Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“If you’re going to yell at me, just do it already,” Law says. “Otherwise, I have a class to teach.”
My mouth drops open, but nothing comes out.
Law scoffs and storms past me, as if he has a right to be pissed about me ignoring him. Maybe he does. I just need time for the crippling feeling of betrayal to go away.
“I’m trying,” I say, and he pauses in his steps. “I want to get over it, but I don’t at the same time. There was never anyone else. It was you. I broke up with your brother for you, even though I thought you were straight. I couldn’t be with him when I was wishing he was someone else.”
Law spins on his heel and tries to step closer to me, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
“But you broke us. You lied to me about who you were.”
“I know,” he whispers and hangs his head. “If I could do it all again, I would’ve told you in the restaurant that my brother sent me instead. You just … you seemed … perfect—everything I’d fantasised about and never allowed myself to have. I wanted that for a little while.”
The least selfish person I know did a selfish thing for once because he never gets to be that guy. He has too much on his plate with Anders and the kids he teaches. “It just sucks that the one time you take something for yourself, you took something from me to have it.”
Shit, with Law’s eyes cast down, he doesn’t only look guilty but completely heartbroken.
“And now you’re looking at me like that and not playing fair.”
He lifts his head and a tiny smile appears, but it doesn’t last. “The second time we were together, I turned up on your doorstep to tell you, but then you kissed me, and all rationale flew out of my head. Every time I tried to tell you, something stopped me.”
My solidifying heart defrosts a little at that, but it’s still not enough. I don’t know what it will take for me to get over it. Or if I can. I don’t know whether it’s because I can’t trust him not to lie again or my ego is too wounded. All I know is I can’t do it right now. “I just need time, and even then, I can’t guarantee anything.” I blow out a loud breath. “You hurt me. Not as Anders. As you. My friend and work colleague.”
“I get that, and if it takes a thousand apologies, I’ll do it. A million, even.”
Davis calls out from the classroom. “Are we judoing or not?”
“Judoing isn’t a word,” Law and I yell at the same time. The shared laugh almost brings us back to normal.
“We should get in there,” Law says, his tone defeated.
“Yeah …”
Before we can take any steps, the shopfront door swings open, and a staggering Mr. Sullivan appears. His jaw is scruffy, his skin bright red and flushed. Baggy, bloodshot eyes glare at us.
“You can’t be here,” I say immediately. “You’re violating your restraining order.”
“Where’s my son?” he slurs.
“Not your concern anymore,” Law says.
“Yes, it is. He’s my kid. I need to speak some sense into him.”
Law steps closer, but I try to pull him back. He shakes me off and lowers his voice when he addresses Davis’s dad. “He may be your kid, but you don’t get to have anything to do with him anymore.” He turns to me. “Call the cops.”
“My phone’s on the bus,” I say.
“Get mine at the front of the dojo.”
My heavy footsteps pound through the bamboo curtain. I search along the entire front wall but can’t see a phone.
“What’s going on?” one of my students asks. I don’t know which one—I’m too distracted by finding Law’s phone to focus.
“Nothing,” I say. “But no matter what you hear, you’re all to stay in here. Understand?”
Yelling comes from the reception area, and I finally spot Law’s phone on the floor, plugged into a charger. My feet stumble over themselves to get to it, and my hands tremble trying to unplug it. I need to get back to Law as soon as possible, but that’s not going to happen if I can’t unplug this fucking phone.
I end up yanking the thing out.
By the time I rush back to the reception area, Mr. Sullivan’s on the floor with Law pinning him down and swinging punches.
Frozen by what I’m seeing, and the phone call to the cops forgotten, I don’t realise I’m not moving. I can’t. My feet are like lead. “Law, stop!”
At least my mouth works.
He doesn’t.
When I see blood spatter from Mr. Sullivan’s mouth, my legs finally give in. I rush over to Law and grip his shoulder, but he tries to fight me off—like he doesn’t know who’s the enemy anymore—so I dig my thumb in hard. “Stop,” I say again.