My inner musings are swiped away as a crumpled paper ball sails across the room. Levi’s grin is evil and he cackles when it makes impact with the side of Willa’s head.

And. I. Lose. My. Shit.

I storm over to him, abandoning my lecture notes, and grab hold of his T-shirt. Several stunned students gasp in shock. His eyes gleam with triumph, clearly pleased at having gotten such a response from me. I’m done playing games with this fucker.

“Apologize,” I growl, spittle spraying his face.

“Fuck. You.”

I twist my fingers in the fabric of his shirt and yank him closer to me. Our noses are nearly touching.

“Apologize and then get the hell out of my classroom.”

“Or what?” Levi taunts. “You going to beat my ass?”

He leaves off the again part.

“I’ll be forced to involve your father,” I snarl. “I know you don’t want that.”

My threat hangs heavy in the air. I can feel Willa’s stare on me, silently pleading for me not to provoke Levi. We’re beyond that, though. He’s pushed me far enough.

“Dad can handle himself,” he mutters. “We both know who will really be hurting.”

Willa.

“You’re eighteen now, kid. I think we both do know.” Not my Willa, fuckface. You. I’m seconds from bashing your face against the desk. “Get out.”

I release him and take a step back. A few kids have their phones out, recording the outburst. It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, but certainly not something that will look good plastered all over social media.

Ignoring everyone, I stalk back to the front of the room to continue my lecture. Levi takes his sweet-ass time gathering his stuff. He stops in front of me with his phone in hand.

“Oops.” He makes an exaggerated show of pressing something on his phone.

My blood runs cold. “Out.”

“Testy.” He snorts. “See you soon, Mr. Park.”

I glower after him until the door closes. Then, I drag my stare back to the girl who calms me and makes every bad thing in life manageable because she’s so fucking perfect.

Her brows are pinched, eyes darting all over me in that concerned, assessing way she has down to an art. “Are you okay?” she mouths.

I exhale, letting all the fury rush out of me at once and then give her a clipped nod. Somehow, I manage to finish my lecture and am explaining the homework when the classroom door opens.

Wayne, red-faced and wearing a scowl, enters the room. “Mr. Park.”

“Mr. Erickson.” My voice is icy cold. “How may I help you?”

His nostrils flare. “I need to see you in my office. Now.”