Page 23

Chapter 22

Kieran

“I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.” Edgar Allan Poe

T he night air is cool when I step out of her dorm, but I barely feel it. My body is still warm from her, from the way she fits against me, the way she trusted me.

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair as I descend the concrete stairs that lead to the parking lot. My chest is tight, and my mind is racing. This isn’t just lust. It isn’t just some reckless impulse. I’ve had those before, but this thing between us…it’s different. Even different from what I shared with Alexis. It’s raw, real, and untamed, and it fucking terrifies me.

Every part of me is vibrating with the gravity of it—this foreign emotion that’s taken root inside my chest and refuses to let go. Deirdre’s hooks have sunk into me, and it’s everything. Her laugh, the way she sees through me, the way she touches me, not just my skin, but my soul. It makes me feel alive again. Like I’ve been sleepwalking through the past decade and only now has someone turned on the lights.

I should go home, but I don’t. Instead, my feet begin to carry me away from the parking lot and back toward Scholar’s Auditorium. My steps are slow, and hesitant, like I’m moving underwater. Like some invisible thread is pulling me back toward the echo of her voice, the warmth of her smile.

Not because I’m afraid of being alone. I’ve mastered that. I’ve lived inside isolation like it was a second skin.

I’m afraid of what I’ll find there.

If I go home, the ghosts will be waiting. The memories of Alexis will slip through the cracks; her presence will fill the space and try to suffocate me. Not in grief, but in guilt.

I’ve tried to convince myself for years that I was still mourning, that I was loyal to my pain. That my isolation somehow honored Alexis. But the truth?

I’ve just been hiding.

Because for the first time since losing her, I’m not drowning in sorrow. I’m drowning in Deirdre. I know Alexis wouldn’t have approved of how I spent the last ten years. Numbing my pain with alcohol and meaningless sex at Salvation. I know she would want me to move on and be happy again.

Easier said than done, though.

Because even knowing that—it doesn’t stop the shame that claws at my throat when I think about how much I want Deirdre. Not just her body, but in every way a man can want someone.

A life with her.

I find myself at the auditorium. Pushing through the heavy glass doors, I stare at the large space that threatens to swallow me. My footsteps echo against the floor as I walk toward the podium, the place where I have spent hours shaping minds and demanding excellence.

And the place where I first really saw her, hanging onto my words in class, scribbling away in her journal. Yes, I had seen her at the club before on multiple occasions. The attraction was immediate, but then she walked into my classroom on that first day, and I knew I was in trouble.

My hands brace against the wood as my head drops forward.

I remember thinking to myself that day—she’s too young. She’s my student. There are rules. Boundaries. And I should be the one enforcing them.

I should walk away. I should want to walk away. But I know I’m not going to, despite the war I am fighting with myself. Each time I find myself near her, I know I could never live without touching her again or seeing her beautiful smile.

When she’s with me, whispering my name like it’s a prayer—how the hell am I supposed to walk away from that?

I grip the edge of the podium tighter until my knuckles whiten.

I’ve spent years living in the past full of regret, of wishing I had said or done things differently. But with Deirdre, I don’t feel like a man haunted by his mistakes.

I feel like a man who wants more, who deserves more.

Like a man who is alive.

My eyes lift to the empty seats, to the chair she always sits in during lectures, where she watches me with eyes that have seen far too much pain.

I can’t run from this.

I won’t.

The decision settles inside me, and relief washes over me.

I need her to know how I feel, even if I don’t have the courage to say it out loud.

I push off the podium, the idea already forming in my mind.

The journal.

I’ll write these feelings down. I’ll give her something tangible, something real.

The journal sits tucked away in a drawer of my desk. I put it there the other day after she gave it back to me and I read her first entry to me. Looking down, I press my fingertips into the cover for just a moment before pulling away. Before long, this small book will be full of our deepest feelings and darkest secrets.

Looking around the empty room, I let out a loud exhale and run a hand over my jaw before taking my seat at my desk.

My fingers tighten around my pen as I lean forward, the weight of tonight still thick in my chest. I don’t usually put things into words like this. I have never needed to. But Deirdre has unraveled me in ways I didn’t see coming.

I open the journal to the first blank page and begin to write.

Deirdre,

I should be spending the evening grading papers or reading yet another book off of my shelves, but my attention and my thoughts are elsewhere. You. The feel of your body against mine, the sound of my name on your lips, and the way you cling to me like I am something worth holding onto.

If I close my eyes, I can still taste you. I can still hear the soft gasp you made when I whispered against your skin, when I told you I wanted you.

You’re in my veins now. I don’t know how to pull you out, and I don’t think I want to.

This may be dangerous. We may be dangerous. But for the first time in a long time, I don’t care.

Kieran

I stare down at the words, my own handwriting looking foreign on the page. A confession in ink.