10. Chapter 9
NATHAN
He wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
I had caught him slipping out of my house that night and had watched from the window as he slid into a black Mercedes waiting at the curb.
The car was back today. Ryan wasn’t.
Two weeks, he had missed an entire quiz. His grade was tanking, and I was starting to get concerned, not that I’d ever admit that to him.
I was the last person he saw before disappearing.
At least I knew he was alive. I had found one of his social media accounts, hidden behind some ridiculous username, and he had been posting with a brunette I didn’t recognize. The latest post, seventeen hours ago, was just a pool.
I grimaced, staring at the burner account I had made to find it. Why had I bothered? Why did I care what my student was doing?
I should have been glad he wasn’t bothering me anymore. Yet there was this unease curling in my gut, like something was brewing that I couldn’t quite see.
I sighed and checked my watch. I was already cutting it close to being late for my own class. All over something so stupid—
Holy shit.
The black Mercedes Ryan had climbed into when he ran out of my house.
Whose car was it?
My gaze dropped back to the time. 7:00 p.m. Exactly. Officially late.
I leaned back against the brick wall, debating. I needed to see who was driving him around. Did I know them? How old were they? Could they be the reason he had been skipping, the one distracting him from his studies?
The car was here now, just sitting. No one had gotten out.
It was getting dark, the parking lot half full. I crouched behind a different car and edged forward, trying to stay low. But the closer I got, the more I realized the Mercedes had tinted windows.
7:05.
If I left now, I might miss my chance. If I stayed, I’d be even later to my own class.
I stayed.
I crouched again, shifting to another car for cover, trying to get a better angle. Maybe I could make out a silhouette if I got close enough. The lot was quiet, no students walking by, and my knees ached from the way I was moving.
I was almost at the back bumper when the headlights flashed on.
Shit.
The engine turned over. They were moving.
I scrambled up too fast, pain shooting through my ribs as I twisted. A loud screech of tires made me stumble.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, coughing and holding my side.
The driver’s door swung open. Footsteps approached.
“Man—sorry, I didn’t see you there—” The voice cut off. “Professor Thorne?”
I looked up.
Landon.
His face was all concern, but my eyes were locked on his neck, faint bruises peeking above his collar. Hickeys. More than one.
I straightened, leaning against his car, my ribs throbbing.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said again.
I waved him off, but the image was already in my head, Ryan in his lap, his mouth on Landon’s neck, the way he’d once been on mine.
Landon? Landon?
“You’re late to class,” I said flatly, trying to keep the bitterness at bay, glancing at my watch.
7:28. Perfect.
“Yeah, I—”
The passenger door opened before he could finish. A voice snapped, “Idiot! You nearly ran over our professor.”
I turned, and my body felt strangely lighter.
Noah.
Usually a solid student, but lately showing up late, twenty minutes last time. Now I was starting to understand why.
He glared at Landon, cheeks flushed, shirt on backwards. I didn’t comment.
“You’re both late to class.”
“Sorry, Mr. Thorne, we were… just—” Noah stopped himself, his face heating up as he shoved on his thick-rimmed glasses. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Whatever you do outside of class doesn’t interest me,” I said. “But maybe save it for after class?”
Noah’s cheeks turned crimson. Landon chuckled under his breath.
“He’s joking,” Landon muttered to Noah as I turned away, heading toward the building. Thirty minutes late for my own lecture, all because I’d been sneaking around in a parking lot stalking a student’s ride. Thirty minutes I couldn’t explain to anyone.
Not that I’d want to.
I told myself it wasn’t because I missed Ryan, just that a student disappearing for two weeks mattered. That was all. I should probably alert the dean. But the dean would contact his parents, and Ryan was already on academic probation.
It would have been the responsible thing to do.
Yet as I walked back toward my class, Landon and Noah trailing behind me with sharp little remarks for each other, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ryan, soaked in rain, caked in mud, eyes burning with anger, when I’d threatened to tell his father.
No. I’d keep this to myself. For now.
***
I was barely heading home when I got the text.
Unknown:
Meet me at the bar please.
Me:
Who is this?
Unknown:
Don’t act dumb, professor.
I grit my teeth, but there was this stupid surge of relief in my chest. He was alive, breathing, apparently fine enough to type out words. After my little disaster in the parking lot, I needed to see him, if only to steady myself.
I packed up quickly and ignored the gnawing reminder that getting sucked into Ryan’s little tantrums would chew my life up. It was going to unravel everything.
I knew this.
I knew it.
But my hands were already steering toward the bar.
***
It wasn’t a college bar, too far from campus, too dim, too quiet. No packs of students screaming over beer pong. Thank God.
The place had a rustic feel, wood beams, scuffed floors, a few middle-aged couples leaning into each other at the bar, soft country music dragging lazily in the background. Not my scene. Definitely not Ryan’s.
Hardly anyone was on the small dance floor, just older groups clustered around tables, laughing over shared appetizers.
I headed toward the back, where it was darker, a little more private. Small table. Perfect vantage. No Ryan.
I ordered a whiskey on the rocks, letting the ice sweat against my fingers. Sipped. Checked the time. My wife wouldn’t be home until midnight, plenty of time to hear him out and leave. This wouldn’t take long.
So why the hell were my hands already clammy?
Why was I even here?
I’d just about decided to leave when someone dragged out the chair next to mine.
Dark curls. Not blonde.
I exhaled into my drink.
Me: Where are you? I can’t wait all night.
“Hey, hot stuff.”
The voice was deep, the compliment carrying no heat, if anything, it was laced with something sharp.
I looked up. Brunette. College-aged. Eyes sweeping me like I was a mark.
He pulled out the seat beside me and sat with the ease of someone who didn’t care if they were welcome.
“Nathan, right?” He reached for my glass without asking and took a swallow.
I stared at him, then at the drink.
He grinned. “Sorry—how rude.” He set it down and offered his hand. “Dev—Derek.”
I didn’t shake it.
“Ouch.” He smirked, pulling back. “Don’t wanna touch me, huh?”
The bartender slid over, all smiles. “Can I get you anything, sir?”
“Yes,” Derek said, without looking at me. “Another of what he had. And… wow. You’re gorgeous.” He winked at her, making her giggle.
She returned a moment later with the whiskey, setting it in front of him.
I checked the clock again, scanning the room for blonde hair. No sign. I started to rise.
“Woah, wait,” Derek said, catching my wrist lightly. I gave him a flat stare.
“For you, man.” He nudged the fresh whiskey toward me. “Sorry for drinking yours.”
I sat back down, took a slow sip. When I suddenly registered what he said.
“How’d you know my name?”
He smirked like the question amused him. “Ryan told me.”
A chill slid down my spine. “Did Ryan send you? Where is he?”
The grin stayed, but his left eye twitched, just enough to notice.
“So you’re the professor,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered, slow and wary.
“You don’t think that’s weird? Fucking a student?”
I clenched my jaw. “Who—Ryan?”
Derek rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You expect me to believe you’re meeting him for… what? Office hours? A little tutoring?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” I said, my patience thinning to a thread. “Where is Ryan?”
The smirk slipped. “Relax. He’s coming.”
He stood, walked a few paces toward the bar, rolled his neck, then came back and leaned close. I caught a sour trace of whatever he’d been drinking earlier. His face had that arrogant confidence that made my knuckles itch.
“And just so you know,” he said, low, “you’re not special. Ryan pulls this shit with every guy until they’re eating out of the palm of his hand.” He looked me over like he was measuring me for a coffin.
My grip on the glass tightened.
He smiled nastily. “I’ve done things to that blondie you could only dream of. So unless your dick’s magical, don’t expect him to be falling in love or anything.”
My stomach turned. These were the people Ryan hung around? Him?
Derek scoffed, straightened, and tossed a twenty on the table. “Piece of shit,” he muttered, walking away.
I downed the whiskey and checked my watch again. My wife was still hours from home. Ryan was still nowhere. And Devon’s smug little act had left a sour taste in my mouth.
Screw this.
I left a tip and stepped outside. Cold air slapped my face.
An hour. I’d waited almost an hour. For what?
I pushed off from the wall, ready to head for my car, then the ground tilted beneath me.
I caught myself on the nearest outdoor chair, the cold metal biting into my palm. Tried to push up again, but the motion sent a sharp crack of pain through my skull. My vision fractured, edges warping, colors bleeding together.
What the hell?
I sank into the chair, palms pressed hard against my temples. The sounds of the bar dulled, as if I were hearing them through water. No matter how I fought to focus, my thoughts kept slipping.
Through the haze, a voice threaded in.
I’d know it anywhere.
Smooth. Warm. Dangerous.
“Do you need help, professor?”