“I am.” He looked me up and down. “Believe me, every fucking chance I get.”
I huffed as we stepped back onto the road together, heading home on foot, phones unreliable, answers nonexistent, hoping this was nothing more than a bad day.
But I knew better.
And I had a feeling that whatever this was, it was going to be life-changing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUCAS
Saturday school was usually quiet. But not this quiet.
By eight thirty, it was already clear that most of the staff hadn’t shown. A few had called in sick, and a few we hadn’t heard from at all. Principal Morales’s office was dark, the admin wing locked, and the front desk abandoned except for a handwritten sign taped crookedly to the window:
Saturday Classes in room C-12
I stood there longer than I needed to, keys heavy in my hand, wondering why any of this was my problem after yesterday.
I was supposed to be on administrative leave.
But when the call came— “I know this is unprecedented, but can you come in today?”Morales started coughing up a lung.“I think the flu spread at the game last night. Just for today,”—I hadn’t said no. I never did when someone asked for help. That’s why the way I was being hung out to dry pissed me off so much.
I stopped by Taryn’s house to talk to Ben, but they weren’t there. I lay awake all night, racked with guilt, even considering everything Taryn had done, because I knew Ben could be intense. I shouldn’t have called him, but I was so angry that I wanted to make sure the brat was punished for her actions.
I thought about how I felt with my hand around her throat. My dick started to get hard, and I shook my head. Nope. Not going there.
When my temper takes over, I tend to act impulsively. I’ve tried to curb it over the last few years, but I haven’t always succeeded. That’s all it was. My temper. Not desire for one of my students, someone I’d known since she was a gap-toothed little girl with pigtails.
I drove out there again this morning, but Ben's truck was still missing. I hated how worried I was about a girl who had single-handedly destroyed my career.
Room C-12 smelled of dry-erase markers and disinfectants. Twelve students sat scattered among the desks, some staring at laptops, some at nothing, most looking sick.
One kid had his hood up and his head down, breathing through his mouth like he was trying not to throw up.
“You can log in and get started,” I said, clearing my throat as a few kids kept their heads down on their desks. “If you have questions, raise your hand.”
The few that looked healthy nodded. The others didn’t acknowledge me at all.
I sat at my desk, playing a game on my phone to distract myself from my troubles.
Twenty minutes had gone by when a girl near the window suddenly stood up.
“I don’t feel good,” her voice shook like she was embarrassed by it.
“You’re excused to the restroom,” I told her, concerned by the green hue of her face.
Instead of heading to the door, she started swaying—just a little—and grabbed the edge of the desk. Her fingers dug in hard enough that I heard the plastic creak.
“Hey,” I was already moving in her direction. “Sit down before you fall down.”
She started gagging instead. Dry, violent. A boy nearby recoiled as she stumbled into his desk, knocking it sideways.
“I need—” She tried to speak, then vomited. Not just a little. It looked like everything she’d eaten in the last week was on the floor.
Chairs scraped back.
Someone cursed, and of course, a few of the boys started laughing. That all stopped when she continued to empty her stomach.
