Page 15 of Almost Rotten

The second I close the door and flip the lock, she breaks, a strangled sob punctuating the first honest words out of her mouth in hours.

“I’m so sorry. Oh my god, Mercer. I’m so, so sorry.” She slumps against the closed door.

Alarm bells sound in my head and my lungs seize up.

Why is she apologizing?

What does she even have to apologize for?

“Shh.” I move in closer, but I don’t touch her. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.”

Her next sob is louder, her body shuddering, her shoulders heaving as she gasps for air.

Feeling useless, desperate to ease her pain, I gingerly pull her into a hug, hoping like hell the physical comfort brings her some reprieve.

“Shh, you’re okay. Sweetheart, you’re okay.”

“I’m not,” she hiccups. “It’s not okay. This is not okay.”

Knowing the placating isn’t easing her afflictions, I focus on soothing her physically, rubbing my hands up and down her back.

“Let it out,” I tell her softly.

I itch to know what’s going on, but she clearly needs to break down completely before she can explain. This morning’s events, whatever they were, have shaken her.

So I hold her and soothe her and wait.

When she still hasn’t spoken after five minutes, when the tears continue to fall, dread seeps through me along with the worry that overtook me the moment she stepped into the lecture hall.

She’s still breaking, falling to pieces, the sobs growing stronger instead of fading like I expected them to. She’s close to hyperventilating.

“Sawyer,” I eventually plead.

I can’t take her agony any longer. I can deal with the emotion of it all, but I fucking hate seeing her hurting this way.

“Sawyer, please,” I beg. “Baby, just tell me what’s wrong.”

I shift back, keeping hold of her shoulders, willing her to settle enough to explain.

She’s a mess, her mascara causing her tears to run down her cheeks in black streaks, her face blotchy and screwed up in pain.

“He saw us,” she murmurs.

My anxiety spikes once more, my body going rigid.

“Who saw us? Where?”

“Tytus,” she chokes out. “After the game. He saw us and he filmed us. He—He’s angry, and he’s threatening to use the footage to get you fired.”

My stomach plummets straight out of my body.

Shock and rage rip through me.

I sink to my knees as reality sinks in.

Chapter eight

Mercer