Page 74 of Almost Rotten

“Is there a problem here, Professor?”

I clench my fists at my sides to keep from sending one sailing toward his smug fucking face.

“Shouldn’t you be in class, Mr. Tremblay?”

He licks his lips and smiles. Sawyer covers his hand with hers, like she’s trying to pull him away, but he doesn’t budge.

“Just came out here to check on my wife.”

I know a losing battle when I see one.

So I offer Sawyer a pointed look. This isn’t over, and she damn well knows it. Then I cooly regard the man-child who’s come between us.

“We’re done here. Get back to class, both of you.”

Tytus guides her out of the alcove, but when he tries to drape an arm over her shoulder, she swats him away.

When the door to the lecture hall closes behind them, I pull out my phone and send off a text.

Mercer:We need to talk. Meet me at Mae’s at 6.

Chapter twenty-seven

Noah

The corner stools I snagged at the bar are arguably the best seats in the house. The main floor isn’t busy tonight, yet being tucked away over here allows us a sweeping view of the entire establishment, and the darker lighting and the distance from other patrons make this a decent place for private conversation.

It’s strange, how quiet it is. Our typical meetups on Thursday nights at Mae’s are usually accompanied by a soundtrack of chaos. I arrived first and ordered two beers. Mercer hasn’t even touched his bottle yet.

“I don’t understand what changed.” I smooth over the moist edge of the Molson label, wearing it further with my nervous rubbing.

“It’s the boy. Tremblay. He’s toying with her emotions. Messing with her head.”

I sigh, weighing his assessment against the facts. By nature, Mercer is intense. He fixates. He’s always had an obsessive streak, and it’s unclear how much impact that has on his perspective of the situation.

“She’s been open and honest with us since the start,” I reason. With a small sip of my beer, I mull over the best way to proceed. “What if we invite her out to the orchard and have a conversation, like adults?”

Mercer glares and lifts the bottle to his lips. “I don’t think we could even get her to come out there.”

I frown. That’s not true. Now he’s being purposely difficult.

“I know you’re upset, but could the way you pulled her out of class in front of all the students have contributed to her reaction? If we invite her over, tell her we just want to talk—”

Mercer sets his bottle down with too much force. “You’re not getting it. That boy is insidious. He’s inserting himself where he doesn’t belong and interfering with our lives. She won’t come over because he won’t allow it. Or because she won’t allow herself because of the fear he’s instilled in her.”

The only way to test his theory is to try, but he won’t want to hear that right now. “I’ll get her alone the next time she’s out with the class,” I offer. “Do you know the schedule this week?”

Mercer huffs. “That part of the project is over. If she’s at the orchard, it’ll be with the students to prepare for the event.”

“Okay,” I reason. “So next time she’s out with the students, I’ll pull her aside and ask if we can talk. That’s what I did on Thursday.”

He straightens, his eyes widening. “You saw her on Thursday?”

“Yeah. We weren’t able to talk much, but we had a few moments alone.”

“What was she like? How did she act?”

I heave out a tired sigh. “She was—I don’t know.” I lift my cap and run my hand through my hair as I replay our brief encounter in the barn. “She was busy,” I recall. “Distracted. But she was still her, Merce. I think you’re worrying too much.”