Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
She’s never deserved any of this.
Ronan: I’m sorry I couldn’t stop any of this or fix any of it, but I need you to know I am sorry… I love you, Brook. Please let me make this right and love you the way I should have from the start.
I’ve said I love you to her before in front of people. This is the first time I’m saying it on my own.
And I fucking hate it’s through an email and not face-to-face like I want to or like how she deserves. This time, the email bounces, and for the first time in years, I fucking lose it. Tears stream down my face while I shove my weight into the computer and knock it off the desk, screaming out in agony.
My chest heaves as I wreck my office, throwing everything I can and hating my life.
Hating who I am and what I’ve done.
And not knowing where to go from here.
CHAPTER 27
Brooklyn
Day number four of going to class even though the dean supposedly expelled me. Fuck him. If I want to go, I’m going. There was no other formal email, and I don’t know if Ro could do anything at all. But security hasn’t escorted me out, so I assume it may have just been my father being an absolute piece of shit. Attempting to twist the knife and take away the one place I have to escape the real world and live in the stars for a moment.
As the professor for calculus drones on about an open notes test, I glance down at my emails. Several are from a lawyer I recognize the name of, I think my father’s. I don’t open them. Maybe I’ll be served in class with some bullshit. They do that. My father especially. Filing lawsuits just to fuck someone over. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t had security come and escort me out yet. He wants to make a splash with his next move.
Funnily enough, I just don’t care.
The bell rings before I’m ready to leave. And I know what’s next. Walking by his class. Having to rush so I don’t see him. Feeling his presence and knowing I can’t be close to him.
It’s torture.
This moment is the part I hate the most. The reminder of what once was and how much I miss it.
How much I miss him.
My ballet flats are quiet as I walk. I barely even breathe as I get close. My grip on the small leather backpack tightens, but just as I prepare myself, I realize today is not the same.
The door is closed, not open. The light is off.
He’s not here.
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I take a few hesitant steps forward, peering through the window.
Something ticks inside me. Like a hollow clock.
As I’m peeking in, a gentleman behind me clears his throat. I’m completely caught off guard, and the shock nearly stops my heart.
“Sorry,” I apologize as the old man watches me.
“And you are?” he questions.
“I was just looking for Mr. Wolf.”
He nods slowly, looking at me as if he knows me. It dawns on me that he might. Perhaps I should be scared or skeptical, but instead, curiosity begs me to ask what I know I shouldn’t.
“What happened to Professor Wolf?”
“Nothing as of this moment.”
“What does that mean?” My question comes out defensive.
“Miss Chambers, I believe?” he interrogates, and immediately, my guard goes up.
“And who are you?” I ask.
“Mr. Michaels, a friend of your … what would you prefer I call him? Fiancé?”
It’s then I vaguely recognize him from parties my father has thrown over the years.
“You’re on the board?” I question, and the man nods.
“You didn’t answer about Ronan,” he reminds me, and I say nothing. Half of me wants to about-face and leave him with nothing. The other half begs to know why Ro isn’t here and questions if this man has the answer.
“Would you like to have a private conversation?” he adds and gestures to follow him into the classroom as he unlocks the door.
“What about?” I raise my voice and harden my stance.
At this point, I trust no one, but still, an air about him begs my intuition to listen. Maybe it’s because he’s older and his eyes are kind. Maybe it’s because he has a key to the classroom.
I don’t know.
But I just can’t trust it.
I can’t trust anything anymore.
He only looks at me, unlocking the door and holding it open for me to follow. I only hesitate a moment before I acquiesce.
He flicks on the lights, and I follow him down the stairs. Johnathan pulls out a laptop.
“Are you teaching his class?”
“I’m not,” he answers. “I happen to have a key and thought privacy would be better.”
He hovers over his computer for a moment, slipping on thin-rimmed glasses. “I’ve known Ronan for quite a long time, and recently, he’s been different.”