Misconduct

“You messed up my books,” I commented, lying on my back on the floor of his study and gazing up at the bookshelves I’d so tirelessly organized a few weeks ago.

“Yes, I did,” he admitted without hesitation.

I wore one of his long white shirts with the sleeves rolled up and was supporting a glass of Scotch on my abdomen with my feet crossed.

“Did you do it on purpose?” I pressed.

“Yes.”

A smile spread across my lips, and I leaned my head up, taking a sip of the hearty liquid.

Christian was apparently spending the weekend with his grandfather across the lake, so Tyler brought me home with him from the club. It was one a.m., and neither one of us was the least bit tired.

I’d felt guilty about ruining our night out, but Tyler had said he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t like clubs anyway but had wanted to take me out.

After pulling me out of the club, he’d raced home, damn near getting into an accident on the way, and stripped off all of my clothes as soon as we’d gotten in the door. He’d carried me upstairs, my legs wrapped around his waist, and kept me good and occupied for more than an hour.

He’d gotten a few calls while we were busy, though, and since neither of us was sleepy, he’d come downstairs to take care of some business while I got drunk on his alcohol.

He stood behind his desk in gray lounge pants and no shirt, sorting through some papers.

“You’re not going to fix them?” he suggested.

I tapped the glass with my fingers, staring up at the hodgepodge he’d made of the books.

“I’m considering it.”

I heard his quiet chuckle. “Maybe you no longer need to be soothed,” he suggested. “Or maybe you found something else equally effective.”

“Cocky,” I shot back, teasing.

But actually, he had a point. A few weeks ago, those books, sitting there out of order, some facing the wrong way, had driven me bananas, and I could not concentrate on a damn thing until I’d gotten them sorted.

Now it just kind of bugged me. I still felt the pull, but there was something else in the room tugging at me, too.

“It’s such a strange feeling,” I mused. “Suddenly abandoning a habit I’ve had for seven years. I feel more peace now than I ever had doing it, though.”

“Seven years?” he repeated. “I thought you started when your parents died five years ago.”

I let out a breath and closed my eyes. “Shit,” I whispered under my breath, not loud enough for him to hear.

I’d forgotten that he didn’t know.

“Easton?” he prompted, clearly waiting for an answer.

I swirled the glass in a circle, watching the brown liquid coat the inside. “Yeah, that story was never in the media, was it?”

In his Googling, he wouldn’t have come across it, because my family had kept it under tight wraps.

“What story?”

I took a deep breath and set the glass down on the floor, tucking my hands behind my head as I started.

“I wasn’t always the sophisticated, capable, and charming woman you see now,” I joked.

He walked around the desk, leaning against the front of it and staring down at me.

“No?” He played along.

I looked up at him and, after steeling myself, opened up to him. “When I was sixteen, I was very naive and sheltered,” I told him. “I didn’t know how to make decisions or question anything. I had never even been on a date, and if my parents had had their way, I never would’ve been.”

I stared ahead at the bookcase, remembering my perfect white house and my perfect pink bedroom and my perfect, strict schedule posted on the refrigerator.

“I was a twenty-four-hour tennis player, and the only people I spoke to were my family, newscasters, and my coach, Chase Stiles.” I looked at Tyler. “He was twenty-six at the time.”

His expression turned guarded. “Chase Stiles? Am I going to like where this is going?”

I gave him a soothing smile and continued.

“He was so devoted to me,” I admitted. “Always encouraging me and spending so much more time working with me than what he was paid for. He would buy me things, and I liked it, because I thought he was the only one who cared about who I was on the inside. He asked me about my interests outside of tennis.”

Tyler stayed quiet, and I hesitated, feeling my stomach knot as the old fear started to surface.

But I forced it out, keeping my eyes downcast. “I didn’t see it as wrong when he started buying me outfits.” I went on. “Tight shorts and sports bras to train in. And I didn’t think it was such a big deal when he took pictures of me posing in the outfits he’d bought.”

“Easton,” Tyler inched out, apprehension thick in his voice. He didn’t like where this was going.

I swallowed through the tightness in my throat, still not meeting his eyes. “But then he started getting familiar,” I explained, chewing on my bottom lip. “Patting me on the behind when I did well or hugging me for too long.” I blinked, pushing away the shame I felt creep up. “A couple of times he came into the locker room while I was showering, pretending it was an accident.”

At the time, I’d felt like it was my fault. Like I was enticing him, or that what he was doing was normal. We’d spent a lot of time together. Training, traveling . . . We were close, so maybe he was just a really good friend or someone, like my parents, whom I should trust to never hurt me.

“I didn’t tell anyone what was going on, and I didn’t confront Chase about any of it,” I told Tyler. “I just started getting more stressed, and I became angry. Very angry,” I added.

“I started refusing his gifts,” I continued. “And I threw fits when my mother would try to leave me alone with him on the court. After a while, I finally broke down and told them about his behavior.”

“Did he force himself on you?” Tyler bit out, his voice turning angry.

I shook my head. “No. But the behavior was escalating,” I explained. “My parents fired him, but they didn’t press charges. They didn’t want America’s next tennis darling tainted with a scandal forever preserved in the newspapers.”

I looked at Tyler and could see his fists balled up under his arms.

“And then, on top of that,” he deduced, “you lost your parents and your sister two years later. That’s a lot for a young person to go through.”

I nodded. “It was.”

Chase’s abuse, and my parents’ and sister’s deaths, had almost killed me five years ago. I dove into a world of turning chaos into order and building such a tough outer shell that nothing bad could hurt me again.

It wasn’t until recently that I’d realized, looking up at Tyler, that my shell protected me from all the good stuff, too.

“I started arranging and counting things as a coping mechanism, a way to have consistency,” I told him. “To know what I could count on. Awareness of my surroundings, everything in its place . . .” I went on. “I didn’t like surprises.”

“You needed control,” he assessed.

I nodded. “Yeah. After Stiles and then the accident, Jack and I tried to keep it going, but as you saw online, I couldn’t get it together. My game fell apart. We sold our house and moved here, so I could have a fresh start and my brother could pursue his own dreams finally.”

Tyler pushed off the desk and approached me, standing tall above me and looking down intently.

“And what’s your dream?” he asked.

I inhaled a long breath and took my hands out from behind my head. Running one up his leg to the inside of his thigh, I whispered, “To not want you as much as I do.”

—

The next week flew by, fall conferences having started, and I needed to get ahead on revising lesson plans that I’d already completed last summer.

I’d expected that to happen, as classes don’t always go according to schedule and certain changes I’d decided to make at the last minute needed to be accounted for later. I didn’t mind how my personal life had changed or even how unpredictable it had become, but I didn’t want to lose control of my career. Being a good teacher was acceptable. Being a great teacher was my mission.

My sister, Avery, had wanted to teach, but I’d finally realized that I, too, was made for this. I enjoyed seeing my students engaged and interacting, and the rush of finally seeing them make a connection, discuss it, and ultimately teach one another fed my desire to do this every day.

Tyler had been out of contact a lot, being held up in constant meetings and campaign planning. He’d also had to take a day trip to Toronto on Monday that turned into two days away. His brother had stayed with Christian, and although I knew Tyler hated leaving him, he called and texted him regularly to check in.

In my classroom, I set up the laptop, positioning it in front of the three chairs at the table. Christian sat in one chair, playing on his phone, and I checked my watch, seeing it was four oh two, past time for our parent-teacher conference.

I then glanced at my phone, seeing no missed texts, so I hoped Tyler was on his way.

Bringing up Skype, I decided not to wait for him. I dialed Christian’s mother, knowing that she was expecting my call.

I was in no rush to see her face-to-face, though. We’d spoken on the phone and had e-mailed several times. She seemed like a great parent and wanted to be kept informed of everything that was happening with Christian. She even belonged to the social media groups and participated.

I threaded my fingers together, trying to push down the uneasiness I felt at facing her.

“Hello?” she chirped, coming on-screen, and I forced a smile.

Of course she was beautiful.

Her long black hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her ivory skin looked impeccable.

“Hello, Mrs. Reed,” I greeted. “I’m Easton Bradbury, Christian’s American History teacher.”

“Nice to finally put a face with the voice,” she commented with a bright smile.

“We’re still waiting for Mr. Marek,” I told her, “but he should be along shortly.”

She nodded, an aggravated look crossing her face, but she recovered quickly.

“Put down your phone, Christian. I want to see your face,” she ordered her son.

He rolled his eyes and set it down.

“I miss you,” she singsonged.

“I know,” he sang back, and we both broke out in a laugh at his sarcasm.

They chatted for the next few minutes, and I updated her on what we were currently studying and what we hoped to have covered by the end of the year.

Christian and his mother got along great, and I started to wonder a lot of things as I sat there, observing them. I’d never had so many insecurities as I had with Tyler, and I didn’t like it at all.

Did he ever regret letting her go? Had he once loved her? What would she think of me if she knew how I felt about him?

That one scared me the most. Christian was my student, and every day I hated myself even more for doing anything that threatened his stability and happiness. I was supposed to make his life better, and I was very close to turning it upside down.

Clearing my throat, I looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly four fifteen. Where the hell was Tyler?

I smiled, trying to keep the mood going.

“You look like you’re having wonderful weather there,” I noted, seeing the white curtains blowing in the breeze coming through the open windows behind her.

“Oh, it’s hot but beautiful,” she clarified. “There’s so much land to explore. I invited Christian to spend the holidays here, but he hasn’t answered me yet.”

She shot him a hinting smirk, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“I don’t know,” I teased. “Teenagers are hard. You might have to sweeten the deal. Ensure him he’ll have Wi-Fi.”

She laughed and turned her eyes to Christian. “We’ll have Wi-Fi.”

He tried to hide the smile, but I could see it.

I wasn’t sure if Tyler wanted Christian home for Christmas, but a trip to Africa would be a wonderful experience for him.

I glanced at the clock again and picked up my phone. “I’ll give Mr. Marek another call,” I told her. “If he’s running late, we may have to start without him.”

I dialed Tyler’s cell, knowing he would answer if he saw it was me. I called rarely, so he would know it was important.

“Hey, I’m on my way to a meeting. Can I—”

“Mr. Marek,” I cut him off, putting on my teacher hat. “I’m here with Christian and his mother on Skype. Would you like us to wait for you?”

“Wait for me?” he shot out.

I gritted my teeth and smiled, keeping my voice even for Christian and his mom. “Christian’s conference,” I reminded him.

“Shit!” he bellowed. “Goddamn it!”

I let my eyes fall closed, hearing Christian laugh under his breath and shake his head. He’d heard that.

Tyler’s heavy breaths poured into the phone. “I’m only a few blocks away,” he gritted out. “I’ll be there in five.”

And he hung up, leaving me there feeling like an idiot.

I set my phone down. “He’s on his way,” I assured her. “But I think we can go ahead and start by looking at Christian’s first-trimester test scores.”

Over the next few minutes, I covered Christian’s rough start at the beginning of the year, assuring his mother that I had every confidence it had to do with his transition from moving homes and starting high school. He’d caught up and continued to excel now, moving beyond several of the students in class.

Tyler blew into the room, and I stopped talking, taking in his appearance. He looked like a wolf that had lost its prey.

Some of his hair fell over his forehead, and his tie was wrinkled and hanging loose around his neck. The weight of a mountain rested on his shoulders, and I turned away, refocusing on the documents in front of me instead of worrying about him.

He took the seat next to Christian and glanced at me on his son’s other side.

“Excuse me,” he apologized.

And then he turned, nodding to Christian’s mother. “Brynne.”

“Tyler,” she replied curtly.

Christian sat quietly, his eyes downcast.

“Mr. Marek, we already went over Christian’s test scores and discussed some of his homework,” I told him, handing him the documents. “You can take those home and review them in your spare time.”

I looked to Christian’s mother, careful not to make eye contact with Tyler, too afraid I would give something away.

I continued. “Christian will be given the opportunity to choose some of his assignments now,” I informed them. “It’s a technique I like to use for students I feel have earned the privilege. For unit projects and some daily assignments, he’ll be able to choose from a selection, which will all be worth the same percentage of points, providing he puts in the same excellent effort,” I explained, hearing a phone vibrate and seeing Tyler take it out and look at it.

My irritation grew, but thankfully, he put the phone down, ignoring it.

“Sounds wonderful,” Brynne agreed. “Christian, would you like that?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, sounds fine.” And then he looked at me. “When do I take the test for the AP class?” he asked, seeming more interested in it than he’d been at Sucré. After some time to let it absorb, he must have grown more interested.

“Thank you for reminding me,” I burst out, taking out the permission form. “I’ll schedule you for—”

But Tyler’s phone buzzed again, interrupting my chain of thought, and I dropped the paper to the table, shooting Tyler a stern look.

“Mr. Marek, would you please turn off your phone?” I chided, not really asking.

He shoved it into his breast pocket, and I didn’t care that he looked the worse for wear. He could be present for this.

“Excuse me,” he apologized again.

Christian snorted, and I continued, explaining the class and that Christian was doing well in several subjects and might qualify for more than one advanced course. Then Tyler signed the permission slip, authorizing us to test his son, and I wrapped up any last questions they had. Tyler didn’t have any, because his head was clearly somewhere else today.

“Thank you, Ms. Reed, for joining us from so far away.” I smiled at her and tapped my folders on the table, making sure they were stacked neatly.

“Yeah, with the time difference, she still managed to be here,” Christian jabbed, shooting his father a cold look. “I’ll wait in the car.”

And he walked out.

“Tyler,” Brynne said flatly, “we’ll talk later.”

And she clicked off, no happier with Tyler Marek than their son.

I stood up and dropped the folders onto my desk, letting my anger show now that we were alone.

“You have secretaries,” I pointed out. “A calendar of appointments and meetings on your phone.” I turned around, seeing him stand and straighten his tie. “How could you forget?”

Out of all the things to be present for at school . . . It’s not like his presence here was required often. He couldn’t make this a priority?

“It was a simple mistake,” he explained. “There’s too much going on. I’m running around everywhere, and my head is crammed full with a million things. I’m doing the best I can.”

“For you?” I threw back. “Or for Christian?”