Misconduct

Nothing good ever comes easy.

The picture of Tyler and me together was all over the Internet—the news of our relationship had become public knowledge now, and there was no turning back. Saturday night he’d claimed me, throwing his ambitions to the wind and risking what he wanted for himself to have me instead.

I had never felt so loved by someone.

Even my parents had never put me first, above everything else. My career was more important to them, not my sanity or safety.

Tyler and I had spent that night at his house, and when he woke up the next morning, I was the first thing he needed. He didn’t check his phone, his e-mails, or explore the damage we might have done to our careers. We screwed and laughed and ate, and then we talked to Christian when he came home from his friend’s house.

All in all, we were very lucky. The spin Jay had put on the story minimized the damage, and Tyler had called Christian’s mother yesterday to talk about the situation. Not that she needed to know the details, but we wanted her to find out from us before she did another way.

She was livid. She already didn’t trust Tyler, and she didn’t know me well, so she took it exactly how I expected. As a betrayal.

Until she talked to Christian. I don’t know what he said, but I had a definite feeling I was still unaware of the magnitude of Christian’s abilities.

He seemed to calm her down enough for her to not rush home. Although he did have to sweeten her up by agreeing to spend Christmas with her and his stepfather.

There would be some growing pains as we adjusted to the ramifications and the public attention to our relationship, but I already felt like I was so much luckier than I should’ve been.

On Monday morning I stepped into the school office dressed in khaki skinny pants and a long-sleeved blouse with a romantic-looking tie collar. My interview about my teaching methods was this afternoon, so I’d chosen to dress conservatively but fashionably.

“Does he have a moment for me?” I asked Mrs. Vincent as I stepped up to her desk.

She popped her head up, and a look crossed her face when she realized it was me. I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but it was clear she knew what was going on.

“I think so.” She nodded. “Go on in.”

I approached the principal’s office door, knocking even though it was half open.

“Mr. Shaw?” I broached.

He glanced over his shoulder, standing with his hands in his file cabinet, and offered a tight smile.

“Easton, hello.” He sighed. “Come in. I’m glad you stopped by.”

I walked in, making sure to close the door behind me, because I didn’t need Mrs. Vincent knowing more than she already did. I kept my back straight and my shoulders squared, even though I felt like I wore a badge of shame.

I’d screwed a student’s parent. I was a slut who was a threat to all of the other families in the school.

That’s how some parents and other teachers might see it.

They wouldn’t see that I was in love. That Tyler Marek was the one man to break me open and love and need everything he saw.

That he was the one man I needed in the same way.

I sat down in one of the chairs opposite Mr. Shaw’s desk and placed my arms on the armrests. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to speak to you about—”

“I know,” he cut me off, dropping the file folders he’d retrieved from his cabinet onto his desk. “I already spoke with Mr. Marek, and I saw the photo online,” he told me, and then asked, “When did this start?”

I lifted my chin, owning up. “We met at Mardi Gras last February,” I explained. “But we didn’t begin pursuing a relationship until this school year.”

He squinted, studying me. “Even knowing that you could lose your job?”

I faltered, dropping my eyes.

But then I looked back and faced it head-on. “Mr. Shaw,” I started.

But he held up his hand. “Ms. Bradbury—”

“Please, Mr. Shaw, let me say this,” I rushed out, quieting him.

I needed to tell him the truth, so no matter what happened, he would know that I didn’t take my actions lightly.

“I could never claim to be a person who was used to sacrificing what they wanted for the betterment of someone else,” I confessed. “I’ve been selfish and defiant many times in my life, most of which I regret,” I told him, remembering all too well my parents and sister.

“But I love what I do,” I maintained, “and I do it with everything I have. I’m committed to my career, and that hasn’t wavered. Mr. Marek” —I stopped and corrected— “Tyler is . . .”

I looked down, inhaling a long breath.

“I can’t do without him.” I stood my ground, owning my decisions. “I don’t want to. I love teaching, and I would hate to lose my job or your confidence, but I’m not sorry that I love him.”

I folded my hands in my lap, knowing I would do it all again. “I’m simply sorry things happened this way,” I admitted.

He sat there for a moment, looking like he was thinking about what I said.

I would hate to lose my job, hurt my reputation with the students and parents, or be the butt of someone’s joke, but I wasn’t tormented about the situation. Knowing that I would do nothing differently gave me peace.

He sighed and looked at me. “I’m not going to fire you.” He smiled gently. “I wasn’t going to.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

He shrugged, leaning on his desk. “You’re an excellent teacher,” he pointed out. “Your methods are drawing much-needed publicity for the school, and if I can be frank, your . . .” He waved a hand at me. “Mr. Marek will quite possibly be a senator. I can’t fire his wife.”

I dug in, shaking my head. “Wife?” I repeated. “Oh, no, we’re not engaged.”

He laughed and looked at me like I was stupid. “He went public with a love interest during a campaign, Easton,” he replied. “He may not yet realize he intends to propose, but his intentions toward you are definitely permanent.”

Okaaaay.

“Christian has been reassigned to the AP class,” he continued, standing up, “so there’s no longer a conflict of interest there. He is aware of this development, I assume?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.” He nodded once. “You’ll no doubt have to field some gossip with the staff and parents, but I think you’ll find Mr. Marek’s status and reputation will go a long way in making sure it passes quickly. Let me know if you need anything.”

That was it?

He turned around and started rummaging through his file cabinet again.

I hesitated, feeling like there was still another shoe to drop, but when he didn’t say anything more, I slowly rose and began to leave.

“Thank you,” I said in a low voice.

“Easton,” he called, and I turned around.

“When the news crew observes your class today,” he instructed, “you represent this school and Tyler Marek now.”

And then he turned back around, leaving my stomach flipping with his little hint.

Yes. I represented Tyler.

For possibly a while to come.

—

“Principal Shaw says that you’d been offered opportunities to lead some staff developments,” the newscaster asked, “possibly taking days to go to other schools as well, but you turned him down?”

I smiled, the camera behind Rowan DeWinter, the Channel 8 anchor, fixed on me as I stood in front of the school.

The students had left for the day thirty minutes ago, and the interview was almost finished. They’d spent the last couple of hours observing classes and recording lessons before wrapping it all up with a final Q&A.

Jack, Tyler, and Jay all stood off to the side, observing and being here to support me. Jack knew I was apprehensive about being in front of a camera again, while Tyler and Jay were here to make sure I wasn’t messed with.

“I enjoy my methods,” I explained, “and I believe they work. But do I feel confident enough to teach other teachers?” I asked hypothetically. “No, not with only a few months’ teaching experience. I think a teacher’s place is in the classroom, and that’s where I’ll stay.”

Tyler grinned, and Jay shot me a thumbs-up.

“So you’re not taking any time off to help Tyler Marek with his campaign?” she queried.

But Jay stepped in, shaking his head. “This interview is about her—”

“It’s fine.” I held my hand up and met Ms. DeWinter’s eyes again. “I will absolutely help Mr. Marek in any way I can,” I assured her. “Even if it means stuffing envelopes. But he understands that I’ve made a commitment to my class and to Braddock Autenberry. If there’s one thing I love . . .” I suddenly stopped, feeling like I shouldn’t have given that away.

But then I started again, committing to it. “If there’s one thing I love about him, it’s that he’s just like me. We’re devoted to our promises.”

She smiled, accepting that answer, and Jay winked at me as if to say, Good job.

I rolled my eyes, his praise making me feel like I was an act in a circus.

After the news truck left and the school had emptied of teachers and nearly all the staff, Tyler led me over to his car and opened the back door, digging out a bouquet of white orchids.

“I’m sure you’ve received lots of flowers in your short years”—he paused, handing them to me—“but I’ve never given them, so . . .”

I looked at the abundance of white flowers, their curved petals so soft and fragile-looking. I had received lots of flowers over my tennis career, from my parents and from fans, but I loved these the most.

I was even glad they weren’t roses. I would’ve loved anything he gave me, but I’d definitely seen enough roses.

I peered up at him, cradling the bouquet like a baby. “You’ve never given flowers?” I teased.

“I’ve sent them,” he rushed out, quick to clarify. “But I’ve never . . .”

He trailed off, laughing at himself, and I broke out in a smile, thinking that it sounded like him. Of course Tyler Marek hadn’t taken the time to give flowers.

Until me.

He stepped up, a heated look entering his eyes as he pinched my chin. “I wanted to see the look on your face,” he whispered.

I leaned in, grazing his lips. “Well, I love them.”

“You should,” he shot out. “Orchids are temperamental. Just like you.”

I pushed him away, shoving the flowers to his chest as he laughed.

“Let me go get my things,” I told him, unable to keep the smile from my face as I shook my head. “I want you to come to my apartment before dinner. There’s something I need to show you.”

I spun around and headed up the stairs, back into the school. We were taking Christian to dinner, but I needed to take care of one more thing before I moved on.

Even though there was still the unresolved issue of someone being in my apartment, I wasn’t going to waste one more minute of my life being scared. I wouldn’t move. I wouldn’t sleep with the lights on.

And I wouldn’t run to Tyler for protection.

I’d lock my doors, be aware of my surroundings, and never let anyone hold me hostage again.

If someone wanted to hurt me, they would find a way.

But what I really needed to do was get rid of the letters. And I wanted Tyler there when I did it.

Walking down the dim hallway, I veered right and slipped into my dark classroom, going straight for my wardrobe to retrieve my handbag and then to my desk for the folder of papers I needed to grade tonight.

But I glanced up and jumped, surprised.

“Jack?” I gasped, seeing my brother in the back of the classroom with his arms folded and staring out the window.

I’d thought he’d left.

Putting my stuff down, I slowly rounded my desk, watching him. “Jack, what are you doing here?” I asked.

He didn’t move, only stared out the window, looking deep in thought.

“The cameras still follow you around,” he mused. “Even now.”

What?

And then I remembered the interview he’d been here for earlier and how strange it was to be back in front of a camera again.

I studied Jack, but it was already growing dark outside and there was no light in the classroom. I couldn’t make out his face.

I inched toward him, shrugging. “I don’t mind it so much anymore,” I confessed. “It was to help the school.”

But then he turned his face toward me, and I saw pain written all over his expression.

“Dad loved baseball.” He spoke in a sad voice. “I was the oldest. Why didn’t he name me Easton?” he challenged. “Or any name related to the sport for that matter?”

I narrowed my eyes, half confused about why he was talking about this now and half wondering where it was leading.

Our father had named me after the Easton baseball bat. I never told people that, because I found it embarrassing, but Jack was right. Our father loved the game.

He even wanted me to play when he started noticing I had a penchant for sports, but my mother thought tennis was close enough and had a wider range of opportunities for a woman. Instead of swinging a bat, I swung a racket.

“Well, at least you got to play baseball,” I told him.

He shook his head and turned his gaze back out the window.

“I got that job at Greystone because of you,” he bit out. “Marek put in a word for me. A perk when your sister sleeps with powerful people, I guess.”

My heart began racing, and I froze. “Jack, what’s wrong with you?”

My brother never said things like that to me. Plus, he looked like he hated me right now.

He turned, locking eyes with me. “I was happy,” he told me. “When Chase Stiles drove you inward, started messing with your game . . .” he explained. “I was happy about that, Easton.”

I felt my stomach roll, and I backed away.

“I hated seeing you hurt,” he choked out, tears caught in his throat, “but I loved seeing your career go to hell,” he admitted.

His face grew hard, and his eyes pierced me. “I loved seeing our parents lose their grip on you as you got more and more defiant,” he bit out. “I loved seeing you fail.”

“Jack.” I could barely breathe.

I shook my head, trying to take short breaths, but barely any air was getting in.

He stepped forward. “I love you,” he professed. “I do, and I want good things for you, but, God, Easton,” he gritted out, tears pooling in his eyes. “I hated you, too.”

I let my eyes fall to the ground. What the hell was going on? in Jack had always supported me. Always tried to protect me.

I thought he was okay. I thought the amount of attention I got or the fact that our parents treated me just a little bit better was something he’d moved past.

But deep down it was still there. I couldn’t believe he’d never let on about any of this to me before.

I closed my eyes, feeling weary. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. If I were in his shoes, I’d no doubt have a lot of resentment, too.

He sniffled, evening out his expression. “It’s not your fault,” he maintained. “It never was. You didn’t make our parents favor you. You didn’t excel at tennis out of spite.” And then he spoke slowly. “You’re a winner, Easton. Everything I want to be.”

I moved to go to him, but he backed up.

“It was me,” he shot out.

“What was you?” I breathed out.

“The cabinets, the calls, the treasure box—it was all me,” he confessed.

What?

Rage curled my fingers into fists. He’d opened all of the cabinets, the shower curtain, been in my closet, opened my window, and smashed the box, tearing up all of the letters.

“Why?” I cried. “I don’t understand.”

“Because it was supposed to be my turn!” he shouted, glaring at me. “For the past five years, it was my turn to have the attention. You leaned on me!” He hit his chest. “You needed me.”

I slowly shook my head, backing away from him. My face cracked, and tears started streaming down my cheeks.

I swallowed, choking out my words. “How could you?”

“I wanted you to be okay.” His voice was barely audible. “I wanted you happy with friends and loving the life you lived, but . . .”

“But?” I pressed.

He hesitated, looking up at me.

“He’s going to be a senator,” Jack stated. “If your relationship went the distance, you’d be back in the limelight.”

“You were trying to get me to shrink away again,” I cried, turning angry.

But he went on. “And then Newsweek and the interview today . . .” he pointed out. “It doesn’t matter what you do, you’ll always outshine me!” He hardened his jaw, scowling. “Why couldn’t you just stay quiet? Why couldn’t you just be normal like everyone else? Just be my sister! Let me have something!”

I continued backing away, thinking about him doing those things. He’d known it would hurt me.

“You made me think someone was in my home,” I charged. “In my things! You terrified me!”

He closed his eyes, looking like he was ready to break.

“I often wondered what made Chase Stiles give up,” he rasped. “Why did he take his own life?”

I stared at my brother.

“He knew he was going to hurt you,” he concluded. “And he didn’t want to.”

Yes. The final stage of stalking was physical violence. Chase’s abuse had been growing more and more threatening, and Jack was probably right. I didn’t know why Chase killed himself, but I did know he was losing his grip. Or what grip he had left.

And my brother? Would he go that far?

He seemed to see the flash of awareness and understanding in my eyes, because he rushed forward.

“I would never hurt you.”

But it was too late. Spinning on my heel, I ran out of my classroom and into the hallway with Jack yelling behind me.

“Easton!” he called.

But I raced down the hall, needing to get away from him.

I wasn’t sure if he would hurt me, but up until this morning I wouldn’t have thought he could’ve done any of the things he’d done. I had thought, next to Tyler, Jack was the person I could trust most in the world.

Why would he have wanted me to live in fear?

I ran outside, but Jack’s voice was right behind me. “Easton, stop!”

He grabbed my wrist, and I cried out, stumbling in the heels and slamming with all my weight against the wrought-iron railing of the staircase.

“Jack, please!” I cried, grabbing on to his hand with both of my own as I screamed, falling over the side.

“Jack!” I cried out, again grasping at his hand with both of mine.

He hung over the railing, grunting as he tried to pull me back up, but my legs flailed fifteen feet above the cement ground below, and I gripped his hand so tightly, my knuckles turned white.

I twisted my head, seeing the distance to the ground below me and crying out as my arms felt like they were being ripped from their sockets.

Jack grabbed underneath my arm with his hand, fear in his eyes as he tried to pull me back up.

“Jesus Christ!” Tyler bellowed, swinging his torso over the side and grabbing me, too. “What the hell happened?”

I breathed as fast as my heart beat, and I cried out as both of them pulled me back up over the side of the railing.

I instantly fell into Tyler, both of us slamming to the ground.

He pulled my body in to his, holding me tight. I hugged him close, hearing his heart race through his clothes as I laid my head against his chest.

“Come here,” he soothed, wrapping his arms around me.

I opened my eyes, seeing my brother on his knees by the railing. His broken eyes were filled with regret.

“Easton, please,” he whispered. “I would never hurt you.”

“What’s going on?” Tyler shot out.

But I just looked at my brother, my tears making him blurry. “You already did hurt me,” I told him. “You broke my heart.”

And then I looked up to Tyler, his brows pinched together in concern.

“Take me home,” I begged.