Page 16

Chapter sixteen

Foxx

I don’t stop walking until I’m two blocks away. Even then, it doesn’t feel far enough.

It’s not bad enough that I’ve spent the entire weekend mulling over if I should go there with a student.

Or that every time I’ve wanted to give in to the desire and message him, I somehow managed to stop myself.

Sleeping with Finn wasn’t going to be a good idea again, and now this?

I don’t even know what to think. My body is still in flight mode, my heart hammering against my ribs, my lungs tight, like I’ve just sprinted up a hill.

But it’s not the cold air burning my throat, it’s the realization sinking in, deep in my stomach like a weight I don’t know how to get rid of.

Finn has a family. The thought alone makes me stop in my tracks. The guy I slept with and planned to sleep with again, has a kid, and his partner is a student at my full-time job.

I drag in a slow breath. Try to steady myself. But no matter how many times I go over it in my head, I land in the same place.

Finn holding a baby. Standing next to Daphne James.

Last year, she was always first in class and willing to learn, wanting extra work.

Is she his wife? Girlfriend? Fuck, of course this is happening.

And I—what? I was some stupid mistake he made behind closed doors?

Some reckless bad decision that he wanted to keep hidden?

Maybe he just wanted a guy to hook up with.

My stomach twists. God. That’s a sobering thought.

Was I just some secret he was keeping? I can’t be on that side of it, I can’t. I won’t be the reason someone cheats, not when I know how soul crushing that is.

My mind replays everything. Our first messages.

His teasing, how he liked getting a reaction out of me, how non-committal he was all the time, and I found that alluring.

I think about that night, when I nearly talked myself out of it, when I almost told him no.

But then Finn had been there, had looked at me like I was something he wanted, had kissed me with everything he had, and I’d let myself believe it was real.

Or maybe I just wanted to. Maybe I was just the distraction he needed from his family.

I groan, pressing my fingertips to my temples. This is why I don’t do this. This is why I keep my life simple, why I don’t get involved. I hate being out of control, because this mess, this gut-punch of a feeling sitting in my chest? This is what happens when you let your guard down.

But the last time, it was me who was left behind.

Me in Daphne’s position. Me who was left with nothing but an apology note on a pillow from someone I thought who loved me.

I know what it’s like to be the one waiting for answers that never come.

The one who trusts someone, only to find out they were never really yours to begin with.

I know the sting of being lied to, led on, made to feel like you mattered, only to realize you were just a detour.

And now, I might have just done that to someone else’s family.

I drag in a shaky breath, nausea curling in my gut. Had he been with me while she was home with their baby?

Willing that image to disappear, I squeeze my eyes shut.

I dig into my pocket and pull out my phone.

The app is still there, the same app where Finn first found me.

I stare at it for a long moment, the weight of every bad decision pressing down on me.

And now I feel fucking sick. I keep walking, forcing myself to push past the fear, and then I remember that, tomorrow night, Finn is going to be in my classroom at OCC again.

I type out an email to the head of the math department, asking to find a temporary replacement while I deal with a family emergency for next week.

The streets are still busy around me, people hurrying to their classes, their jobs, their lives—lives that feel so much simpler than mine in this moment.

At least, I’ve just bought myself a little time to figure out how to deal with it.

***

By the time I finally make it home, my body is running on fumes.

The day has been long, too long. Lectures, office hours, students with questions, emails that won’t stop piling up, and I did it all without my usual coffee because I never went back to Mug Life after that run-in.

I just moved through the motions, answered what I had to, graded what I needed to, and yet, I can barely remember a second of it.

Because my brain has been stuck on one thing. Or rather, one person.

The texts are gone now. I cleared the message thread with full intention of deleting the app too, but I couldn’t do it. Call me a sadist whatever; I have no idea why I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.

I toe off my shoes at the door, rolling my shoulders back. I need to shake this feeling. The one that’s been sitting like a rock in my stomach.

When I was teaching AP calc today, my mind wandered to if I should tell the dean of the school about us at CLU, but then I figured it wouldn’t be relevant because he doesn’t go to that school, and even though the damage is done, I’m so confused because I don’t know the story or how Daphne fits into his life and I don’t want to hurt her in all this.

I probably should’ve stayed and listened to him, but hindsight is 20:20.

This is all a wake-up call that I shouldn’t be doing this with someone younger and a student.

Red flags everywhere. I can’t afford to get caught up in drama.

I shrug off my coat, toss it over the back of the couch, and make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The moment I set it down on the counter, my phone vibrates against the wood, the sound loud in the quiet of my apartment.

My first thought, before I even reach for it, is that it’s work.

An email from the department. Some student asking for an extension. It usually is.

But when I glance down, the pit in my stomach grows at seeing his name on the app.

I don’t open it. I don’t need to. I already know what it says, or at least, what it’s trying to say. He wouldn’t reach out like this unless he was trying to fix whatever he thinks is broken, trying to justify himself, trying to make me listen when I don’t want to.

Of course, he’s going to ask to be heard.

Of course, he’s going to tell me I got it all wrong.

Exhaling sharply, I rub a hand down my face.

Maybe I did. Maybe I jumped to the worst possible conclusion and ran before I could be corrected, but what difference does it make?

Even if he wasn’t lying, even if I had it completely backwards, it doesn’t change what this is.

It doesn’t change that he’s got a life, that I should never have let myself go there, that I was reckless and stupid, and now, I’m paying for it.

I should block him. Delete the message, move on.

Instead, I just let my phone sit there, the notification glaring at me, waiting for me to make a decision.

Finn

This is the most cliché message I’ve ever sent, but I can explain.

I’m still staring at it when there’s a knock at my door. I glance at the time, noticing nearly eight. The knock comes again, heavier this time, and with a sigh, I push my phone aside and go to answer it.

When I pull the door open, Eugene is standing there, holding a Tupperware container.

I blink at him. “Uh, hi.”

He lifts the container slightly, the side of his mouth lifting. “Meatloaf.”

My eyebrows pull together. “You made me meatloaf?”

Eugene steps past me into the apartment without waiting for an invite, heading straight for the kitchen and setting the container down on the counter. “I made myself meatloaf, but I have too much leftovers.”

I don’t know why I pause; it’s just the long day, because Eugene does this for me sometimes, especially if he sees me coming home later than normal. “Thank you, Eugene.” I finally close the door and notice something’s different. “No Poppy tonight?”

“She’s sleeping.” Then his beady eyes look over my face as I turn to him fully, opening the container and putting a slice onto a plate. “You look like hell.”

I huff a short laugh, blinking a few times as I pull open a drawer for a fork. “You always know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”

He doesn’t respond right away. I glance up, expecting his usual gruff amusement, but instead, he’s just standing there, watching me, his arms crossed over his knitted beige sweater.

Focusing on my plate instead, I cut into the meatloaf. “Long day,” I add, as if that explains everything.

Eugene doesn’t move. “You been home late all week.”

I lift a shoulder. “Work.” That’s true for most nights, except one of course, but he already knows about that.

“Hm.” His observant gaze doesn’t shift.

I sigh, rubbing at my temple before taking a bite. It’s good. It always is. But I barely taste it.

“You gonna tell me what’s eating you, or do I gotta start making guesses?”

I shake my head, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already decided he’s not letting it go.

Eugene tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Alright. Let’s see. You brought someone home over the weekend so it can’t be that you need to get laid.”

I open my mouth to interrupt, but he raises his hand to stop me.

“You’ve already established you won’t give me details...” He waves a hand. “Figured you finally letting someone in past the ‘do not disturb’ sign you got nailed to your personality might loosen you up.”

I scowl, but I don’t argue. Because he’s right; I was kinda hoping that too. I guess not.

Eugene watches me carefully, his expression shifting from amused to assessing. “So what, then? He not what you expected?”

I release a slow breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “Something like that.”

Eugene hums as he leans against the counter. “And now you look like you swallowed a bad egg over it.”

I scoff. “I do not.” I try to school my sour expression, but it’s useless.

“So what happened? Did he piss you off?”

Rubbing a hand down my face, I lean back in my chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

Eugene watches me for a long beat, then leans back. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Well, good news is, I’m patient and a good listener.”

I pick at the food on my plate, my appetite completely shot.

Because the worst part of all of this, the part I won’t say out loud, the part Eugene probably already suspects, is that I don’t know if I’m more pissed at Finn for lying…

Or at myself for not giving him the chance to explain.