Chapter 31
SUMMER
I enter Asher’s apartment without knocking late in the evening when I know he won’t be in his office. “Hey!” I call out as I strip off my jacket. “How do you feel about Chinese food?”
Asher is standing in the living room with his hands in his pockets. “Summer,” he says in a low voice.
I toss my jacket over the arm of the couch before wrapping my arms around his waist. “I know we had Chinese after we got home from the airport, but I’ve been craving it all day,” I groan, letting my head fall back so that I can look up at him.
I poke him in the side when he doesn’t respond.
He doesn’t even smile, just stares at me like he’s about to tell me someone died.
I notice that he hasn’t put his arms around me, hasn’t reacted at all to my touch.
“What’s wrong?” I ask slowly as I back away.
“Someone… alerted the dean and the board that we were seeing each other.”
“What?” I sputter. “That’s not funny, Asher.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” he snaps. “Someone left a goddamn photo of us in my car, clearly—” He takes a deep breath through his nose as he tries to get his emotions under control.
“Clearly what?” I question, even though I know the answer.
“Fucking.”
I have never felt dirty or gross about our relationship, until this moment.
Knowing that someone had not only witnessed us in a compromising position but had also photographed it and sent it to school officials made me feel queasy.
Imagining the board and the dean seeing these photos threatens to push rising bile out of my throat.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Obviously, we got carried away, and we shouldn’t have done any sort of PDA outside of our apartments, but—”
“No,” he cut me off. “There is no ‘but’ about it. We fucked up. Those pictures could end up anywhere.”
“I don’t think we should assume the worst here, Asher.”
“Why not?” he demands. “You could be kicked out of the program. I could get fired.”
My stomach drops at the mere idea of either of those possibilities. “Neither of those is a guaranteed outcome here. Let’s take a step back and wait to see what happens. But getting worked up and assuming the worst possible outcome isn’t going to help either of us.”
“We weren’t careful in the slightest,” he growls.
“Playing pool at the bar, helping you study, adding in study guides because you suggested it,” he scoffs.
It’s an ugly sound. “I was unfair because of you. I didn’t help any other students study, and I didn’t grade their work first just to tell them their grades.
I didn’t change my coursework for them.”
“That’s not why we’re together, and you know it,” I insist desperately as the feeling of hot tears wells in my eyes.
He sighs. “I know that. I know that… but no one else does.”
“No one but us has to know those things. Those aren’t things they can prove. If you unconsciously did those things because you cared for me… so what?” I throw my hands up. “Is it entirely right? No. But it’s not as devious as you’re making it sound.”
He inhales deeply. “Summer, the repercussions here could be devastating.”
“Did the dean say what would happen?” I ask more calmly than I feel.
He shakes his head. “No, but the insinuation was that it wouldn’t be good.”
“You’re not my professor anymore. Surely that means something in the grand scheme of things.” I’m grasping at straws, but one of us has to remain positive here. One of us has to remain hopeful.
“How are you so calm about all of this?” he asks quietly, running his hands through his hair and leaving it disheveled.
“Worrying about the worst when you’re unsure if that’s what’s going to happen only causes unnecessary anxiety,” I say gently as I place a hand on his arm.
He suddenly pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, as if he thinks I’ll disappear the moment he lets me go. I wrap my arms just as tightly around him, worrying the same thing.
After a few moments of tense silence, he backs away from me and sits down on the couch, dropping his face into his hands. Obviously, my failed pep talk had not done anything to ease his dread.
What happens now? Is he thinking of ending everything between us?
I’m not sure I’ll be able to bear it if he leaves me. Talk about setting back the feminist movement, but sue me, Asher has become a pillar in my life that’s always there to support me. I can’t just give that up. Not without a fight.
A sickening dread settles deep in my stomach like a heavy lead weight, dragging me down. I can’t lose him.
I rack my brain for any way out of this God-awful scenario. I don’t know what I’ll do if we can’t work something out.
The simple idea of no longer being with him, laughing with him, spending the night with him, and loving him is devastating.
I rub at a sharp pain in my chest while I look down at Asher, who hasn’t removed his face from his hands, but it does look like he’s digging his nails into his scalp.
The pain in my chest grows sharper the more I worry about what will happen to us.
Is it possible for a heart to literally break?
The dawning realization that I’m in love with Asher Stirling hits me like a thousand-pound weight. No. It was never supposed to get so serious. How did I let myself fall for my professor of all people?
And now everything is fucked.
Someone has irrefutable proof that I fucked my professor. There are images of me having sex out there in the world. And the dean has seen them.
Bile churns in my gut.
Everything is ruined. Everything is over.
We knew the consequences, and we chose to ignore them anyway. Part of me had thought there was no way that anything would happen to us. The idea of being caught had never crossed my mind. It felt like some far-off storm cloud that would never cross our path.
I’m going to fix this.
I have to fix this.
The next day, I receive an email from Cascadia University’s dean of students requesting that I schedule a meeting with him.
I feel my face flush as I select the earliest available meeting time. Might as well get this over with. It’s not going to get any better the longer I wait. At least I have a heads up.
I leave my class early. The anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me nauseous, and I can’t focus on anything. It’s syllabus week, I won’t miss much.
I spend the few hours before what is sure to be a nightmare of a meeting, waiting in the campus coffee shop. I settle on drinking decaf herbal tea so that I’m not a jittery mess for my meeting.
Unfortunately, I am still a jittery mess when I knock on the door to the dean’s office, my hand shaking.
“Come in,” a muffled voice calls through the thick wooden door.
I take what I hope is one last steadying breath before entering the office.
The office is bigger than my apartment, which somehow only makes it more daunting.
Diplomas hang framed on the crimson-painted walls.
And sitting in front of large bay windows is Dean Callahan.
He sits in a big black leather chair, behind a huge cherry-wood desk.
Besides some papers, the only things on his desk are his nameplate and an antique lamp.
He gestures toward a pair of small red armchairs in front of the desk. “Please, Ms. Nyx, take a seat.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble, ducking my head and quickly taking a seat.
I had foregone my usual attire and settled on dark gray high-waisted slacks with a light blue, long-sleeved button-up tucked into them.
I am quickly regretting the long-sleeved shirt because I can feel myself sweating through the fabric.
I fidget with the cuffs of the sleeves, not wanting to meet the dean’s eyes.
I scuff my feet against the dark carpet; the black heels I slipped on this morning are just a little too small, and they pinch my toes.
I resist the urge to kick them off and settle on cursing myself for buying them at a garage sale when I visited my mom’s house a year ago.
Dean Callahan leans back in his chair, folding his hands on his belly.
He’s someone who, under any other circumstance, would remind me of a friendly grandfather who plays Santa in December and lets the kids call him quirky names—like Pop-Pop.
He has a thick gray mustache that matches the thinning gray hair atop his head.
He wears a dress shirt with suspenders pulled up over the fabric, and fragile spectacles rest on the end of his red nose.
“Do you know why you’re here, Ms. Nyx?”
Is this a trick question? Like when a cop pulls you over for speeding? No officer, I have no idea how fast I was going. Or am I supposed to be honest?
What option won’t make this whole situation worse?
I open my mouth to respond, but promptly close it, second-guessing what I was going to say.
Yes or no? Yes or no?
He takes pity on me and leans forward. “It has come to our attention that you have been having an inappropriate relationship with one of the university’s professors.”
I nod. My eyes sting, and my throat feels tight as I try to fight back the urge to burst into tears. “Can I—” my voice cracks. I clear my throat before starting again. “Can I ask who brought this to your attention?”
His lips turn down at the corners, and a small part of me thinks he feels sorry for me.
He slowly shakes his head. “No, Ms. Nyx, the photos were left anonymously.” He pulls a yellow folder from the top drawer of his desk.
He tosses it onto his desk, and we both stare at it for a moment.
I have a pretty good idea of what it is before he even says anything.
“There is photographic evidence of your… indiscretions. Do you need to see them to confirm that there is proof of what has been going on?”
I think I’m going to puke.
“No, no, that’s okay,” I say quietly. Shame washes over my face, and I drop my gaze again in a lame attempt to hide my reddening cheeks. I wish I hadn’t pulled my hair into a slick ponytail this morning. I want something to hide behind. Maybe that would make this all easier.
He purses his lips, and sadness dulls his eyes. “So, do you admit to having an inappropriate relationship with Mr. Stirling?”
I want to say that there was nothing inappropriate about our relationship. We tried to stay away from each other, but we just couldn’t. I want to say I love him.
But I know none of that will matter. It’s not what the dean wants to hear.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He nods. “Were you coerced into this relationship by Mr. Stirling?”
“No,” I say firmly. “Absolutely not.”
He takes a deep breath, the air whistling through his teeth as he releases it.
“Unfortunately, Ms. Nyx, you are under evaluation,” he says, clearing his throat, obviously uncomfortable.
I wonder how many times he’s had to have a conversation like this.
Has he ever had to before? “A different professor will have to go over your assignments from Mr. Stirling’s class to see if the grades received were merited.
You will not know which professor is looking over your work, but I can assure you they are qualified to do so.
It may take a few weeks for that professor to go through all of your assignments and regrade them, but once they have, you will be notified via email of your new grade for Counseling Theories. ”
“You think I was seeing him just to get a better grade?” I ask, my voice small even to my own ears.
“What else are we supposed to think?” he responds gently, sympathy in his eyes.
“I—I—” I stutter, at a loss for words.
As much as I want to, I can’t blame them for what they’re assuming. Asher and I knew what it would look like to outsiders, and we chose to see each other anyway.
“I have known Professor Stirling for his entire career, and he has never done anything like this or had any accusations cast against him. And while you two are consenting adults, there is an inappropriate power dynamic here.”
“But not anymore,” I hastily point out.
He sighs and leans back in his chair, folding his hands and returning them to his round belly. “No, not anymore. Any relationship proceeding your semester in Mr. Stirling’s class is… while frowned upon, technically okay.”
Relief courses through me. Asher and I can still be together. It’s not over.
I nod, and Dean Callahan doesn’t seem to have anything more to say. I stand and start to make my way toward the door. “Thank you for your time,” I mumble.
“Ms. Nyx?” he says, stopping me. “If I may offer a piece of unsolicited advice?” I give another curt nod, a pool of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.
“While a relationship with Mr. Stirling may now be okay… it will make things look worse if you two decide to continue.” I open my mouth to protest, but he continues.
“I believe I may be able to smooth things over with the board, but if it looks like neither of you has any remorse or doesn’t recognize that the relationship was completely inappropriate…
the consequences could be worse. It may color some people’s opinion of the matter. ”
I stand there stuttering, looking for anything to say but finding nothing.
“I am just telling you how it will appear to others who are not privy to all the facts. At the end of the day, it does not matter if you two are in love or if you didn’t mean to start this relationship, or if you didn’t have a single discussion regarding his class.
All anyone will see is that Professor Stirling had a sexual relationship with one of his students and that student received high marks in his class.
People will assume the worst, and it will reflect badly on both of you.
It will most assuredly impact both of your futures, but how you react will determine how negatively. ”
“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Callahan,” I manage to get out, my voice hoarse.
“For what it’s worth, Ms. Nyx… I am sorry. Asher Stirling is a great man, and I wish things were different.”
“Me too,” I sniff before closing the door behind me as the first tear falls.