Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3)

by Erica Alexander

  I fold the paper and put it in my pocket. I will call. I’ll get to see Baby Jay again. I look up and do something I never did before. I send a thank-you into the universe. To whoever the orchestrator of this day is. A day filled with surprises, and a promise of a tomorrow I never imagined possible.

  A promise I’m terrified of believing in.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I sit in my car in the hospital parking lot trying to get a hold of my thoughts.

  There’s so much going on. This is an emotional roller coaster of a day. I need to talk to someone, hear my thoughts out loud. I know the therapist is not there during the day, but he also said I had to trust someone, and I already have. I can talk to River.

  I grab my phone and text her.

  Becca: Hey! What you up to?

  River: Nothing. Chilling at home alone. Wanna come over?

  Becca: Yes. Leaving the hospital now.

  River: See you soon.

  I’m glad River is home. I’m in knots and meeting her at her apartment will make it easier to talk. No witnesses or random listeners.

  River beats me to the door, my hand in the air ready to ring the bell. She steps back. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”

  I follow her down the hall and into the first-floor apartment. The smell of fresh-baked cookies greets me. I groan. “Hmmm. Skye baked again?”

  “No, I baked.” River locks the door behind us.

  “Yeah, right?” I laugh. “You’re not into the culinary arts, unless it involves eating it.”

  “I did!” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  I laugh again.

  “I can bake!”

  “Sure you can. Where’s Skye?” I look down the small hall for a sign that she’s here.

  “She’s at Logan’s.”

  “She baked before she left?” I drop to the blue couch and hug a pillow against my chest.

  “Dude! I got the cookie dough balls out of the freezer, put them on a pan and then put the pan in the oven for twelve minutes at three-fifty.” Her hands go to her hips.

  “Ha! I knew it. You didn’t make the cookies.”

  “Well, no. Skye made them, and froze the extra cookie dough, but I”—she points at herself—“baked them.” She’s so proud of herself too. “And if you want any, you better stop laughing and follow me.” She points over her shoulder.

  I take a seat at the island dividing the small kitchen and living room. “I love your apartment, the open floor space, it makes the place seem bigger.”

  River’s on the other side of the island, opening and closing cabinets. “Yeah, I’m going to miss this place when we graduate.” She grabs two mugs. “Hot chocolate, coffee, or tea?”

  “Tea, please. But aren’t you staying here while going for your master’s?”

  “I’m not sure. Our lease ends in July. But the way things are going with Skye and Logan, I wouldn’t be surprised if she moves in with him.”

  She goes through the motions of making us tea.

  “Wow? That fast? Hasn’t it been only a couple of months since they began dating?”

  “A little over two months. Their first date was on our birthday.”

  I flinch a little at that memory. My faking drunkenness to cover up a panic attack. “That’s kinda fast.”

  “Maybe? But when you know he’s the one, then why wait?” She takes a sip of her tea.

  I hold my mug, warming my hands. “I don’t know if I believe in insta-love.”

  “Why not? Everything is possible, right?” The oven timer beeps behind her.

  “Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone you never met?” Jesus! What am I asking?

  River grabs an oven mitt. “What? Like falling in love with someone famous?”

  “No, not that. I mean a real person you’ve talked to, but never face-to-face.”

  She opens the oven, peers inside. The heavenly scent of cookies rolls over me like a warm and sweet hug.

  River takes the pan out of the oven. “Like someone you met on a dating app?”

  “Not exactly. More like an online friend.”

  “I guess it’s possible. I mean, you hear stories like that often enough. People meet online, talk, have video chats, and they even have phone and video sex.” She slides a sheet of parchment off the pan. Sixteen cookies on top.

  “No, not like that either. What if you only ever talked or texted, but have never seen each other?”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “I don’t know. At the risk of sounding shallow, I think that would be harder. Attraction is a big part of falling in love, right? Usually people are attracted to what they see first, then they take the next step and get to know each other.”

  “True, but then you also have friendships that develop into more.”

  “Yes, but I’d think there was an attraction on some level there too.” Her keen gaze fixes on me. “Why are you asking?”

  I look away, focus on my forgotten tea. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. What’s love, really? How does one know they’re in love? And can you love someone you’ve never met, and never even seen? Someone you know absolutely nothing personal about, and yet you feel like they know you down to your soul?”

  “Wow, you went way deep.”

  I face River now. Her sharp eyes try to read me. I tamp down my need to close myself off. My first instinct is to lie, to deflect, to run. But I hear his voice in my head, telling me to trust her.

  “I think I might be falling for a guy.” Dylan’s face flashes in my mind. Or two.

  I hold my breath. Her reaction is not what I expected. A squeal leaves her lips. She runs around the island, lunges at me and hugs me. “Spill it. Hold nothing back.”

  I drag a deep breath in. “Okay. But cookies first.”

  We move to the couch in the living room, the plate of too-warm-to-eat cookies between us.

  I pull my legs up and under my body. Grab a pillow and rest my elbows on it. “I’ve been talking to someone online. For a few weeks now.”

  “A few weeks? And just now you’re telling me?” She pokes my knee with a fingertip.

  “We’ve already established I suck as a BFF, so no need to remind me.”

  She pokes me again. “Stop holding back and tell me already.”

  “So … I met him online, and we talk a few times a week. And he’s so kind and funny.”

  “Go on.”

  “I love his laugh and his voice. His voice is so … I don’t know. Calming? He speaks low, like we’re sharing a secret.” Because we are sharing secrets.

  “What else do you know about him?”

  “Nothing.” I look down.

  “Wait. You don’t know his name?”

  “No.”

  “His age?”

  “No.”

  “If he’s married or single?”

  “No idea.” I trace the edge of the pillow.

  “Where he lives?”

  “No clue.” I feel stupider by the second.

  “Does he have an accent? Does he speak well?”

  “No accent. He speaks very well.” I meet her eyes again.

  “Well, at least you know he has good grammar. That’s something.”

  I laugh.

  River looks at me, her face scrunches. “What do you talk about?”

  “Life mostly. How to deal, stuff like that.”

  “Do you know what he does for a living?”

  “Yes. He’s a therapist.” River pulls back a little. Her head tilts. I can see her making the connections in her mind.

  “Oh, Becca. This guy is the therapist you’ve been talking to. The one helping you with …” She cuts herself off.

  “Yeah … I know. It’s dumb.”

  “Not dumb. And not uncommon either. He’s helping you. He gives you a sense of worth, he doesn’t ask for anything back, and he’s safe.”

  “So, you’re saying that what I’m feeling is not real?”r />
  “Not at all. It’s real. But it is unrealistic. You can’t be in a relationship with a voice. And as much as you feel close to him, he’s just that. A voice.”

  All of me rejects what she’s saying. My heart stomps around my chest and throws a tantrum. “But it doesn’t feel like it.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. But this is good. It’s a step in the right direction. You’re opening yourself up to trust and love.”

  “Let me hold on to this fantasy a little longer.” I pout.

  “I’m not saying you can’t. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I won’t. I know it can never be. I know nothing about his life outside the therapy sessions.” And there’s Dylan, too.

  “What about Professor Beckett, though?”

  It’s as if she reads my mind. “And then there’s Dylan.”

  She reaches for a cookie. “What happened after I left last night?”

  “Where do I start?”

  “Start from the time he walked into the bar after I left. Leave nothing out. I’ve been patiently waiting for this.” She taps her wrist.

  I grab a cookie, chew, swallow. “Okay. So he walked in, took the same seat you had. We talked a little, and then that jerk face turned his attention to me. Dylan looked like he was ready to throw down with the guy, but Gus stepped in.”

  “That’s interesting …” She trails off.

  “He walked me out, and my car wouldn’t start. He gave me a ride to campus.”

  River leans in, eyes wide. “And? Tell me something good.”

  “We talked about different things. Riggins, and stuff like that.” I’m not about to tell River all that Dylan shared with me. That’s not my story to tell, and I have a feeling it’s not a story he shares often either. “And he picked me up this morning and drove me to get my car back.”

  “Yeah? That’s nice of him. To drive you twice like that.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  A flashback of that kiss fills my mind.

  She squints at me. “Oh, something happened. I can tell by that smile. Tell me.”

  I stuff two whole cookies in my mouth. Warm, melted chocolate coats my tongue. My face flushes with a fantasy of chocolate kisses. I cover my mouth and try to speak, but can only mumble an indecipherable sound.

  I wash down the crumbs with tea. “I’m not smiling.” But I am. I can’t stop smiling.

  “Becca!” My name is a warning.

  I laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.” I take a breath. “We were there, sitting in the car in the parking lot, and I kissed him.”

  “You kissed him. You? First?”

  “Yes. It’s crazy, I know. There was so much sexual tension. He said he wanted to get to know me better, and I couldn’t take it anymore and kissed him.”

  “How was it?”

  “It was … amazing, hot, sexy. I didn’t want to stop.”

  “I’m happy for you. Maybe this is real. A little risky, but real.”

  “Yeah, I know I’m coloring outside the lines, but—”

  She snorts. “Outside the lines? Becca, I don’t think you’ve ever been inside the lines. Ever. And … I support this.”

  She’s not wrong.

  River folds her legs under her. “Did you guys talk about how you'll manage dating?”

  “No. But I think it was understood that we’d keep it quiet. He’s not the kind to brag.”

  She tugs at the sleeve of her hoodie. “I wonder what the rules are on staff-student fraternization.”

  “I checked last night. There are no official rules written forbidding it, but they frown upon relationships between staff or faculty and undergrad students. Grad students relationships with staff and faculty are more acceptable as long as the student is not under direct supervision of that staff member or enrolled in that professor’s class.”

  “You’re not his student, but you’re not a grad student yet either. Not until September. But once we graduate in May, it should be fair game.”

  “I know. And that’s why we need to keep quiet until then. And maybe even after too.”

  River mimics zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

  I flop back onto the couch. “I don’t even know what this is. The way he talked to me gave me the impression he wants more than a hookup, but maybe it’s all in my head, and he’s just looking for a booty call.”

  “Well, this is something you have to decide on, and then talk to him about. What do you want? A real relationship or another hookup?”

  What do I want? “I want someone to know me, to see me and love me. Love my flaws and all the ugly in my life. But I can’t imagine myself telling Dylan any of it.” The knots in my stomach ease with each revelation.

  She reaches over and squeezes my knee. “We all have flaws and ugly in our lives. Is that why you think you’re falling for the therapist? Because he already knows you, and you feel safe with him?”

  I have to think about it. “Yes, and no. I like him. He’s easy to talk to, and he calls me on my BS. He makes me see things differently.”

  “And Dylan?”

  “I like him too. A lot. He’s different from what I thought. Kind. Sweet, even. I … I don’t know. Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with two people at the same time?”

  “Yes. I think it’s possible, but I think the type of love would be different. You know what I mean? Dylan and the therapist are giving you different things, fulfilling different needs. So, you’d fall for each of them for a different reason.”

  “Maybe, but what am I saying? Really? This is not love. One guy will forever be a mystery. And the other I have no idea what I should do about. Just go for it? Back out? If only I could merge the two of them together and build the perfect man for me.”

  “Maybe Dylan already is the perfect man for you, and you need to give him a chance to prove that.” She runs her hands over her arms like she’s cold. “I got shivers all over. You know what my mother would say to that, right?”

  “Get the salt and the holy water and run?” I joke, knowing all too well that her mom would say that’s a sign. We both get a good laugh.

  “Give him a chance. But even more importantly, give yourself a chance. You never give yourself enough credit. And you’re so much more than the crappy childhood you had.”

  Tears sting my eyes. It’s been such an emotional day already after Baby Jay.

  She leans in for a hug. Our arms go around each other. “Why is it so hard to believe that?” I sniff and fail to stop the tears.

  “Because you never give yourself a chance. You give so much to others without even thinking. All those babies you helped for years. The volunteering at soup kitchens. The little things you do when you think no one is paying attention. Driving my ass all over the place and being my sidekick.” She pulls back. Holds my hands. “You’re kind, you’re generous, and so smart. Now be kind and generous to you too. And put those smarts to work into changing the story you’re telling yourself. Tell a better story. A happy one.”

  River and the therapist are saying the same thing. “I heard this before. About rewriting the stories we tell ourselves.”

  “We all do it. We all have stories. And it’s up to us to make it a good one.”

  “So … rewrite my story, huh?”

  “Yes. You can’t change the past, but you can write your present, so better make it a good one. You know, with Dylan in it.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Then tell me all the juicy details.”

  “Sure I will,” I say. But I won’t. Not all of them. I’ll keep the best to myself.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  We’re back at Pat’s Café, the place where it all started. The place where I first met my father, even if I can’t yet call the man sitting across from me Dad.

  My body no longer gripped with the stiffness of anger and rejection. There’s an easiness in our conversation now. We’re still sharing stories and getting to know each other better. We chip away the distance one chunk at a time. Years apart b
eing made smaller by these encounters and his willingness to meet me at my pace.

  “So, that’s my Baby Jay story.” Telling my father about what happened makes my heart lighter somehow.

  He sets his coffee down, elbows on the table and fingers laced. “Tell me more about this baby cuddling program. It sounds fascinating.”

  “I love every minute of it. When I first joined, I thought I’d be the one helping the babies thrive. But they’re the ones helping me. I get so much joy and love from them. I can’t explain.” I surprise myself with how open and honest I’m being with him.

  “I can. Babies are miracles you get to hold.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in the way his lips turn, as if the corners of his mouth have to fight to stay up.

  A flash of an old memory hits me. “There was this baby about a year ago. He had been born with a hole in his heart. The parents brought his four-year-old brother in to meet him after surgery. I can still see his face vividly in my mind with his long blond hair and the bluest eyes. His name is Kyle.” I blink away the tears trying to spill from my eyes. “This little boy sat in a chair swallowed by a sterile gown holding his baby brother. The parents and a nurse were talking about the hole in the baby's heart. Then the boy looked at them, and said, ‘I know why there’s a hole in his heart.’ We all looked at him. His mom kneeled closer to him and asked why, and what he said stayed with me.”

  My father leans in ever closer. “What did he say?”

  “A closed heart can't give love.”

  We both sit still for several seconds. My father sits back, mouthing the words again and again. A closed heart can't give love.

  I put my hand on the table, palm up. “It took me a long time to realize that a closed heart also can’t receive love. And I have been guilty of both.”

  His hand reaches to mine.

  It’s funny how I spent my life with a giant black hole in my chest that was empty and yet filled with a bitterness and anger I used like a shield to protect myself. But the more I let go of the past, the smaller the hole gets, and the more I drop my shields, the happier I am.

  He squeezes my hand. “No more closed hearts.”