Page 18 of Wicked Scandal

Maybe I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on her to help me. She’s been a ball of nerves all class. I swear I have never seen her so flustered. When everyone had taken their seats and class began, it was as if she couldn’t get her train of thought. The way her gaze darts around the room and she keeps shuffling papers on her desk just proves she is feeling antsy and tense. But what bothers me most is her eyes seem to land on everyone except me.

She already seems stressed out enough and I’m hoping I didn’t just make things worse. I should have asked her if everything was okay. I also should have asked why she’s dressed like a blizzard is heading our way in another long-sleeved turtleneck—this time with a puffy vest over it—and a pair of black dress pants, but I didn’t want to come across like I knew too much. Not yet at least.

Had it not been for her behavior lately, I wouldn’t even suspect anything is wrong based on her clothing choice, but things aren’t adding up. Especially after what I saw last night.

Last night I laid in bed thinking about Mrs. Jenkins and how she’s been acting the last few months. I drew up many different scenarios, but in the end, I came to the conclusion that her husband has been physically abusing her for a while now. I could be way off, but my gut tells me I’m spot on.

She’s going to try and push me away, I know it. But I have to gain her trust because it breaks my heart to think that she might be in any sort of danger.

Mrs. Jenkins continues to talk about symbolism, but I don’t pay much attention to anything but her body language. Like a detective, I search for clues. Any sign that I’m right. Yet, the more I watch her, I desperately hope I’m wrong. It hurts to even think about anyone harming such a beautiful, kind person. She’s a gem and I hope like hell her husband knows that.

Once class is dismissed, I hang back, not caring if I’m late for biology. This is more important.

“Was there something I can help you with, Wilder?” she asks as she taps into her phone, still avoiding eye contact with me while she stands at the front of the room.

I slide out from my chair and move to the door with my laptop tucked under my arm. Instead of walking out, I close it, grabbing her full attention.

She raises a brow, gripping her phone. “What are you doing?”

I walk toward her with slow steps so I don’t freak her out. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m coming on to her. “Is everything okay, Mrs. Jenkins. Call me crazy, but I’m sort of worried about you.” My eyes drift to her stomach that she clutched when she stood up, and the wrist I watched her cradle to her chest last night.

An airy laugh slips through her lips as she forces a smile on her face. I know it’s forced because her eyes lack the sparkle they hold when her happiness is genuine.“If this is about what happened a few months ago, I can assure you, everything is fine. Just like I assured you then.”

I step closer, and she steps back. “You need to get to your next class, Wilder.” This is a planning period for her, so I know no one is about to walk in.

Another step forward, and she takes another step backward. “What are you doing?” This time her voice is just a whisper as she strains her neck up to try to appear strong. But I see the worry, the fear.

But what's worse is when I see that all my worries were justified. At the very tip of her turtleneck is a subtle bruise. It’s barely visible, but it’s there. Pain slices through me as if I were just hit in the stomach, but I don’t let her see. This isn’t about me.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her eyes beginning to dampen with moisture. Why do I feel like she’s begging me to ask her? To save her?

More than anything, I want to pull down the fabric and expose the mark while begging her to tell me the truth. She crosses her arms over her chest and her sleeve rides up, exposing another bruise on her wrist. This one is more subtle. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it if I didn’t know just what happened last night.

I swallow hard, wanting to say something else, but instead I say, “I wanted to thank you again for your help.”

She turns her head slightly but doesn’t look at me. “You’re welcome. Now get going. I’d hate for you to be late for your next class.”

With a heavy heart, I walk to the door but pause with my fingers wrapped around the handle. “Mrs. Jenkins,” I say softly. I don’t know if I can walk away right now.

I’m used to being the nice guy, that’s who I am. But right now I want to say fuck it to giving her space. The need to pull her into my arms no matter how much she fights it is strong. I want to press her body against that damn whiteboard and I want her to confide in me every secret she has ever had to keep.

Our eyes meet with a fierce intensity. It's as if a magnetic force is pulling us together. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. I take a step toward her and when she doesn’t step back, I eat up the distance between us.

Her back touches the whiteboard with hardly an inch of space separating our bodies. She smells like lavender and I’m surprised to find my mouth watering. Looking her up and down, I watch her throat bob as she swallows nervously. “Wilder?”

She says my name like it’s a prayer, and I want nothing more than to be the savior she prays to. But I need to prove she can trust me, that I’m not like that asshole who already took advantage of the gift right in front of him.

Carefully, I tip her chin so she has to look into my eyes. “You think no one sees you, Mrs. Jenkins.” I lift a smile as tears glisten in her beautiful blue eyes. “But I do. And I think you’re worth seeing.”

I’ve been drawn to Mrs. Jenkins for a while now, but whatever is happening inside me is a whole new level of emotion. She stumbles to the left, reaching out to steady herself on the edge of her desk, confirmation that she feels this undeniable connection between us. How can she not?

Giving her space, I head to the door, but not before giving her one last look that I hope conveys everything neither of us is ready to say.

Earlier I told Mrs. Jenkins I need her. I didn’t realize the depths of those words until now because she might not know it yet, but she needs me too.

CHAPTER 6

CATHERINE

---