Page 82 of Deviant Obsession

"No, you're not." I shift my grip to his shoulder, steering him forcefully toward the parking lot. "You're coming with me so we can handle this like adults, not hormone-driven teenagers."

He tries to wrench away again, but he can’t quite free himself from my iron grip. "I said fuck you! You don't get to act like you have any right to?—”

"I have every right. She's my student. You’re my son. My responsibility."

"Your responsibility?" Dean scoffs. “Fucking one of your students hardly makes you the mostresponsibleperson I could think of.”

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, my fingers tightening almost painfully on his shoulder. "Car. Now."

While maintaining my hold on my furious stepson, I fish my phone from my pocket with my free hand. The text to Ethan is brief.

Me: Come to my house. Emergency.

Dean's resistance gradually lessens as we approach my car, though the tension radiating from him could power a small city. Blood drips steadily from his knuckles, dotting the pavement like breadcrumbs marking our escape.

I'll need to tend to that hand before we can have any rational discussion—if rational discussion is even possible after what just happened. But first, I need to get him somewhere private before he says something we'll all regret.

Once we reach my car, Dean slumps into the passenger seat, defeat momentarily overtaking anger in the slope of his shoulders. I circle to the driver's side, already mapping out the conversation to come in my mind. If my suspicions are correct, and Dean has been the cause of Rhea’s spiraling these past few weeks, it seems we both have some explaining to do.

The short drive stretches into an eternity of strained silence, broken only by Dean's harsh breaths beside me. If it were Ethan, I might be nervous about being in such an enclose space, but Dean’s fits of violence are usually short-lived. He’s always opted for words over fists when he’s got a battle to fight.

It’s not long before I feel compelled to break this suffocating quiet, even just for the sake of not letting him stew alone in his rage for another minute. "She came to my office hours..."

“I don’t want to hear it."

I grip the steering wheel tighter as we wind up into the hills, the temperature in the car somehow glacial despite the blinding sun. "You don't understand?—”

"What's to understand?" Dean turns those ice-blue eyes on me, identical to his brother's yet somehow burning. "That you took advantage of someone half your age? Someone who trusted you?"

The accusation strikes deeper than I care to admit. "It wasn't like that."

"No? Then tell me what it was like. Tell me how you justified fucking your student.MyRhea!"

"I had no idea the two of you were involved."

“Well, that hardly matters now, does it?” His bitter dismissal cuts the conversation short.

The city spreads out below us as we climb higher, a sprawling testament to all the lives intersecting in ways we never see coming. Dean stares out the window, his busted hand clenching and unclenching in his lap.

When he speaks again, the fury seems to be leeching out of him little by little, replaced by a defeated sort of acceptance that is somehow harder to swallow. "You taught us everything. About control. About responsibility. About never taking advantage."

"I did."

"So, what happened to all those lectures about ethics? About consent? About?—”

"She consented." I cut him off sharply. "She knew exactly what she was doing."

"Did she?" Dean's head snaps toward me. "Or did you just catch her when you knew she was at her most vulnerable?"

“We’ll discuss this inside,” I spit through a clenched jaw, my own anger threatening to get the better of me. “You need to takea breath and listen, rather than just throwing around baseless accusations.”

I’ve barely rolled the car to a stop before Dean's door slams hard enough to rattle the frame. Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I stride ahead of him and unlock the front door with steady hands that belie the turmoil in my chest. Years of being both a therapist and a dominant have given me an excellent poker face, but maintaining it now feels like holding back an avalanche with my bare hands.

"Ethan will be here soon." I step aside to let Dean enter first. “I asked him to come over. Figured he might be able to calm you down, if I can’t.”

Dean’s answering laugh holds no humor. “You have no idea the mess you’ve walked into.”

Looking at the raw hurt in his eyes, I'm inclined to agree. I can only guess what revelations wait for me behind this combative exterior.

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