Page 157 of Almost Ravaged

I make it all of two steps before I halt in my tracks.

Tytus is here.

He’s sitting across from the dean, occupying one of two chairs.

He doesn’t look up. In fact, he grips the armrests on either side of him tighter, hostility rolling off him in waves.

“Ty?” I ask softly.

He keeps his gaze fixed on the desk. No greeting, no acknowledgment.

Dean Stalworth holds out a hand, palm up. “Please take a seat, Ms. Davvies.”

With a wooden nod, I shuffle forward and plop into the available chair.

I don’t know whether to be more concerned for myself or for Ty. I know that look. I know the hard-set line of his mouth and the tense ticking of his jaw.

He’slivid, and he’s shut himself off from the world around him.

I rest my hand on his knee, hoping the contact will snap him out of it.

He startles as if he’s been burned, then drags his chair away, making its legs scrape against the polished wood floor.

Good grief.

“Ms. Davvies, as you know—”

The dean’s tone is serious, his fingers steepled, but I can’t find it in me to listen. My mind is solely focused on Ty and his current state. Why is he here? What did he do?

Should I text Atty, and call for backup? Or—

“According to the university handbook, sexual relations between students and faculty or members of the administration are strictly prohibited.”

My heart stutters, and my spine snaps straight. “Excuse me?”

The handbook.

Sexual relations.

He’s talking about misconduct between students and professors.

Thisisabout Mercer after all.

I reach for my phone, but before I can tap out a text, Stalworth clears his throat and leans forward. “I would appreciate your full attention, Ms. Davvies. There will be a secondary meeting with HR and the Title IX coordinator this afternoon, but given the… delicate nature of this situation, it’s imperative that you see the evidence for yourself.”

With a grimace, he turns his computer monitor, revealing a blurry screen grab of two people.

Two people, who despite the grainy quality and the blur filters covering intimate parts, are very clearly having sex.

I blink, and all the breath leaves my lungs.

That’sme, bent over the locker room bench, as Mercer fucks me from behind.

My hair is draped over my face. You can’t actually see my expression. Could I deny it?

No. I’m wearing Ty’s jersey, which was a custom order from the pro shop,Tremblayclearly displayed along my back.

Dread washes through me. What do I say? How do I respond to this?