Page 94 of Shattered

I roll my eyes, while shaking my head and laughing, “That was such a Tray line.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Never been surer in my life.” I press a kiss to Brayden’s lips. “I’ll see you at home.” Brayden frowns and I wink as I walk out of the classroom heading straight for the dean’s office.

I knock on his door, the echo of my knuckles reverberating through the room. His deep voice. usually steady and authoritative, booms, instructing me to come in. As I push the door open, dread floods through my veins. Before me stands a man on the brink of collapse, stress etching lines into his face. But it’s not him who shatters my composure; it’s Denny, standing at his side. Devastation mars his features.

“Please tell me it’s not true.” Denny’s voice cracks, desperation clinging to each syllable. At that moment, I realize I’ve missed my chance. I should have spoken up earlier, but I wanted to be the one to explain everything—to soften the blow.

“Den, I—” I begin, but Richard, the dean, cuts me off sharply.

“Sit down, Bohdi,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. I comply, sinking into the chair as the door clicks shut behind me.

“Tell me,” Richard demands, leaning forward, “why are you here?”

I meet Denny’s gaze, his brows furrowing. His eyes silently plead with me to deny whatever rumors he’s heard, to assure him it’s all false.

“I think you know,” I reply, my voice unwavering.

Richard slams his hand on the desk, frustration boiling over. “Ah, shit,” he mutters.

Denny pulls at the strands of his hair. “I won’t believe it. He’s your student. My player. He’s Nineteen!” Panic twists his features.

“Den, please listen,” I implore.

“I will,” Denny says, desperation thickening the air, “if you tell me it’s not true. Tell me, Bohdi, that you’re not currently in a relationship with Brayden Anders.”

My shoulders sag, and my head drops. There’s no way I can lie. I’m not ashamed, but I need Denny to hear me out.

“Richard, Denny,” I declare, my chin raised, “I’m in a relationship with Brayden Anders, and I love him.” Both men gasp. “And I resign.”

Denny’s face reddens, his hands clenching. He strides around the desk, our faces inches apart. “You make me sick,” he spits, storming out of the office. The door slams with such force that the room trembles.

My gaze shifts to Richard. “We need to talk.”

Three hours later, I trudge through my front door, tossing my keys onto the side table. Exhaustion clings to me like a heavy cloak as I survey the living room, now filled with Brayden’s belongings. He walks out of our bedroom, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Boh,” he breathes.

“It’s done,” I reply, my voice weary.

“What happened?” Brayden paces toward me, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Can I just hold you on the couch for a while?” I ask. Brayden glances back, concern etching his face. He nods, guiding me over to the couch.

We lie there in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down. Brayden rests his head on my chest, and I absentmindedly play with his hair, my gaze fixed on the blank white wall. The relief of completion mingles with regret over how it unfolded.

“Lance told the dean before I got there,” I murmur to Brayden, whose head snaps up.

“What?” he gasps.

I chuckle. “Yep, he mentioned a student stepping forward today. I assume it was Lance, given our earlier encounter.”

“That fucking prick. Wait until I see him.”

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “It’s done. I was going to tell the dean and then see Denny, but Denny was already there when I arrived.” Brayden’s eyes widen.

“You’re good. I’ve squared it with the dean, but I doubt Denny will be speaking to me anytime soon.”

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