Page 12 of Unwritten Rules

“…well, fuckers? Saturday suit you two?”

Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. How do I get out of this one?

Caden beats me to it, scrubbing his palm down his scruffy face. “Can’t do this weekend, man. We’re visiting Layla’s parents. Rain check?”

I flinch openly, knowing how much of a buzzkill my friend is facing. His in-laws are spectacular cunts, putting it mildly. But obviously, they’d have to be, considering their daughter is the queen of all cunts.

“Shit, North. Tough break.” Henry winces knowingly before his gaze finds mine. “I know Peach would like to get everyone together, so I’ll try to find another date that’s not too close to her due date, okay?”

I exhale a silent breath of relief, having successfully avoided a get-together without uttering a word. We wrap the call up when Henry arrives outside the DeMarco Holdings building, eager to get to his first meeting today.

“I’m trying to sort this shit out now so I can take extended leave after the baby comes. Al is flying home today to begin the handover, so I’m sure to be up to my tits by teatime. See you tossers in the next cartoon.”

His section of the screen goes black, as he’s obviously hit the end call button.

“You may be able to pull the wool over his eyes because he’s caught up in all things baby right now, but I know you’re hiding shit, man.” Caden’s eyes stare into my dark ones, the blue in his deepening in intensity the longer his gaze challenges mine. “And I can guarantee you, Hawthorne, what it is – whatever you’ve run from, whatever you don’t want to face, that shit will hit the fan. Splendidly and in dramatic style.”

He pauses, whether for signature Caden North dramatic effect or to cherry-pick his next words, I don’t know.

“And whatever it is must be a real damn clusterfuck to send you running. Because I’ve never known you to back down from anything, brother. You’re one brave motherfucker, Nate. You meet life head-on, regardless of the shit thrown at you.”

I swallow roughly at the honesty in his words, and my action doesn’t go unnoticed as my best friend ploughs on.

“I’ve made an excuse for you this time, brother. Just know…if I can see it – an we both know I’m a fucking idiot with the attention span of a goddamn flea – then once his kid arrives and he tunes back into real life, he’s going to spot it a mile away.”

Silence permeates the line, loud and long, until Cade holds up a hand in farewell. He wears a sad smile, entirely at odds with his usual, perky self.

“Cheers, mate. I’m here if you need an ear.”

His screen also goes black, and I’m left alone with a stomach full of guilt and a head full of memories.

CHAPTER 5

NATE

“Thank you so much, Professor Hawthorne. If there’s anything I can do for you—”

Pushing down my ire, I force a semblance of a smile onto my lips, cutting her off before she can say or do anything to make this exchange even more inappropriate than she already has.

“That won’t be necessary, Sabrina. You may turn in your project within the next seven days – no penalties.” I move from behind my desk to open the door of my office for Miss Turner, the seventh student today to blatantly attempt propositioning me. Apparently, word of the Monica Higgins incident has yet to make the rounds.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. My office hours finished more than forty-five minutes ago. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She slowly stands from her seat, brows drawing together in confusion. This is obviously not how she saw this evening going.

What these co-eds have yet to grasp is that I have zero interest in fucking anyone barely out of nappies, without a decent thought between their ears and the conversational skills of a blow-up doll.

Liar.

I push the disgusting thought out of my head as quickly as it flashes through, instead focusing on nodding at Sabrina as she slips past me into the hallway beyond.

Shutting the heavy oak door of my office behind her, I rest my head against the cool wood and close my eyes in silent thanks that this week is finally over. Slightly rotating my head, I spy my decanter of Rémy Martin on the sideboard, an empty tumbler alongside it, just whispering my name.

Straightening up, I make short work of sloshing a hefty measure into the glass, then seat myself back behind my desk with a heavy plonk.

My stomach is twisting and churning with the need to tamp down on the thoughts that threaten to run riot in my twisted brain, and even downing the fucking snifter in one gulp does nothing to tame my racing heart or clear my galloping mind.

Maybe if I just ask where she is – or how she’s doing – then I’ll at least know she’s okay. Maybe then this torment will cease.