Page 13

chapter twelve

Liability

Kenny watched Aaron leave through the open office door.

He wiped his mouth, but it did nothing to erase the lingering sensation. What had just happened, what Aaron had done, pressed down on him, heavy and undeniable. Aaron had been telling him something with that kiss. Letting him know he was there. He saw him. Was with him. And Kenny had wanted to dive headfirst into him and never come out.

The murmurs from the administration office reached him, Gail and several other staff whispering from their desks, eyes darting between him and the open door. Kenny rolled his eyes, unable to bring himself to care. Not now. Not with everything else vying for space in his head. Let it get back to the Dean. What was one more fire to put out when he was already standing in the middle of a blaze?

“Kenny?” But that Dean was stood at the gap in the door, taking in his office with one sweeping glance.

Kenny stood awkwardly, as if caught with his pants down. “Ellie.” He nodded in greeting.

Ellie stepped inside. “Could I have a moment?”

Kenny couldn’t exactly deny her one, so he waited for her to close the door.

“I’m placing you on leave,” she said as she turned to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“Leave.” She folded her arms. “Effective immediately. I’ll classify it as compassionate, so you’ll continue to be paid. After that, I suggest you use your accumulated holiday, because if you refuse, we’ll issue it unpaid.”

Kenny’s stomach dropped. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you are clearly unfit to perform your duties at this time.”

Kenny dropped into his office chair, catching his head in his hands. He raked his fingers through his hair, the pressure in his chest mounting. She was right. Of course she was. If this were any of his colleagues or staff he line managed, he would have recommended the same course of action without hesitation. But this wasn’t them. It was him . And the idea of letting go, even for a moment, felt impossible, as if trying to hold on to a lifeline fraying in his hands.

So he blurted: “I’m in a relationship with Aaron Jones. Third year Forensic Psych.”

Ellie’s expression didn’t change. If anything, there was the faintest glimmer of annoyance, as though he’d stated something painfully obvious. “I know, Kenny.” She gestured toward the door with an elegant flick of her hand. “The entire office knows. When a student barges in here not once, but multiple times, and makes a scene which you welcome in like it’s a private audience, it doesn’t take long for rumours to spread.”

“He came in just now because he’s offering me support after my mother’s death.”

“And the other times?”

Kenny opened his mouth. Shut it.

“Whatever his reasons, and yours, it still doesn’t excuse the position you have put yourself and this faculty in.”

“I should have declared it. I know that. I take full responsibility.”

“Yes, you should have.” Ellie’s tone sharpened, cutting through the air with surgical precision. “Or, better yet, you shouldn’t have entered the relationship in the first place.”

Kenny nodded. He understood. He agreed . At least rationally. Logically, he knew better. He’d taught entire lectures about boundaries. The ethical implications of power dynamics. The psychology of desire versus discipline. He knew the theory like the back of his hand.

But theory had nothing on reality. Nothing on Aaron .

If he tried to explain to Ellie how impossible it had been to stop himself, he doubted she’d understand. Or maybe she would. Maybe she’d had her own inexplicable pull to someone before. And maybe that was worse. Because there was the right thing to do, the thing that adhered to professional guidelines and moral standards, and then there were the urges that defied logic. Existed outside the sterile framework of ethics.

Aaron wasn’t just a temptation. He was gravity . Pulling Kenny into his orbit with a force he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t just desire. It was a deep, aching need tearing down the walls Kenny had built around himself. The psychologist in him knew what it was. Primal. Instinctive. The limbic system lighting up like a firestorm. He could dissect it clinically, name every mechanism at play—dopaminergic reward pathways, the intoxicating allure of taboo—but none of that knowledge saved him from succumbing. Kenny had spent so long rationalising the world, trying to predict and control it, that when Aaron had crashed into his life, he hadn’t stood a chance. He was human, too. Fallible.

And Aaron had cracked him wide open.

“What do you intend to do?” he asked, already knowing the outcome.

Ellie pursed her lips. “What I intend to do is ensure this doesn’t spiral into a full-scale scandal. For you or this department. You will go on leave, as I’ve instructed. Conveniently, you have the matter of your mother’s passing, which appropriately explains your absence to administration. That is what I will report.”

“And Aaron?”

Ellie tilted her head. “Aaron Jones’ grades, along with the grades of all your students, will need to be re-evaluated by an independent reviewer. It’s standard protocol in cases of undeclared relationships between faculty and students.”

Kenny’s shoulders sagged as her words sank in. Of course. It wasn’t just Aaron’s grades. This would ripple out to every student he’d taught. Months, if not years, of work called into question because of one choice. One relationship.

As he’d said before, the moment he’d allowed himself to kiss Aaron, it would destroy his entire life.

The question was: did he regret it?

“Kenny, you’re one of the most brilliant minds in this department, but you’ve let your emotions cloud your judgment. Take the leave. Get your head straight. And… consider carefully how you want to move forward.” Ellie stepped toward the door. “This doesn’t have to end your career. But how you handle it from here will determine if it does.”

Kenny watched her leave. The usual hum of administrative chatter had fallen unnervingly quiet, as though the entire department had been holding its breath to listen. After a moment of contemplation, Kenny stood. Then grabbed one of the plastic boxes stored there for various transferrals of documents, tipped its contents on the leather sofa, then put his life’s work into it.

No.

He didn’t regret it.

* * * *

“So, you saw this Dr Pryce when you were in Barcelona with Lyons?” Mel asked, rustling through a packet of M&Ms open on the table between them.

Aaron wondered why he was even here, sitting in the study area outside one of the smaller classrooms in the psychology block with Mel, laptops and notebooks sprawled across the table, while they worked on their research project information for their upcoming meetings. With none other than Dr Pryce herself.

Bouncing his leg under the table, he tapped his pen rhythmically on his notebook with restless energy. He was antsy, counting the minutes until he could leave. One more lecture, and then he’d be free to go round to Kenny’s and finish what they’d started in his office. That was the only reason he stuck to the routine. Because if Kenny was here, then he should be, too. Well, that and the bursary package, which required him to attend every lecture and complete all assignments on time.

But with the envelope in his bag, his trust fund worth over a million quid, burning a metaphorical hole through the fabric, he wasn’t sure how much longer he needed the bursary. Or the free accommodation. Or, fuck, even this degree.

Aaron double-checked the others waiting on their meeting with Dr Pryce couldn’t hear them before he replied to Mel, but they were all either heads down, earbuds in, or talking through their own childhood traumas. “Yeah.”

“And now she’s here.” Mel crunched through a handful of M&Ms. “Kinda weird.”

“Yeah.”

“What time’s your meeting with her?”

Aaron tapped his phone, lighting up the screen. He noticed a missed call. From Taylor. Strange . He let the screen fade. “Ten minutes.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Aaron raised an eyebrow at her over the table. “Please never ask me that.”

Mel snorted, tossing a M&M into her mouth. “You’re studying psychology, but you don’t wanna talk about your feelings? Groundbreaking.”

“I get enough of it in therapy.”

Mel cocked her head. “There’s more to your story, isn’t there? Like, loads of bits I missed in season one and two.”

Aaron paused mid-scribble. “I’m a messed-up care kid with really fucking awful parents. That enough for you?”

“You can trust me, y’know.”

“Yeah. I know. Thanks.”

“But you don’t, do you?”

Aaron sighed, heavier this time, then clicked his pen closed. “It’s not personal, but I don’t really trust anyone. If you’ve been where I’ve been, you learn real quick that no one is ever foolproof, and you can’t predict people’s reactions.” He knew that firsthand. One, from the bloke he’d been seeing for months when he was fifteen, who then raped and beat him when he found out who he was. And also from Taylor. Hence his reasons for ignoring his call. Cause Taylor could go to hell.

Mel raised an eyebrow. “You should tell Dr Lyons that. We’re literally learning how to predict people’s reactions.”

Aaron let out a dry laugh. “Sure. We have brilliant minds like Kenny’s, and all these world-class experts working to predict human behaviour, yet somehow, murders still happen. People still kill.” He silently reread the title of his thesis. “And sometimes it’s the people we least expect.”

“Aaron Jones?” Dr Pryce poked her head out of the classroom door.

Aaron snapped his books shut and stuffed them into his bag.

“Good luck,” Mel whispered to him. “Let me know about tonight cause I just swiped right and got a date.” She waggled her phone.

“What happened with Lottie?”

“You’re not the only one with drama in their life.”

Aaron slung his bag over his shoulder. “Go on the date.”

“Enjoy your birthday blowjob.”

“Enjoy your date with a psycho.”

“Enjoy getting graded on your…” she made quotation marks with her fingers while jabbing the inside of her cheek with her tongue, “ ’performance’ .”

Aaron flipped her off, then strode toward Dr Pryce.

She smiled as he approached, but it didn’t reach her eyes. And she lingered a beat too long, as if she were studying him. “Come in.” She gestured into the classroom.

Aaron was hyper-aware of the subtle shift in her posture as she watched him.

“Sit wherever you like.” She motioned to the empty tables. “Sorry about the venue. I don’t have an office. Yet.”

Aaron slid his bag off his shoulder and dropped it onto a table of four. She followed, settling at a right angle to him, her laptop already open in front of her.

She leaned back in her chair. “You’re very familiar. Have we met before?”

Was she pretending? Testing him? The way she’d poked at Kenny earlier, bringing up Barcelona, had seemed too pointed to be coincidental. And now this, pretending they hadn’t laid eyes on each other over a breakfast spread in Barcelona. The woman who had come from Ravenholm, where his sister had spent years, then turned up at the hotel Kenny had booked privately and not as part of the conference package, and now here? There was no way this was random. None.

But he played along. “I work at the campus shop. Maybe I sold you a cheese and pickle on brown?”

She let out a small laugh. “Maybe you did.” She tapped something on her laptop. “Well, my, my. You’re a clever boy, aren’t you? Your grades are exceptional. Very impressive.”

Aaron said nothing.

“Have you thought about what comes next? After you graduate? With grades like this, you’d sail right onto a master’s program. And I’m sure you’d get a glowing reference from Dr Lyons, no?”

Aaron narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think my bursary stretches that far.”

She tilted her head as if confirming something. “Ah, yes. I see you’re on a full scholarship here.” She peered up at him. “Estranged from your parents?”

“Severed.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not.”

“No, I doubt you aren’t.” She held his gaze for a moment too long, then clapped her hands together. “Now, do you have your completed form?”

Aaron reached into his bag and handed her the sheet he’d been working on earlier. She slipped on a pair of glasses and read through, fingers steepled over the edge of the desk as she scanned the page.

“‘The psychology of guilt and innocence’.” She read aloud. “’How do children of notorious criminals navigate feelings of inherited guilt and innocence, and what psychological strategies enable them to construct their own identities?’” She peered over her glasses. “A fascinating topic, Mr Jones. What inspired you to choose it?”

Aaron had hoped to be having this discussion with Kenny. It’s why he’d chosen the bloody topic. So he and Kenny could explore it together. He wouldn’t have to hide behind lies. He could be open. Call it therapy. Addressing the wounds he carried. But he couldn’t do that in front of this woman. Nor anyone else.

“I’m interested in the ones people forget,” Aaron said, his voice steady but tight. “The families left behind. Everyone focuses on the criminals. Turns them into celebrities, makes documentaries, writes books, creates sensationalised Netflix series. They become pinups. The victims, too, are glorified, put on pedestals. But there’s this whole other group of people. The ones caught in the crossfire. The families. They’re victims, too, but no one talks about them.”

Dr Pryce leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. She wasn’t just listening. She was analysing. Dissecting every word as if cataloguing it for later use.

“An interesting viewpoint,” she said at last. “Do you have any relevant experience in this field?”

“In what respect?”

“Where will you source your research?” Her tone was casual, almost conversational, but there was an edge underneath it. “It might be difficult to find willing participants to interview. Many families of notorious criminals prefer to remain anonymous. Understandably so.”

“You mean I can’t just Google where they all are?”

Dr Pryce’s lips quirked, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you’re being facetious, Mr Jones. But no, it’s not that simple. Still, I think your project has great potential. An opportunity to delve into a group of individuals society often overlooks. It could lead to some fascinating insights into how we support those affected by inherited trauma.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps even stop the cycle.”

“The cycle?”

“That children of abusers often go on to abuse. That the children of criminals, particularly those who’ve committed heinous acts, frequently struggle with a fractured sense of morality. They’ve been taught, either directly or indirectly, that the rules of society don’t apply to them.”

“That’s not always true.”

“Of course not.” Pryce softened just enough to sound agreeable. “But statistically, there’s a pattern. Generational cycles of violence, chaos, and trauma perpetuate themselves. My work at Ravenholm showed me that firsthand.”

Aaron’s stomach dropped at the mention of Ravenholm, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

Dr Pryce’s smile widened, though it felt more like a challenge than a reassurance. “I spent years working with some of the most troubled children. Children who have committed atrocities themselves. Many of them were the offspring of criminals, addicts, or worse. Killers. Serial killers. Some of them were bright, resourceful, even charming. But there was a darkness in them, one that shouldn’t be ignored. It was as though they’d inherited the shadows of their parents’ choices.”

She knew . She had to know. This wasn’t a coincidence. Her being here. Knowing Ravenholm. The veiled references. It wasn’t just him being paranoid. She was playing a game. Poking him. Daring him to react.

Did he react? Did he challenge her? Ask her?

Fuck. He needed Kenny.

“That must’ve been… challenging work,” Aaron said carefully, though his voice wavered slightly.

“It was. But also enlightening. You learn to see the signs. The way certain behaviours emerge, no matter the environment. How some moral and ethical viewpoints just don’t exist in some people. As if they think it’s a game to step over boundaries. To ruin other people’s lives. And you have to ask yourself whether some people are simply… wired differently. Irredeemably so.”

“And what’s your conclusion?”

“That not everyone can or should be saved, Mr Jones. And sometimes, trying to save them does more harm than good.”

Aaron had no comeback to that. None at all. If someone were to ask him right then, how did that make him feel? He’d say furious . Because she’d just implied, whether she knew it or not, that he was a liability.

“Anyway!” Pryce’s tone turned brisk again, as though the conversation hadn’t just taken a razor-sharp turn. “Your dissertation proposal is well-written, and I’m happy to approve it. Do you have any additional questions?”

Aaron shook his head, gathered his things, and stood. As he reached the door, her voice stopped him.

“Oh, one last thing, Mr Jones?”

He turned, gripping the strap of his bag as if it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“You’ll be reporting to me from now on.”

“Why? Where’s Dr Lyons?”

“On leave. As of right now. Ordered. After a bit of commotion that happened in the office today.” She held his gaze. Pointedly.

Fuck .

Pryce was right.

He was a liability.

Not just in theory. Not in the abstract sense that he sometimes entertained late at night when the guilt crept in around the edges. But here, now, in a way that had consequences . Real ones. Tied to someone who actually mattered.

Kenny.

He didn’t need to ask what kind of commotion. He already knew. His name had probably been passed around like poison on staff room lips. A scandal in the making. The reckless, emotionally unstable student tangled up with the too-involved professor. Maybe they used softer words? Inappropriate. Unprofessional. Concerning. But he could hear the weight behind them. And could feel the noose tightening.

Around Kenny .

As if he was the problem. As if Kenny had crossed the line, when all he’d done was care . Try. Risk something real.

Because of Aaron.

Because of him .

Aaron had been spiralling for years, but he’d managed to keep just enough distance to stop dragging anyone else down with him. But now? Now he’d wrecked the one good thing in his life by doing exactly what people like him always did: became someone else’s problem.

He gripped the strap of his bag as if it might tether him to the floor, to something solid, but it didn’t help. Nothing did.

So Aaron left. Promptly.

Because if he stayed any longer, he’d say something unforgivable. Or fall apart. Or both.

And Kenny had already paid enough for the mistake of giving a shit about him, giving him hope and a place to heal, when all others had written him off as nothing but a fucking liability.