Chapter 26 #2
Reluctantly, I set my messenger bag on the chair and move beside his desk. Carson shifts his chair closer as I lean toward the screen, our shoulders brushing while he points out the message. Heat crawls up my neck at the contact.
“Note the phrasing here,” Carson leans closer, his breath warm at my ear. “‘Concerns about consistency of supervision.’ That’s coded language questioning your arrangements.”
His finger traces lines of text on the screen, each movement bringing his hand closer to mine, where it rests on the desk. When our knuckles touch, I pull back as if burned, disguising the motion by reaching for the mouse to scroll through the document.
“I can draft a response tonight,” I offer, taking a half-step away. “I’ll send it to you before morning.”
Carson stands, eliminating the distance I created. He reaches past me to open a drawer, his chest brushing my shoulder, trapping me between his body and the desk. “Before you do that, you should review these previous communications, too.”
He extracts a folder, his movements unhurried as he flips it open and spreads papers across his desk.
Each document requires explanation, his finger tracing paragraphs while his body crowds mine.
The cherries-and-iron of his Alpha pheromones surrounds me, attempting to assert dominance over my own cedar notes.
The wall clock above his bookshelf changes to seven fifty-eight. My promised five minutes have already stretched to thirteen.
“There’s also the matter of the winter festival committee report,” Carson continues, shifting topics before I can interject. “The parent volunteers expressed confusion about the service animal demonstration portion. Preparations are already underway, so we need to smooth out these wrinkles.”
He produces another folder and spreads additional documents across the desk involving committee notes, policy drafts, and parent correspondence.
Each page steals another minute from my evening.
My phone vibrates again.
“One moment, please,” I say, reaching into my pocket. “It might be important.”
Carson’s hand closes around my wrist hard enough to halt the motion. “This will only take another minute. The committee presentation is next week, and the optics need to be perfect.”
My pulse jumps with fear, and I slowly withdraw my hand, leaving my phone unanswered.
Carson slides another document toward me and continues explaining policy revisions, standing close enough that his hip brushes mine whenever he shifts his weight.
As the wall clock reads eight-oh-four, heat gathers beneath my coat, sweat trickling down my sides.
“Carson, I really need to go,” I say, forcing firmness into my voice. “I have dinner plans, and I’m already late.”
“Almost finished.” His tone suggests my concern is overzealous. “I just need to show you the presentation materials.”
He retrieves a portfolio from the credenza and spreads several charts across the desk, stepping close again as he explains how the committee intends to structure the report.
I edge toward the door. “I can review these at home and send feedback tonight.”
Carson circles around me before I can reach it, his hand settling on the small of my back as he guides me toward the whiteboard. “Focus, Leif. This matters.”
He sketches a quick flowchart while he talks through the presentation structure, while over his shoulder, I watch the clock change to eight-twelve.
Nearly half an hour since he pulled me into his office.
Dinner at Emily’s cottage recedes with every passing second, shifting from certainty to a might-have-been.
“Do you see how this structure addresses the board’s concerns?” Carson asks, demanding engagement despite my obvious desire to leave.
“Yes, it’s very clear,” I reply, edging toward my bag. “If that’s all, I need to—”
“There’s one more thing,” Carson interrupts, stepping into my path. He pulls a thin manila folder from his desk. “The parent committee submitted questions requiring review.”
He flips it open to reveal three pages of typed concerns. My stomach drops as I scan them. Every question demands a response, every response invites discussion, every discussion steals another five minutes.
“Why didn’t you give me these before the meeting today?”
“There was already so much to go over. I didn’t want to overload the evening,” he says. “The meeting ran long, without these added concerns.”
“Perhaps we could address them tomorrow,” I suggest, looking at the clock. “During regular hours.”
Carson follows my gaze, his expression suggesting mild surprise at the time. “Is it that late already? Time flies when the work matters, doesn’t it? Give me a few more minutes to sort the priority items, then you can be on your way.”
A band tightens around my throat. There will always be one more document, one more question, one more reason I can’t leave. This meeting has nothing to do with work and everything to do with keeping me from Emily’s dinner table tonight.
I thought I’d done a good job of hiding my continued relationship with the female Alpha from Carson, showering and wearing only clothes kept at my hotel before setting foot within the school, never going out in public with her, never breathing her name within these walls.
But he found out somehow.
My lungs stop working as the meeting stretches into its forty-fifth minute, each breath coming in shallow, measured intakes barely slipping past the noose tightening around my neck.
While Carson drones on about committee structures, my spine transforms to steel, vertebrae locking into place as I maintain a posture of professional attention. Inside my head, though, a clock ticks louder, counting down to the moment Emily will give up on me.
“The board expects a unified front on these accommodation policies,” Carson says, shuffling yet another stack of papers. “As faculty representatives, we set the tone for the entire institution.”
I nod, my neck muscles rigid with the effort of appearing engaged while panic bubbles like acid, eating away at my composure.
My phone vibrates with the fifth message. Or is it the sixth? I’ve lost count.
“Excuse me,” I say, the words tight in my constricted throat. “I should at least alert my dinner host about my delay.”
My fingers close around my phone, pulling it from my pocket. The screen illuminates with notifications for three texts from Emily, a missed call, and a voicemail.
Carson’s hand shoots out, stopping me again, and this time his thumb digs into the tender spot where my pulse throbs beneath pale skin.
“The Roberts family asked about handler continuity for Quinn’s service animal,” he says in a not-so-subtle threat, as if his hand isn’t gripping my wrist hard enough for my fingers to go numb around my phone. “Your response needs careful consideration, not a rushed reply from a distracted mind.”
My pulse starts racing as he takes the phone from me and slips it back into my pocket.
“As I was saying,” Carson continues, as if nothing happened. “Leadership at Pinecrest Academy requires certain sacrifices. Time, primarily. Availability when needed.”
His hand settles on my shoulder, light after the brief flare of violence.
“You’ve shown remarkable dedication to Pinecrest Academy,” he says, fingers squeezing once before sliding away. “The board recognizes your commitment.”
He moves to stand before me, leaning back on his desk, legs crossed at the ankles in a casual pose that blocks my view of the door, and his fingers tap out a three-beat rhythm.
One, two, three. Pause. One, two, three.
The noose tightens the longer the pause drags out.
“However,” he says at last, “perception matters in educational leadership roles. Especially for faculty and adjacent members who stand out.”
“Stand out,” I repeat, the words flat.
“Your size alone draws attention,” Carson confirms, a thread of concern failing to touch his cold eyes. “Combine that with your work with Quinn, your committee seats, your substitute teaching… You stand in a very particular spotlight.”
A spotlight he forced me into.
He straightens from the desk, moving to circle behind me. My muscles clench with the effort not to turn, not to track him as he passes beyond my peripheral vision. His footsteps stop behind me, and he bends closer.
“When an Omega in your position acts with restraint, it reflects well on everyone,” he murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of my neck. “When an Omega in your position displays…promiscuity…questions arise.”
The room tilts around me, and only years of training keep me from showing how his words affect me.
Carson moves back into view. “The winter break begins soon. Have you considered how you’ll be spending it?”
My fingers curl into my palms, nails biting half-moons into the flesh. “The Wright Pack has invited me to join them at the Homestead.”
I don’t mention Emily and Jared’s invitation to spend a quieter holiday at the cottage.
“You’re quite close with the Wrights.” Carson turns to study me. “Have you told them what happened at Westbrook?”
The implication settles between us. With the right phrasing, he could recast me as violent. Or promiscuous.
Would it matter that Emily is their friend? Or would it damn me in their view? If we were courting…
But I had avoided the formality because Carson would find out and retaliate against Quinn, as he’s alluded to in the past and again tonight.
“I’m sure the Wrights called Westbrook to check my referrals before hiring me,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.
Carson hums noncommittally before he steps forward without warning.
His hand rises to my shoulder, fingers brushing down my sleeve to smooth an imaginary wrinkle.
The gesture appears helpful to anyone who might peek through the office window.
To me, it burns with possession, with the message that my body exists within his reach whenever he chooses.
“Your coat is collecting lint.” His fingers linger on my cuff. “Navy blue shows everything, doesn’t it?”
I remain stone still under his touch, not pulling away, not acknowledging the boundary violation. Years of experience have taught me that he wants my discomfort, my resistance, and any crack in my professional veneer gives him purchase.
“An Omega’s composure reflects on the institution they represent,” Carson continues, stepping back. “In these smaller communities, personal choices become public knowledge so much faster than in big cities. When those boundaries blur, questions arise.”
The wall clock reads eight fifty-two. Almost an hour and a half since Carson stopped me in the hallway. More than an hour of my life spent in this psychological chess match while Emily waits, dinner growing cold, her messages unanswered.
“I’ve always maintained professional boundaries,” I say, the words coming out stiffer than intended.
Carson’s lips curve in what might pass for a smile on someone capable of warmth. “Of course you have. Your discretion at Westbrook was admirable, even under…difficult circumstances.”
I keep my mouth shut. Nothing I say will help my current situation.
“Which is why I value these conversations,” Carson continues. “Your insight into the accommodation policies has been instrumental. Your attention to detail is remarkable.” He taps his fingers on the desk. One, two, three. “I wouldn’t want anything to distract from the good work you’re doing here.”
“I understand,” I grit out.
“That’s good. You’ve always been quick to pick up on corrective behavior.” Carson looks at the clock. “Oh, my. Time has gotten away from us.”
“Yes,” I manage to say through stiff lips. “It’s quite late.”
He stands, smoothing his pressed slacks. “Thank you for your time, Leif. Your dedication to Pinecrest Academy continues to impress.”
As I collect my bag with numb fingers and turn toward the door, a thought forms with crystal clarity. The more I build with Emily, the more I open my life to Carson’s interference.
The heavy door to Carson’s office clicks shut behind me, and the sound echoes through the empty corridor like a prison cell closing.
I stand motionless for three heartbeats, letting oxygen flood back into lungs that haven’t taken a full breath in over an hour.
I pull my phone from my pocket.
Emily
7:03 PM
Bread’s out of the oven. Stew’s simmering. Come hungry.
7:32 PM
Everything’s ready whenever you are. No rush.
7:50 PM
Are you still at work? Text when you’re on your way.
8:15 PM
Getting worried. Are you okay?
8:31 PM
Called and left voicemail. Please let me know you’re all right.
8:43 PM
Jared says I should eat without you. I’ll keep a plate warm.
The final message arrived five minutes ago.
Emily
9:05 PM
I guess you’re not coming. Let me know you’re safe when you can.
The progression from hope to concern to resignation cuts through me, all in the span of two hours. My thumb hovers over the screen with the urge to call her, but my throat closes at the thought of explaining where I’ve been, what kept me.
The truth would sound paranoid. A lie would be another betrayal.
I tap out a message instead, deleting and rewriting three times before settling on a neutral response.
Leif
I’m so sorry. Got held up with urgent school business. Leaving now.
The words stare back at me, insufficient for once again leaving them hanging. The words could have been written by anyone, about anything. They reveal nothing of the way Carson’s touch keeps finding me, his breath intimate on my neck and in my ear.
I send it, anyway, watching the blue bubble whoosh away, carrying my inadequate explanation into the ether.
When the response comes, my heart sinks.
Emily
Drive home safe.
Not an invitation to still come, but a polite message that leaves no doubt she’s moved on from waiting for me.
My steps drag across the linoleum as I move through the empty corridors.
Outside, the cold hits my face like a slap. My breath fogs the air as I cross the empty parking lot to my car, the only vehicle left.
As I fumble for my keys, the realization settles in.
Carson never forbade me from leaving. He never ordered me to stay.
He simply made leaving too costly.
The driver’s door creaks open, and I slide behind the wheel, the leather seat cold through my coat. In the rearview mirror, Pinecrest Academy looms dark except for a single lit window in Carson’s office, watching.
The engine turns over. Cold air blasts from the vents.
My phone buzzes.
Carson
Thanks for staying late to address those concerns. Your dedication will be noted in your quarterly review.
My stomach turns.
Tonight was a test of how long I would stay. How far I would bend.
And I played right into his hands.
I can’t keep living in both worlds. Sooner or later Carson will force a choice between my life with Emily and my place here.
And when that moment comes, I’m not sure I’ll be strong enough to choose the right one.