Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3)
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Copyright © 2020 by Erica Alexander
Because of Dylan
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.
ISBN-13: 978-1-7324215-4-7 (eBook)
ISBN-13: 978-1-7324215-5-4 (Paperback)
Riggins U Logo by LogoOpenStock is licensed under CC BY. Modified from original.
Cover design and formatting by Serendipity Formatting.
Editing by Full Bloom Editorial and Olivia Kalb Editing Services.
Proofreading by Judy’s Proofreading.
Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.
Contents
A Note From The Author
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue
That’s a Wrap…
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Also by Erica Alexander
About the Author
To the little kid inside all of us.
To the little kid who dared dream and make wishes
on stars, dandelions and eyelashes.
The dreams you dreamed, the wishes you made,
they were not in vain.
Find your way back.
That little kid—heart and soul full of dreams,
awaits you.
A Note From The Author
It took me two years to write this book. It had not been my original intention to tell Becca’s story just yet. But she hunted me down and cornered until I sat at my desk and allowed her to tell her truth.
This was not an easy book to write. I shed many tears over it and had to walk away to deal with the mounting anxiety unaccountable times.
But writing her story was also cathartic and freeing.
I could not have told Becca’s story without the help of dozens of mental health professionals. I owe all of you my gratitude. During these two years, I spoke with, and interviewed psychologists, therapists, social workers, psychology professors, and real life people who lived through the same hardships that Becca did. I’ll forever be grateful for their candor, for letting me into their lives and talk about something that’s never easy.
I also want to thank the ladies at RAINN for taking my calls and answering my many questions. I will donate a portion of the sales of this book to RAINN.ORG.
I’ve read many books in my search for information. I’ll list them at the end as I believe that they may benefit many people.
Finally, in name of plot, I took some liberties with this story. This is fiction after all, even if I based it on some very real events. It takes time and courage to face one’s fears and overcome them. I hope that in sharing Becca’s story we all can learn something that moves us forward.
“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our life.”
― Akshay Dubey
If you’ve read the first two standalone books in the Riggins U series, please know that Because of Dylan overlaps the timeline of Because of Logan, and Because of Liam.
You don't need to read the first two books before you read this one. Although some small spoilers might be revealed.
Chapter One
Anger pricks at my skin like biting ants, and it burns hotter with each bite. Anger at him and myself for not being able to say no. For the turbulence that has taken residence inside me because of him. I want to scratch myself until I get rid of this feeling of uncertainty. Of not knowing.
I push the heel of my hand into my chest, willing the gesture to dislodge my building unease. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since I received the text message yesterday.
“Earth to Becca.” River pokes me on the side to get my attention.
“What?” I can’t hide the annoyance in my voice even though it’s not her fault I’m a mess.
River gives me a look.
“I asked you the same question three times. You’re ignoring me.”
“Well, as much as you’d like to believe it, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Miss Look-at-Me.” That’s not fair, and it’s untrue. River never seeks attention. She just always gets it.
“Someone is in a mood today.” She nudges me, making me lose my balance. I step to the side and hike my backpack up on my shoulder.
“Dude!” Irritation gets the best of me.
River gives me a sideways glance and takes a step forward in line.
She lured me here with the promise of buying me a coffee. I have one class in the Maslow building, but I find myself here often because of River. It’s a good place to escape the cold weather and people-watch. The entire front of the building is made of glass windows facing the Green, where there are always people around. And because it’s mirrored glass, I can watch them without being seen myself. I love this building.
Only two more people ahead of us now. I nudge her back. “Sorry. I’m grumpy. What did you ask me?”
She dismisses the apology with a wave of her hand. “About the party this Friday. Can you pick me up?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“And not leave me hanging this time so you can hook up with some freshman?”
The guy in front of us tilts his head a bit, turning an ear our way. By the look of his clothes, a deep navy-blue suit, he’s a professor or some other staff. I glare at River and nod my head at the guy. We stay in place when he walks up to order his coffee.
“What?” River looks at me like I have five heads. As always, she’s oblivious to her surroundings and what she says around people. River has no filter. Everything that crosses her mind spills out of her mouth. Had it been anyone else, I’d think she does it on purpose.
But she doesn’t. She’s just that honest. She doesn’t say things to hurt or embarrass. Nothing fazes her, and she thinks everyone else should be the same. But I have too many skeletons in too many closets. And there are always too many ears and eyes around for my taste.
The guy ahead of us orders his coffee, then turns and looks directly at us.
“Fuck me,” I whisper under my breath. River hears me.
“You and me both. He’s yummy,” she whispers back. Thank goodness, this time she said it low enough he doesn’t seem to catch it.
Yeah, that’s hot-as-fuck Professor Dick. Tall, tanned, and beautiful—with the body of an Olympic swimmer. And my nemesis.
He walks away but not before giving me one more disapproving glance as we walk up to the counter.
“Two coffees, please.” River turns to me. “Want anything to eat?”
My stomach growls, but I shake my head.
“Two coffees and two blueberry muffins. Separate bags, please.” She ignores my denial and orders me food.
We watch Professor Dick’s retreating form while the guy behind the Coffee Heaven kiosk gets our order ready.
I push at my chest again. A different kind of unease jabbing at me now. “He hates me.”
“Who? Professor Beckett?”
“Professor Beckett for you. For me, he’s Professor Dick.”
She laughs.
The barista calls River’s name, and I grab our coffees while she grabs the muffins. My stomach grumbles again.
River sips her coffee. “Why do you call him that? Wait! Have you seen the goods?”
“What? No! I call him Dick because his first name starts with a D, and he’s a dick.”
“I don’t know. Everyone says he’s an amazing teacher.”
“Not everyone.” I glare at his back, sending imaginary daggers his way. He always looks at me like I’m a bug he wants to step on.
“There’s always a waitlist for his classes. I finally got in. I’m taking his class in the spring.”
“Ugh.”
“What makes you think he hates you?”
I’ve never told River this story. “He caught me making out with a guy in his classroom,” I mumble behind the coffee cup.
“What? He caught you having sex in his classroom!” She leans into me, her face inches away. Thank God she whispered the words.
“No! Just kissing. But we were really into it, and apparently it took Beckett a while to get our attention.”
“He had to yell at you?”
“Technically, he had to tap our shoulders and pull us apart.” I cringe.
“Damn.”
“Yeah …”
“Holy crap.” Her eyes widen.
“I know.”
“I’m jealous.” She says this with a sigh.
“Jealous? Of one of the most embarrassing moments of my life?”
“Well … I want mind-bending-reality-forgetting kisses too.”
I stop at that. My mouth open while I stare at my best friend.
“Dude. You can have anyone you want. Every guy on campus has the hots for you. And I dare guess about a quarter of the female population too.” At first, I thought being friends with the most beautiful girl on campus would be detrimental to me. But when I’m with River, I become invisible. And that’s exactly how I like it.
She points at me with her coffee-holding hand. “And look at you. You’re beautiful, but you don’t let anyone in. Guys look at you, but you can be as prickly as a porcupine, and you never ever have a problem finding someone to take home.”
She points at herself. “They don’t want me. They want this.” She waves a hand. “All they see is the shell. No guy ever tries to get to know me. And the girls, well, they get catty and see me as competition. Being beautiful”—she makes air quotes with her fingers when she says beautiful, coffee sloshing a little over the side—“isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
A touch of hurt tinges her words. Is River as lonely as I am? Despite having her family’s love and support? I guess we’re both cursed in a way. River by her looks and me by my past.
Beauty fades. But the past? The past never goes away.
Chapter Two
That familiar tingle hits me first. Then her name, spoken out loud, confirms what I already know.
Becca.
Thousands of students.
Hundreds of employees.
A dozen different spots to get coffee, and yet she stands behind me.
I don’t have to look. I always know when she’s near. It starts with a shiver on the back of my head.
That awareness that shouldn’t be.
Chapter Three
Perhaps meeting in a public place wasn’t my best idea. I want to get up, flip the table and run. The urge to rage, scream, and throw things, burns into my chest like a wildfire begging to turn the world into ashes. Instead, my fingers tightly grip the coffee mug until my knuckles turn white. My gaze zeros in on the cracked, black nail polish on my thumb. I can’t evade this any longer. I chose to meet him and hear what he has to say. Avoiding looking into the eyes of the man sitting across from me, into a face so much like my own, won’t make meeting my father for the first time any easier.
I school my face, drag in a breath, inhaling the ever-present scent of coffee and sugar at Pat's Café, and glance at him. He doesn’t look much older than me—in the right clothes, he could easily pass for a grad student. I take in the cut of his gray suit jacket. Not designer, but not cheap, either.
His hands wrap around his coffee mug. A few calluses and a scratch or two. The hands of someone who’s not afraid of manual labor.
I drag my gaze upward and finally meet his eyes. His eyes are my eyes—the same amber-green color. Do they change colors with his moods like mine do?
“Why now?” The question has been needling me since he first texted three days ago.
“Because it took me this long to grow some balls.” He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. He covers his mouth as if regretting the ill-timed laugh, then runs a hand through his hair. The same honey-blond as mine. His stare is intense, as if trying to encompass all the missing years at the same time.
“I have regretted not being in your life a thousand times over. I know that nothing can make up for twenty years of lost time—”
“Twenty-two years. It’s been twenty-two fricking years!” The words spill out of me uninvited, and I bite my tongue to keep the rage in. I swallow a lifetime of anger. It burns going down.
He flinches, his gaze drops to the table as he gives a small nod.
“I deserve that. I’m sorry. I can’t go back, I can’t change what happened—”
“What do you want from me?”
His mouth opens and closes again, as if looking for the right words to say. “I want to get to know you. I want you to know me too.”
He waits for an answer, like I waited for him my entire life. I say nothing. The seconds stretch into a full minute of silence. I rejoice in his discomfort. His shoulders sag a little more with each moment until he finally recognizes I’m not going to make this easy for him, and he speaks again.
“I know I’m too late, and you don’t need me in your life, but I hope you’ll make room for me. Please?”
I almost get up and leave. Now? Now he wants to be a father?
“You’re right. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”
Expect nothing and you’ll never be disappointed. But a small, quiet voice inside my head reminds me of all the times I hoped my dad would come and take me away from the messy house and the empty fridge. I’m not a little girl anymore. So, why do I still carry that kid’s hope inside me?
Because you never stopped hoping.
The voice whispers, a neutral outside observer who watches all but never judges. It shakes me to my core.
My lips press together, resentment tasting bitter on my tongue.
And yet, I hope.
I hate hope. I hate how hopeless hope makes m
e feel. Like the proverbial dangling carrot. Always out of reach. Fuck hope. And fuck him for awakening the glimmer again. He waits for an answer that will not come.
His chest expands under a heavy breath, then pauses. His eyes never waver from mine. “Becca—there have been too many secrets and lies, and I don’t want to hide behind secrets and lies anymore. You deserve better.”
He takes another breath as if buying time before bearing unpleasant news. “I loved your mother, but not enough to stay.” His cheeks redden, and he won’t look at me now.
What about me? Couldn't he have stayed for me?
“Your mother was seventeen, and I had just turned eighteen. We were dirt poor, and I was fresh out of high school. I enlisted in the military as soon as I graduated. It was my ticket out. I didn’t know she was pregnant until after I left. And she said—” He runs a hand over his face. “She said she wasn’t keeping the baby. As soon as I got my first paycheck, I sent her some money to help with the abortion.”