Page 38 of Riptide

When I was teaching AP calc today, my mind wandered to if I should tell the dean of the school about us at CLU, but then I figured it wouldn’t be relevant because he doesn’t go to that school, and even though the damage is done, I’m so confused because I don’t know the story or how Daphne fits into his life and I don’t want to hurt her in all this. I probably should’ve stayed and listened to him, but hindsight is 20:20. This is all a wake-up call that I shouldn’t be doing this with someone younger and a student. Red flags everywhere. I can’t afford to get caught up in drama.

I shrug off my coat, toss it over the back of the couch, and make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. The moment I set it down on the counter, my phone vibrates against the wood, the sound loud in the quiet of my apartment. My first thought, before I even reach for it, is that it’s work. An email from the department. Some student asking for an extension. It usually is.

But when I glance down, the pit in my stomach grows at seeing his name on the app.

I don’t open it. I don’t need to. I already know what it says, or at least, what it’s trying to say. He wouldn’t reach out like this unless he was trying to fix whatever he thinks is broken, trying to justify himself, trying to make me listen when I don’t want to.

Of course, he’s going to ask to be heard.

Of course, he’s going to tell me I got it all wrong.

Exhaling sharply, I rub a hand down my face. Maybe I did. Maybe I jumped to the worst possible conclusion and ran before I could be corrected, but what difference does it make? Even if he wasn’t lying, even if I had it completely backwards, it doesn’t change what this is. It doesn’t change that he’s got a life, that I should never have let myself go there, that I was reckless and stupid, and now, I’m paying for it.

I should block him. Delete the message, move on.

Instead, I just let my phone sit there, the notification glaring at me, waiting for me to make a decision.

Finn

This is the most cliché message I’ve ever sent, but I can explain.

I’m still staring at it when there’s a knock at my door. I glance at the time, noticing nearly eight. The knock comes again, heavier this time, and with a sigh, I push my phone aside and go to answer it.

When I pull the door open, Eugene is standing there, holding a Tupperware container.

I blink at him. “Uh, hi.”

He lifts the container slightly, the side of his mouth lifting. “Meatloaf.”

My eyebrows pull together. “You made me meatloaf?”

Eugene steps past me into the apartment without waiting for an invite, heading straight for the kitchen and setting the container down on the counter. “I made myself meatloaf, but I have too much leftovers.”

I don’t know why I pause; it’s just the long day, because Eugene does this for me sometimes, especially if he sees me coming home later than normal. “Thank you, Eugene.” I finally close the door and notice something’s different. “No Poppy tonight?”

“She’s sleeping.” Then his beady eyes look over my face as I turn to him fully, opening the container and putting a slice onto a plate. “You look like hell.”

I huff a short laugh, blinking a few times as I pull open a drawer for a fork. “You always know how to make a guy feel good about himself.”

He doesn’t respond right away. I glance up, expecting his usual gruff amusement, but instead, he’s just standing there, watching me, his arms crossed over his knitted beige sweater.

Focusing on my plate instead, I cut into the meatloaf. “Long day,” I add, as if that explains everything.

Eugene doesn’t move. “You been home late all week.”

I lift a shoulder. “Work.” That’s true for most nights, except one of course, but he already knows about that.

“Hm.” His observant gaze doesn’t shift.

I sigh, rubbing at my temple before taking a bite. It’s good. It always is. But I barely taste it.

“You gonna tell me what’s eating you, or do I gotta start making guesses?”

I shake my head, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already decided he’s not letting it go.

Eugene tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Alright. Let’s see. You brought someone home over the weekend so it can’t be that you need to get laid.”

I open my mouth to interrupt, but he raises his hand to stop me.

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