I mumble a “thanks” before hightailing it out of his office. Speed walking to the closest restroom, I barrel through the door, locking myself in the nearest stall. Loosening my tie, I place both hands on my knees, head hanging between my shoulders, as I inhale and exhale deeply.

I can’t believe this is happening.

After I seem to regulate my breathing, I pull my phone out of my pocket and send off a text to Weston.

Me: The dean is Stone.

After Stone disappeared seemingly into thin air, I broke down and told Weston about the affair. I apparently did a great job hiding the entire thing, because he was shocked. He couldn’t believe I kept something like that from him and he was pissed for me at Stone leaving.

Weston: You’re fucking joking!

Me: Bro, why the fuck would I joke about that? Stone is my new fucking boss.

Weston: And you had no idea?

Me: NO! He’s been really busy, according to the woman I’d been corresponding with. Plus, he just came back from vacation… probably with his fucking wife. This was the very first time we’d met.

Weston: Did he know, do you think?

Me: No, dude. He looked as shocked as I felt. He had no idea.

Weston: Shiiiit. What now?

Me: I don’t fucking know. I avoid him as much as possible.

Weston: You’re not going to leave?

Me: LEAVE?! I just fucking got here. Do you know how expensive it was to move my entire life across the country? I’m not fucking leaving. The bastard can learn to deal with it.

Weston: Damn. Sorry, bro. This is shitty. Call me after work if you want. We can talk more about it. I’m walking into a client meeting.

This is just fucking perfect. I finally get my dream job and can leave the town that reminded me day in and day out of what I lost, only to come here and be haunted with my fucking past instead.

The universe has a perverse sense of fucking humor.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Stone Philips

Shit. Fucking hell. Goddamnit.

Staring at the chair that was just occupied with who was once my best kept secret, breathing is becoming challenging. I can’t believe he’s here. In Texas. At my school.

How did this happen? And what kind of cosmic bullshit is this?

Bringing my desk phone up to my ear, I dial the number to the only person who can talk me down right now. Thankfully, it only rings twice before a light, feminine voice that’s full of concern answers.

“Stone, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Cash is here.”

“What? Where?”

“He’s at Texas Tech, Mol. He’s the new English professor.”

There’s a shape inhale on the other end. “No, how is that possible? Do you think he found you and came for you?”