Page 40 of Almost Rotten

I can’t do this.

I don’t want to hurt him.

What I did and what I fear I might continue to do—

“At least tell me you’re okay,” he pleads. “Tell me he hasn’t—that he didn’t—”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

Just like I can’t answer his question honestly.

I can’t quantify what Tytus has done. What I’ve allowed. What I’ve joined in on under the cover of darkness in my room.

Last week, Mercer called me his girlfriend. Unfortunately, that means nothing to the man who won’t stop calling me his wife.

With a shuddering breath, I lift my chin again and will my tears to abate.

I didn’t come here to break down.

I’m here because I have a job to do.

“Sawyer.”

Eyes locked with Mercer’s, I dig deep for strength. “No,” I say, the single word surprisingly even. “I’m not okay. Nothing’s changed. Yet. But I still have the rest of the week to sort this out.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

“I don’t want to get swept up in what’s going on and neglect the work. The class needs us. The orchard needs us. And I desperately need some semblance of normalcy.”

Jaw ticking, he steps back, giving me space and honoring my request.

“As you wish, Ms. Davvies.”

He rounds his desk swiftly and sits. I take my place in the seat across from him. Then, for the next hour, we dig in and do the work.

Thirty minutes before class, just after we’ve finished drafting questions for the midterm, there’s a knock on the door.

Rather than get up to open it fully, Mercer simply calls out, “Come in” without looking up from the essay question he’s typing out.

I turn in my seat just as Dean Stalworth steps in.

Our gazes collide, sending me reeling back. He’s affected just as harshly, it seems. He turns so red he’s almost purple as he forces out a stilted greeting.

“Ms—I mean, Mrs. Tremblay,” he chokes out. “I didn’t expect to see you here. In here. In this office, I mean.”

Good grief.

This guy needs to get a grip.

It’s endearing when Noah trips over his words.

It’s repulsive coming from this spineless man who let himself be bullied by a 21-year-old only days ago.

Mercer clears his throat. “Why wouldn’t you expect to see my graduate assistant in my office prior to class?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean she shouldn’t behere. Just that I—that she—”

“Right.” Mercer stands. “Let’s take this out to the hall, shall we? That wayMs. Davviescan continue preparing for class without interruption.”