Page 33 of Damaged Professor

Maybe that was it, actually. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with Abby. Maybe there’s been an issue with her friend.

That calms my nerves a little bit, but there is just too much about this that seems unknown—and unnerving. I suddenly remember what it felt like to be in high school, watching the clock during math class. Time is just standing still.

Eventually, I’m able to end the class and hand out the homework for the day. This group won’t be back in my class until next week.

Once the class is dismissed, I have to pretend to be fussing with things at my desk while the students leave. Thankfully, none of them stopped to talk to me, and I’m able to just get my shit together and leave as soon as the last student steps out of the room.

Pulling the door to the classroom shut behind me, I look around. There’s still no sign of Abby, though that isn’t really a surprise. I’m not honestly expecting her to be out here… but in all fairness, I’m not expecting my brother to be out here, either.

And yet—

“What are you doing here?”

“You said we could talk—

“Not at work. And not today.” I look at him bewildered. “Why did you come here?”

“So that you have an excuse not to spend the whole evening cooped up in that office, again. Come on, walk with me. I need to talk with you, and you need to get some sun before your teeth start falling out,” says Ashton, turning and starting back down the hallway.

I head after him, catching up and falling into place at his side. “You’re thinking of scurvy, not a sunlight deficiency. And you also work in an office, so maybe stop pointing fingers.”

“I have windows in my office, and I take my lunch at the park across the street,” counters Ashton. “You have no windows in your classroom, and you take your lunch… at your desk, if I remember correctly.”

My lips purse, but I can’t actually argue with him. That’s the worst part of it all. “What are you doing out here?”

“That’s a fine way to thank me for making this drive,” says Ashton.

“You realize that you’ve gone from being funny to pushing your luck, right?” I tell him, but this time there’s no end to the amusement curling through my words. “How’s Jenna?” I ask, snapping out of my own worries.

“She’s fine, just like you left her.”

Ashton leads me to the grassy section, out in front of the campus. He gestures at a bench, and I sit down while he jots something down in his schedule. “

I pause. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

“No, I just came to check on you.”

I stare at him. My mouth opens a little bit, stunned by that. I really thought that he was going to sit out here with me. “Excuse me?” I should be the one checking on him.

“You heard me,” says Ashton. “I have to get back to work. But trust me, Dylan, you need to just sit out here in the sun for a while—” He snaps a finger towards me. “Make sure those pearly whites don’t fall out.”

Then he turns on one heel and hurries down the path. I shout after him, “I’m going in the minute that you leave, just so you know!”

Ashton waves a hand over his shoulder. It’s the curse of being a younger brother. Ashton always knows how to rub me the wrong way and get me acting like a college kid, instead of a tenured professor. Siblings, right?

He vanishes from sight pretty fast, stepping around the corner of the building and heading back to his car. I should get up and go back in, just to prove a point, but Ashton’s not going to see me do it, and he’s not wrong about me spending too little time outside these days. The sun beats down on my skin, the warmth relaxing my muscles, and I find myself not actually wanting to get back.

I need to figure out what's going on with Abby. I suppose that I can do it just as easily sitting here as I can anywhere else. I pull out my phone again.

Chapter nineteen

Abby

I’vemostlyjustspentthe day sitting around, not doing much. My apartment is a smidge on the small side, and the bath is not great for soaking in, but I’ve got this amazing little hanging chair in the corner—it’s big enough for me to completely curl my legs up and tuck a can of strawberry soda between the crook of my knees.

This might be the worst thing that I’ve ever had to deal with.

I’m smitten with Dylan, there’s no denying that. When James died, I thought that that would be the end. I was never going to love someone else again. What I feel for Dylan is a different sort of love—you can never replicate a first love, after all. But it’s one that means a lot to me all the same.

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