Page 9 of Glass Jawed
I couldn’t spare time, dammit!
Kepler Health was a tiny team of 64 employees at the time. Tim knew—knew—that the hustle would die down in a few weeks. And we’d be back to our old selves.
Well, I was wrong in assuming that he wanted the same things. Hell, he’d spent months contemplating hownotto go back tohisold self.
Fuck.
The image of him and that nameless woman is burned into my skull. Every frame was seared in permanent ink. I couldn’t throw him out fast enough. Couldn’t erase them fast enough.
After I kicked him out, I made sure his co-op internship at my company got pulled. Swift and quiet. No drama. Just a vanished opportunity. Cold-hearted revenge.
I also didn’t want to see him.
Run into the one person I’d had to block out with alcohol and questionable decisions over the past year.
Didn’t want to be reminded.
Thankfully, his university was a good distance from downtown Toronto. No accidental coffee shop run-ins. No awkward subway sightings.
When I got the email asking me to guest lecture, I double—triple-checked—the sender’s address.
Not York University. Nothisschool.
Even though I knew he was no longer a student, I wanted to make damn sure nothing would trigger a relapse of the nightmare.
I was wrong.
Because now? Now I’m standing here, breathing the same air asher. Thesecondreminder.
Those eyes.
Cool. Unbothered. Detached.
They stared right through me that night, while my chest was caving in and my world collapsed. None of my words that night touched her. Not even a flinch.
I was unraveling, itching under my skin, and she just calmly collected her clothes and left.
And now I’m supposed to work with this cohort from UofT’s entrepreneurship course. A month of mentorship, lectures, and engagement.
Which, apparently, means I’ll be staring into those same indifferent dark eyes every damn week.
Fucking hell.
God forbid they actually expect me tointeractwith these students. Some of them are older than my 32-year-old ass.
And yet, none of them hold the same gravity as the one girl I never thought I’d see again.
I barely register the questions being tossed my way until one finally lands.
I should’ve known these Rotman rots would drill my ass like a panel on Shark Tank.
Dragging my eyes away from her is harder than it should be. I turn to a woman seated near the front—mid-40s, maybe. Sharp bob, sharper expression.
“Could you tell us why you chose to pursue pet healthcare over human healthcare?” she asks. “Given that interoperability remains a significant challenge in the human sector as well.”
Christ.
I am not in the fucking headspace to rehash this story for the thousandth time.
