The Professor

Chapter Twenty-Two | Hurt

I quickly grab the phone from Nicole's hand, taking charge of the situation. I don't care that I seem irrational. There's red substance in the back of James' car and I can only hope it's paint and not something else.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," I chant, pacing up and down the jewellery isle.

Nicole follows my every move, chewing on her finger nails.

"Nikki!"

I almost cry in relief.

"JAMES!"

"Sloan, baby, is everything okay?"

His concern floors me.

"We're fine. It's you I'm worried about. Someone sent Nic a picture of your car."

He sighs.

"What's going on?" I ask, lowering my voice to a whisper.

"Another stupid prank," he informs, downplaying its seriousness.

I understand he might not want to get into specifics, but his casualness towards the issue doesn't sit right with me.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend like what we're dealing with isn't really fucking serious."

"I'm fine," he insists.

"Well, I'm not!" I shout, shocking Nicole and gaining the attention of my dad. "I'm really worried about you."

"Don't be," he responds, sounding a little short.

I can't deny his reaction doesn't hurt, but I don't have time to dwell on it right now.

"Fine, I won't. Here's your sister."

I practically shove the device in her hand and storm away, needing some breathing space. I don't understand why he isn't taking matters more seriously. Two attacks in the space of twenty-four hours is not a stupid prank in my eyes. It's a targeted threat. I get that he's perhaps downplaying his concern to make myself and Nicole feel better, but if anything he's just making it worse. I wish he'd let me in.

"Sloan, sweetheart?"

Dad approaches.

"I'm okay," I insist, wiping under my eyes.

"Is everything alright?"

"Men are idiots," I say. "Aside from that, everything's fine."

He laughs. "What's he done?"

I shrug, not knowing where to start.

"All couples fight, love."

"I don't like fighting," I reply, pretending to look at a watch on display.

Its value is the same as my monthly rent.

"No one does," he assures. "It's just something we humans like to torture ourselves with."

"He can't be honest with me," I admit, strangely taken by the idea of opening up to my dad. "About his part."

"Okay."

"And it doesn't bother me, but something is happening and I can't help because I don't know the details."

"Do you feel helpless, sweetheart?"

"Very," I reply. "And it's frustrating."

He remains silent for a few minutes before slowly stepping closer. "Do you know what's worse than frustration?"

I shrug. "Anger?"

"Fear," he informs.

I meet his gaze.