4. Connor

Istared at the door long after Brooke stormed out, a part of me irrationally hoping she"d come barging back in, ready to launch another verbal assault. Instead, the silence settled heavy around me as I plopped back into my chair, exhaustion suddenly weighing down every limb. Running a hand down my face, I let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and something akin to regret, though I was far from apologizing. I knew I had pushed her, prodded at wounds hidden beneath a facade of defiance and strength, but I wasn"t sorry.

Not really.

The truth was, I hated the way she made me feel, even now, after everything. There was this uncontrollable, maddening pulse of energy whenever she was near, a surge of emotions I couldn"t quite name nor did I want to explore. It infuriated me, this inability to remain indifferent, to see her as just another student, another face in the crowd. I hated her for it, for the turmoil she stirred within me, for the challenge she presented without even trying.

And yet, despite my vehement denial, I couldn"t shake the admission I had thrown in her face—I was, in some twisted way, waiting for her downfall. Waiting to see her crumble under the weight of her father"s legacy and the expectations that came with it. There was a part of me that yearned for that moment, for the vindication it would bring, as if it could somehow rectify the past.

But alongside this dark anticipation, there was an undeniable pull towards her, a gravitational force that drew me in despite my best efforts to stay detached. It was a dangerous, all-consuming draw that left me feeling exposed, vulnerable in ways I loathed to admit. This dichotomy within me, this war between wanting to see her defeated and yet being inexplicably drawn to her, was a constant battle, leaving me torn between disdain and an unwanted fascination.

The quiet of the office felt oppressive. The complexity of my feelings towards Brooke left me restless. It was a dangerous game, this dance of push and pull, and yet, I couldn"t seem to step away from the edge, captivated by the fire I saw in her, even as I wished to see it extinguished.

The phone buzzed insistently on the edge of my desk, a name flashing on the screen that I hadn't expected to see again so soon: Sarah. For a moment, I considered letting it go to voicemail, the remnants of my recent clash with Brooke still churning inside me. But the unresolved emotions and the need for an outlet, any outlet, compelled my hand to move almost of its own accord.

I picked up.

"Watched my interview this morning, did you?" Sarah"s voice came through, laced with a sarcasm that felt all too familiar.

"What interview?" I asked, not willing to give her anything.

"Sure, Con, we"ll go with that," she replied, her tone dripping with disbelief.

"What do you want, Sarah?" I ground out, irritation seeping into my voice. "I"m at work."

"Work? You"re at work?" She scoffed. "We both know you somehow managed to weasel that teaching job at Crestwood, not because you actually deserve it. Planning to use your position of authority to your benefit? I hear she"s a student there. Is she one of yours?"

"Petty, to be so jealous of a teenager," I retorted, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction at her annoyance.

Sarah snorted, and despite everything, I felt a grim sense of victory. At least I regained some power in this conversation.

"I was just contacted by Detroit," she suddenly said, changing the subject. "They"ve issued their last payment to you. As per the proceedings, thirty percent goes to me, so..."

"Oh, please," I interrupted, exasperated. "I have an accountant for that. What do you really want? You just miss the sound of my voice, Sarah? Or did you call me to see if your interview hurt me?"

"I knew you watched it," she shot back triumphantly.

"Hardly," I lied smoothly. "I have much better things to do with my time than to worry about you."

"Like sleep with barely legal girls?" she challenged.

"I will say she was the best I ever had, so in the end, it was worth it. All of it." The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and I hated that I actually meant it.

"You"re an asshole," she spat. That comment infuriated Sarah, exactly as I"d intended.

"So I"ve been told," I muttered.

"I expect my payment by the end of the week, Connor," she snapped before hanging up.

The call ended, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I stared at the now-silent phone, the brief resurgence of our old dynamic doing nothing to fill the void that Brooke had left behind.

Before I could prepare for my next class, a firm knock on my door sounded. I frowned. I didn't have office hours today.

"Yes?" I called out.

Dean Westwood"s presence in my office was unexpected, to say the least. The moment he stepped in and closed the door behind him, the air seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. It was clear from the outset that he didn"t want to be here;that he had come to me instead of summoning me to his own office spoke volumes. His demeanor was rigid, the set of his jaw tight, as if bracing himself for the conversation ahead.

"Bradley," he began, his voice carrying a weight that immediately put me on edge. "We need to talk."

The simple statement, devoid of any pleasantries, confirmed my suspicions that this wasn"t a courtesy visit. I straightened in my chair, my mind racing through the possible reasons for his visit. Had word of my confrontation with Brooke reached him? Or was this about something else entirely?

As I waited for him to continue, I couldn"t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Whatever the reason for Dean Westwood"s visit, it was clear that it wasn"t going to be pleasant. His reluctance to be here, combined with the seriousness etched into his features, signaled that the conversation ahead was going to be a difficult one.

"Yes?" I said, my tone edging from irritation to a more guarded curiosity as Dean Westwood hesitated.

"I"m sure you know I have weaknesses, just like you," he finally spoke, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic vulnerability that I hadn"t anticipated.

The defensive wall within me shot up immediately. Westwood knew about what had happened between Brooke and me, though how he knew, I wasn't sure. Would Brooke tell him? I didn't think so, but I also didn't think she'd go to Detroit and accuse me of things either. Regardless, the audacity for him to brazenly throw that in my face rankled me. On the ice, I"d have no qualms about checking him into the boards so hard his bones would snap. But here, in the stifling air of academia, I was forced to navigate a more delicate battlefield.

"Everyone knows about your weakness," I retorted, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into my voice. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Yes, well, no one knows about yours, do they?" Westwood countered, his gaze shifting away as he cracked his knuckles—a nervous tell I hadn"t noticed before.

"Are you blackmailing me?" I asked, the words tasting like acid on my tongue. "With your own daughter?"

Westwood looked away, the tension in the room was palpable. His silence spoke volumes, confirming my worst suspicions.

"I highly doubt you want word getting out that me and Brooke fucked," I continued, pressing the advantage as I saw him pale. It was a low blow, but the satisfaction of making him squirm was too sweet to pass up. "The way she called me Daddy. The breathy moans…Did you know I came in her? What would you have done if I knocked her up?"

"I swear to God, Bradley –"

"She"s the reason I"m here, anyway," I continued, enjoying the way his forehead dotted with sweat. "Because she had to tell."

"Don"t," he warned, his voice laced with a danger that belied his previous discomfort.

"You"re the one in my office," I said, standing to loom over him. "You"re the one who brought up your daughter. What do you want from me, Westwood?"

The conversation had taken a dark turn, the power dynamics shifting wildly between veiled threats and open confrontations. As we stood there, the unspoken implications of our exchange hung heavy in the air, a tangled web of professional integrity, personal vendettas, and the shadow of Crestwood"s hallowed halls bearing down upon us.

Dean Westwood"s admission sent a chill down my spine. "I don"t have the means to pay off my debt," he confessed, his grip on the back of the chair tightening. The fact that he, of all people, had come to me for help underscored the gravity of the situation. "And Brooke thinks she"s going to figure out a way to do it, but she won"t. Not when the due date is today at five. Not when they"re going to take her if I don"t give them their money."

"They?" I echoed, my curiosity piqued despite the growing unease.

"The Wolfes," he muttered, his gaze shifting away, unable to meet my eyes.

"Jesus," I couldn"t help but curse under my breath. "You actually went to them. Not very smart, Dean." My mind raced, trying to piece together how Brooke could have gotten involved in such a mess. "How did she get involved?"

"We were discussing what to do when the younger two—Leo and Marcus—walked in," Westwood explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "Leo took notice."

A surge of possessiveness washed over me, an emotion I was quick to tamp down. This was what I wanted, wasn"t it? For Brooke to be ruined, to be... a lot of things? Yet, the thought of her being forced into a situation with the Wolfes twisted my gut in ways I hadn"t expected.

"How is any of this my problem?" I asked, trying to maintain a veneer of indifference.

"What do you think?" Westwood shot back, his desperation evident as he turned to face me. "I need your help."

"My help?" The realization of the power I held in this moment washed over me, bringing with it an intoxicating sense of control. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn"t deny the rush that came with being the one Westwood had to turn to, the one who might change things.

"How much?" I found myself asking, despite the part of me that wanted to dismiss Dean Westwood then and there.

Westwood"s gaze faltered, his discomfort palpable. "One point five."

"Jesus Christ," I exclaimed, disbelief lacing my voice. "And Brooke thinks she can get that in the next few hours?"

"She thinks it"s five flat," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You"re a shit father."

"Yes," he conceded, a simple acknowledgment that spoke volumes of the desperation and helplessness he felt.

I took a moment to think, my mind racing through the implications of what he"d just revealed. Here I was, in a position to lord over the dean, to exact a form of revenge that had once seemed out of reach. The opportunity to kill two birds with one stone was too tempting to ignore.

"I want her to ask me," I finally said, my gaze fixed on Westwood. "I want her to beg me for help. And, when I agree, she stays with me. She"s mine."

The words were out before I could second-guess them, a declaration of ownership that shocked even me. Westwood"s reaction was immediate, a mixture of anger and disbelief clouding his features.

"What?" he began, his attempt to argue cut off by the cold intensity in my eyes.

"You"re rejecting my help?" I challenged, my tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"She will not belong to you," Westwood stated firmly, a father"s protectiveness surfacing despite the dire circumstances.

"So you"d rather have her belong to Leo Wolfe?" I countered, pressing my advantage. The very suggestion seemed to hit him like a physical blow, highlighting the gravity of the choice he faced.

"Why do you want her?" Westwood asked, a question that seemed as much about understanding my motives as it was about gauging his options.

"That"s none of your concern," I retorted, dismissing his inquiry with a wave of my hand. "You want to solve this, you figure it out. Would you rather she belong to someone like him... or someone like me?"