Time seems to crawl on by. In Professor Irving’s class, I watch the clock. Afterward, I agree to have lunch with the teaching assistants, Tabitha and Devon, while I wait for Brigs’ class with Melissa to be over. I have to plan this carefully or there’s a chance I’ll either miss Brigs or run into Melissa, and the last thing I want is a lecture from her. Or worse.
I decide to err on the side of caution and go over some of my tutorials until it’s been an hour since his class has ended.
This is it, I tell myself as I walk down the hall to his office. Closure.
My palms are immediately clammy at the thought, and I rub them on my jeans as I stand outside his door. It’s closed, which means he might not be in there at all. There’s a sense of relief in that, that I may be able to ignore this for another day.
With that in mind, I raise my fist and knock gently at the door, breath in my throat.
“Come in,” he says from the other side, that smooth Scottish burr sliding through the door. Just his voice alone has the hairs on my arms standing at attention. Thank god my nipples are behaving.
My hand wavers at the doorknob, like if I touch it I might turn to stone, and finally I grasp it and twist, pushing it open.
Brigs is at his desk, writing on his laptop. He looks at me over the top of his reading glasses, stunned.
“Is this a bad time?” I ask him softly, my hand still on the knob.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says. He clears his throat and gets to his feet, taking off his glasses. “Please, please, come in.”
I close the door behind me and lean against it, my feet refusing to move any further.
He stands by his desk, fingers resting on the surface as he stares at me. “I’m surprised to see you.”
I run my teeth over my lip, looking around his office, trying to look everywhere but at him. It’s nothing like his old one. His other office smelled like old books and coffee, he had teak shelves with an assortment of torn paperbacks and musty hardcovers. Even his desk was this big old oak thing that was impossible to move. This office is white and clean, with metal shelves and filing cabinets. Sterile. Soulless.
“I haven’t really moved in yet,” he says, noticing my wayward gaze. “I think it’ll take a while until it really feels like mine.”
I nod. “How has your teaching been going?” I ask, still avoiding his eyes.
“I’m not as prepared as I thought I’d be,” he says. “Or maybe it’s that I was too prepared.”
“Maybe,” I say. I look down at my feet, and he takes a few steps toward me, stopping a foot away. He’s wearing black dress shoes, oxfords, along with his tailored suit pants and grey shirt.
Brigs doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him, feel everything that’s not being said. The space between us is thick with time and longing and regret, just as it always has been. It’s almost amazing to be standing this close to him again and to step back in time four years. I thought I’d been thrown down a long dark hole and came out forever changed, but in his presence, it’s like no time has passed at all.
This could be very, very dangerous.
But when wasn’t it?
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. His voice is so low, almost gruff. My spine feels warm from it. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, let alone see you.”
My lips twitch into a smile. “I’ve seen you a lot. You just haven’t seen me.”
I finally dare to meet his eyes and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Those eyes of his burn into mine, in that masterful, carnal gaze that used to slay me over and over again. And like before, I’m hypnotized, and the world around me falls away until it’s only him.
“Natasha,” he says softly, searching my face. “I…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, pinching his eyes shut. Now he’s avoiding my gaze, staring at the floor. “There’s so much I want to say to you. To talk to you about. At the same time, it’s painful. All of it. And I’m so done with suffering. Aren’t you?”
I swallow hard and barely whisper, “Yes.”
He looks up at me, his forehead creased. “I just need you to know that the last time we spoke—”
“Brigs,” I tell him quickly. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I do,” he says. “I do. Because I wasn’t me.”
“I know.” God, it hurts that he doesn’t think I understand.
“No, you don’t,” he says, looking up at me. Fuck. His eyes are haunted, full of shadows and darkness. “I told you nothing but lies because it was the only way I could get you out of my life. At the time, all I could think was that I caused this.”