit. Harder than it should.
Because he’s right. At least partly.
I tell myself I’m different, that I’m better. That I see what happens around here for what it really is. But when it came down to it, I didn’t protect him. I protected myself.
I sink into my chair and drag a hand through my short beard, feeling the weight of what I’ve done settle on my shoulders. Maybe I thought I could stay neutral, keep my hands clean. However, that’s the kind of lie you tell yourself when you don’t want to face the truth.
The truth is, silence isn’t neutral.
It’s permission.
And I just gave Pierce Grant exactly that.
Outside my office, the hallway hums quietly with the muffled rhythm of students heading home, their laughter bleeding faintly through the walls, a reminder that life keeps moving, even when you’ve just made a choice you can’t undo.
I glance down at my phone, feeling as though it’s staring accusingly back at me, reminding me of the email. The one I can’t take back.
Maybe Jackson’s wrong about me. Maybe he’s not.
Either way, perhaps this is exactly what needed to happen.
I can’t shake this uneasy weight in my gut—the thought that maybe Jackson’s anger isn’t just about the fight. That maybe it’s about something bigger, something I haven’t quite seen yet.
I don’t know if I can trust him.
I definitely can’t trust myself.
This wedge I’ve just forced between us might be the painful solution I needed to keep me away from him.
I’ll paint myself as one of the bad guys if it protects us both in the long run.