29. Jonah

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

jonah

It’s beena whole night of no sleep, of tossing and turning and not knowing what to do. If I found out that any other student was cheating, it would be a no-brainer. I would’ve emailed the dean last night. I would be sending mass emails to every single class I have, letting everyone know that I have a no-cheating policy, but I can’t exactly email them today saying, “Unless it’s my boyfriend, I don’t allow cheating.” And then everyone would laugh because they’d assume I was talking about my personal life and not actual grades. After the “I’m taking dick leave” email, I’d never live that down.

There has to be a reason I’m not running to put any academic consequence in motion, and that reason won’t be short of being a massive double standard. As angry as I am at both Emmett and Ben, there’s that part of me that acknowledges if I rat him out, there’s no way we’d be able to put it behind us and find a way to move past it all. Which also tells me that even though Emmett and his brother are both walking red flags, I still want to be with Em.

I’m glad I only have one midmorning class to get through today. Friday is a light load for me, other than office hours in the afternoon, but I can cancel those and tell anyone to email me if they need something urgently. Which, of course, will mean I’ll have students emailing me to ask what time class starts next week when it’s the same time every damn week or asking if when they take off for spring break early, they’ll be penalized. Their dog died, their grandma is sick, all of the excuses under the sun. But I’m okay with that if it means I don’t have to be on campus any longer than a few hours.

Grudgingly, I shower to try to wake myself up, gather my stuff, and head for the door. The temptation to cancel class is strong, but because of Em, I’ve already done that a couple of times this semester.

I did it so willingly too. It’s hard to tell if it’s because I don’t think I’m cut out to be a professor or if it’s because Emmett Dalton has a magical dick and ass. Or maybe it’s that from the moment I first saw him … Then I remind myself of one indisputable fact.

I’d seen him before that day at the skating rink because he’d sat in my class twice a week for almost an entire semester, pretending to be someone else.

His awkwardness when I asked if we’d met before wasn’t imagined like I’d thought. It’s because we had. Because he was Ben. And Ben was my student.

Emmett always had this closed-off vibe to him. He was up-front from the beginning that he couldn’t give me a future, and I can’t believe that even after that, I still wanted it. Still wanted him.

I’m an idiot.

The guys who don’t care about hurting your feelings don’t tell you that you don’t have a future. The ones with legitimate issues who are up-front about it are the ones you’re most likely to fall for.

I’ve never been a “want what I can’t have” kind of guy. Or at least, I didn’t think I was. This proves otherwise.

Just before I leave, my phone goes off, and I pull it out of my pocket to see it’s a text from Emmett.

I’m so so so so sorry 4 evrything that’s bout 2 happen.

I blink at it for a moment, trying to figure out if he means with the dean or something else. If they go to the dean first and come clean, then she will assume I was hiding this for them. If it weren’t for that rumor about me sleeping with Ben and we didn’t have to go in and explain it to her, I might have more plausible deniability. I’d have none if they get to her first.

All right. New plan. I’m going to stop by the dean’s office and tell her everything before I go to class. I’m on a time crunch though. I’ll have to skip the coffee I was planning to have to keep me awake, but this is more important.

I barely make it out my door when I’m stopped by two men, one who’s as tall as me but is muscular and the other who is taller and leaner but still has more muscles than me. Not that it’s hard. Both have dark hair and bright green eyes. They’re vaguely familiar, and as soon as I think that, I remember where I’d seen them before. On Emmett’s phone and in the articles online I looked up when I first found out that Emmett was hockey royalty.

“Are you Jonah Brooks?” West asks.

I’m trying not to be intimidated, but it’s not because they’re two NHL legends. It’s because these guys are Emmett’s brothers.

“I am. And you’re Westly and Asher Dalton.” I pocket my keys.

Asher screws up his face and turns to West. “Does he have to say it like that, where it sounds like we’re husbands instead of brothers?”

Talking as if I’m not even here? That makes this easier. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat to you about how your brothers screwed me over, I have a class to get to.”

They’re not the Daltons I wanted to see today. Then again, I don’t really want to see Emmett either. Mainly because I know if I look into his eye, I won’t be able to remain strong.

Asher steps in front of me like a bouncer at a club who’s refusing entry.

“Please hear us out,” West says softly.

“What is this? A bad cop, good cop routine?” I snark.

Asher gazes over his shoulder at West. “He really has been hanging out with the twins.” Then his green eyes pierce through me. “They say we play that game all the time, but I don’t see it. I’m a kitten.”

“A murder kitten,” West mumbles.

“You know, I don’t appreciate being cornered in my place of residence by the parents of my students, and I don’t see how this is any different.”

“Do we really need to spell it out for you?” Asher asks. “I thought professors were supposed to be smart?”

“Just because I slept with Emmett, that doesn’t change what he and Ben did.”

West steps closer. “We know. We have no excuses for them, and we’re not here to ask you to look the other way. We want to explain their situation and hope that, one, you can let us deal with informing the school, and two, that you ask your professor friend to do the same.”

“If the school found out that I knew cheating was going on in one of my classes and I didn’t do anything about it, I’d lose my job and the chance to teach anywhere else in this country.”

“The boys are going to tell the school today, with us by their side. We’ll also say that you just found out and said if they don’t come forward, you were going to. They know what they did was wrong, and they’re going to fix it as best they can.”

“How do you propose they fix something like this? No college will touch Ben.”

When West runs his hand through his hair and looks away, it becomes clear.

“You’re going to use your position at CU to get Ben a spot,” I say.

“Ben will lose all his math-related credits, and he’ll redo them in Vermont.”

Redo? Like it will be that easy? “You do know he has dyscalculia, don’t you? Do you know what that means?”

“That it’ll be difficult, sure, but my husband is the head of the math department, so if anyone can teach him, it’s him.”

I try not to be offended because I could’ve taught Ben had he been honest.

Beside me, Asher snorts. “I still can’t believe Jasper never picked up on it.”

“He’s going to hate himself.” West sounds genuinely upset.

I find myself now wanting to reassure him. What is it with these two? They make me annoyed while simultaneously wanting to join their side. “In your husband’s defense, the twins said they’ve been switching places since middle school.”

“We know,” West says. “They told us. And while it’s one thing for their teachers or classmates not to notice, it’s very different to living with them for years and not realizing something is up.”

Asher groans. “Ugh. I hate to be the nice one here, but the only two people to blame for this are Ben and Em. They made a mistake and dug themselves a hole that was impossible to climb out of, and instead of asking for help, they thought they could dig through it. It might be too late to ask for forgiveness, but it’s not too late for them to turn it around.”

I smile at seeing Asher’s soft side, something Emmett says only happens when it comes to his partner or his younger siblings, and it’s obvious that while he’s absolutely pissed at the twins, he also loves them.

“I won’t go to the dean until you have.”

West lets out a loud breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much we appreciate it.” Then, he pauses. “And you’ll⁠—”

“I’ll also tell Dr. Sinclair to do the same, but I can’t promise he hasn’t already done it. I was on my way to do it now, and my class starts late. Speaking of which, my classroom is filling up.”

“Thank you. Uh, again,” West says. “We’re going to go get the boys to come up with a written statement to give the dean this afternoon. We promise they’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

I give them a curt nod and head for my lecture hall at a quick pace, making it just in time. And as I go to turn the lock to keep anyone who is late out, I take a breath and think about who I am and what I’m doing with my life. Not for the first time, I think about the asshole professors I had who also locked late students out of the room so the lecture is not interrupted. They were all pompous sticklers for the rules, and I’ve just proven that’s not me.

My teaching technique of getting students to go through the work and come to me with any questions because that’s how I liked to learn is an inefficient one. If they’re someone like Benny, who has trouble with the material but is embarrassed to say so, they’re not going to come to me.

Maybe I don’t like my job as a professor because I’m forcing this strict persona that’s not me. Maybe if I can be myself in the classes I teach, I’ll enjoy it more.

So instead of locking the doors, and instead of going over to my desk while I make the class go through the coursework I set for them, I dump my bag and move to the center of the room.

“I’m going to do things differently today. Please raise your hand if you’ve worked through all the formulas I’ve set out each lecture.”

Everyone raises their hand.

I grin but try to hide it by casually rubbing my chin. “Now, how many of you, really? You will not be deducted grades or anything like that. I promise.”

More than half put their hand down.

Yep. Thought so.

“How many of you here are still struggling to understand the formulas?”

A lot of hands go back up, while most of the people who have worked through them already drop their hands.

“All right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m assuming the ones who haven’t completed the formulas got to a certain point and then stopped altogether, so I’m going to go through each formula, from the bottom of the list to the top. Those of you who have a firm grasp on the concept, I’ll …” I walk over to my desk, where there’s an old-as-fuck printer, and turn it on for it to warm up and calculate what it’s supposed to do in life. “I’ll print off the next set of formulas for you, and then you can get ahead. For everyone else, I’ll explain everything as I’m going through it all, but if at any time you get stuck, raise your hand, and I’ll go over that part again.”

I get everything going while my students all glance around the room like they’ve walked into an alternate universe, but I’m already feeling better about the small improvements I’ve made to my teaching style.

When the class ends, it’s the first time since I became a professor that I feel like I’ve actually helped students understand statistics better, which puts me in a good mood. No, a great mood. Until I realize there’s only one person I want to share this moment with, and I can’t. West and Asher said Ben and Emmett will be out of my hair by tomorrow, and reality is just setting in now.

If Ben is going to CU, then Emmett is moving home to Vermont too. Where one twin goes, the other follows. It’s as easy as that.

And if I don’t want to say goodbye to Emmett, I have to do something about it.

I have to stop them.