I type louder. My poor keyboard.
He laughs, but it’s bitter. “Right. Silent treatment. Real mature, Professor Ryan.”
The title stings. We both know what we are to each other behind closed doors—colleagues, yes. But more. Messy, complicated more. And he rarely calls me professor, not unless a student is around.
I stand abruptly, needing air. He blocks the door without touching me, using his body to stand in my way.Tall, solid, radiating heat. His eyes—those stormy eyes—search my face like he’s memorizing it in case I disappear.
“Move,” I want to say. But I don’t. I stare at his chest instead, at the way his shirt stretches across it, and I will my pulse to slow.
Finally, he steps aside. The victory feels shitty.Ifeel shitty.
By midday, I’m exhausted from wanting and not having. The silence has become its own language: the way he slides my favorite pen across the desk when I can’t find it. The way I leave the window cracked because he runs hot. Small mercies wrapped in resentment.
Then Ethan walks in. And it’s exactly what I need to shake the silence away.
Ethan leans against the doorframe like he owns the place, all easy charm and sharp jawline. The same student who flirted shamelessly with Cade in lecture last week, the one who challenged him in class with that cocky grin. This student is clearly about talking himself into better grades, and flirting his way up, too. I don’t like it, but I’m not surprised. His eyes flick to Cade first before landing on me.
“Hey, Professor Ryan. Got a minute?”
I feel Cade stiffen behind me.
“Sure,” I say, the first word I’ve spoken around Cade in three days. It tastes like rebellion. I turn toward Ethan fully, ignoring the way Cade’s chair scrapes the linoleum.
Ethan’s smile widens. “I was thinking… lunch? That new fusion place off campus. My treat. We could talk about that independent study idea I mentioned.”
It’s not just lunch. His tone makes that clear—low, inviting, laced with possibility. The kind of invitation that could lead somewhere if I let it. Part of me wants to. Not because I want Ethan, but because I want something. Proof that I’m not just waiting around for Cade to decide I’m worth the risk.
Cade stands so fast his chair hits the wall. In a few strides he’s at the door, closing it with a firm click. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, back to us, hand still on the knob. His shoulders rise and fall with uneven breaths.
My heart stutters.
“What?” I ask, voice steadier than I feel. I step closer to him, close enough to see the tension corded in his neck. “Professor Mercer?”
He turns. His face is a storm—jaw tight, eyes storming with everything he won’t let himself admit. His mouth opens, only to close again. The words are there, I can see them fighting to escape. The way his chin wobbles, how he nudges his glasses up. I see him churning through his admissions.
Don’t go. Stay. Choose me.
But they die before they form. And the silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Ethan’s eyebrows rise, but he stays quiet. Cade’s hand drops from the door knob. He steps back, opening it again. The defeat in that small movement guts me. He wants to stop this. He wanted toshout at me not to go. He wanted to kick Ethan’s ass for even asking. I know him, after swallowing his strangled cries and witnessing his pure hunger, I know he wants nothing more than Ethan to leave and for me to break this tension filled ice that’s grown between us. But Cade let’s fear win like always.
Something snaps into place inside me—clarity, sharp as broken glasses. He doesn’t want me to go. But he can’t bring himself to ask me to stay. Not really. Not in the way I need. Determination floods my veins. If he won’t fight for this—for us—then maybeIneed to force the issue. Make him feel what I’ve been feeling. The ache. The want. The fucking torment.
“Lunch sounds great, Ethan. I’d love to hear more about your IS plan,” I tell this annoying and quite frankly, slutty student as I grab my jacket. My voice is calm, but inside I’m vibrating. “Lead the way.”
Cade’s eyes meet mine as I pass. There’s pain there. Raw, unguarded for once. It nearly breaks me because he lets me see it. For the first time ever, he truly lets me see the twist of agony he’s feeling in the wake of his confusion.
But I keep walking.
Ethan chats easily as we head down the hall, something about his thesis and weekend plans. I nod at the right moments, smile when expected, but my mind is back in that office. With Cade’s hand on the door. With the words he couldn’t say.
By the time we reach the car, I’m more determined than ever. This isn’t over. The silent treatment ends today—notwith surrender, but with war. If Cade thinks he can hide behind his walls forever, he’s wrong.
I want him. All of him. The brooding, the passion, the terrified parts he keeps locked away. And I’m done waiting for him to come to me.
Lunch with Ethan will be… enlightening. For both of us.
Especially when I make sure Cade hears every detail later.
The campus blurs past the passenger window. Ethan’s hand brushes my knee as he shifts gears, casual but intentional. Heat flares under my skin—not for him, but from the knowledge that Cade is watching from the office window. I can feel it.
