Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 83

"What do you want me to say?" the professor eventually muttered, his whole world crumbling around him.

Chrissie scoffed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know. Something like 'everything's going to be okay' or 'we're going to get through this'?"

Brian's eyes doubled in size, realizing the implications of her desired responses from him. "You mean it's—"

"Yes," the headmistress whispered, hugging herself with a swollen throat and blurred vision, "It's yours, Brian; it has to be. Timothée and I...we haven't..."

The professor glanced back over his shoulder, his mind spinning as he searched for the one person who could ground him, but it was only the two of them in the hallway. Roger wasn't there to save him; to take him away from the bombshell that had been dropped on him. Instead, the blonde was preoccupied with his boyfriend, trying to stop him from stealing sips of his colleagues' abandoned drinks.

"You're making a fool out of yourself," the music instructor scolded his plus one from across the tall table they'd situated themselves at.

"Oh hush." Tim waved a lazy hand at Roger, dismissing him as he brought another glass to his lips and tilted his head back, downing the amber spirit that didn't belong to him in one, long sip. The blonde rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze across the room, locking eyes with the headmistress's husband.

A nervous feeling bubbled up inside the blonde as Timothée excused himself from the conversation one of the professors was trying to engage him in and expertly wove his way through the unruly crowd of intellectuals, making his way over and joining the pair.

Tim instantly lit up, gasping in surprise and slamming the now dry glass down on the table. "Timothée, old chap! Long time, no see! We've missed you. We've really missed you." He dropped a finger on the previous client's nose and dragged it down his face, over his lips, chin, neck, and chest. "You know Roger's not on the clock, right?

Timothée chuckled and gently plucked the brunette's hand away from his shirt. "Yes, I know, Tim."

"But if you're interested..." Roger's boyfriend slurred, resting his head on Chrissie's husband's shoulder and pursing his lips out, "I'm sure we could work something out."

"Tim!" Roger exclaimed under his breath, his eyes wide.

"What? He pays well, and you and I both know damn well that this stupid music gig isn't making you as much!"

"I-I'm good, Tim," Timothée stammered, feigning an appreciative grin as he grabbed the inebriated man's shoulder and gave him a slight shake, "Maybe another night."

The brunette tutted and fell against the table, resting his elbow on the surface and shoving the small collection of abandoned drinks to the floor. "Well if you change your mind, you know where to reach me." He winked at the man before attempting to reposition himself, ultimately ending up on the floor with the mess he made moments ago. Roger took in a deep, irritated breath and walked away from the scene, neglecting his adopted responsibility of taking care of his partner while ignoring Timothée's pleas for him to wait up as he burst out of the gymnasium and went looking for Brian.

The professor and the headmistress had parted ways by then, Brian telling Chrissie he needed some fresh air and leaving her to sit by his classroom with her knees pulled to her chest and her reddened face hidden behind her hands. The patter of footsteps across the linoleum floors lifted her teary gaze out of her palms, revealing the smoky lines that streaked her cheeks as she sniffled and looked up at the music instructor who'd slowed his escape upon approaching her.

"Whoa, you look like shit," the blonde instinctively observed, the upset headmistress's eyes narrowing.

"Thanks, Roger," she grumbled insincerely, turning her head in the opposite direction.

The music instructor towered over her awkwardly, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet for a little while before blurting out, "You wouldn't happen to know where Brian is, would you?"

The headmistress chuckled sadly, shaking her head. "He went to get some fresh air."

"Well that's helpful," he replied sarcastically, starting to resume his solo search for the professor when Chrissie's voice echoed off the walls.

"I told him," she called out, stopping Roger dead in his tracks. He kept his back to her and listened as she picked herself up off the ground, taking a few, timid steps in his direction and elaborating tentatively, "I told him I was pregnant."

Roger's head whipped over his shoulder, mistrust glowing in his eyes. "Are you?" She nodded her head and bit her lip, her hands nervously intertwined over her stomach. "And you're sure it's his and not Timothée's?"

"I haven't slept with my husband in months," she divulged, her voice quieter than before as she continued to shorten the distance between the two of them, "Not ever since I found him with you. I just can't, knowing he's a..." Her thought trailed off into silence, realizing it wasn't in her best interest to say something of that nature in a moment like this. She needed someone on her side; someone to hear her out. She knew Roger wasn't that person, but he was the only one around and he hadn't deserted her yet with the claim of needing "fresh air."

The blonde clenched his jaw, thinking about what this situation meant not only for Brian and Timothée, but for himself. With her being pregnant, it destroyed any chance the professor and the music instructor had of being together, and it definitely put a damper on their plans that night. Just like Brian, he didn't want to believe it was true, but with the opportunity she'd given him—despite how hellish the ride turned out to be—he thought it only fair to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Does he know?" he asked her, spinning around to face her and crossing his arms over his chest, "Your husband?"

"Sort of," she answered, the words coming out in a strained whisper.

"Sort of?" Roger repeated, dropping his hands on his hips and cocking a suspicious eyebrow that shattered the headmistress's broken exterior even more.

Chrissie pressed her lips together and hung her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she explained, "I told him I wanted to divorce."

"A divorce," he scoffed, an amused and disbelieving grin appearing on his face, "What about the reason you want a divorce?" The headmistress's sniffled silence was enough of an answer for Roger, disgusting the blonde even further.

Had he known the whirlwind Chrissie was going to drag him into—intervening in his life not once, but twice now—Roger would've rejected her initial offer, or at least have read the fine print that detailed how, by signing her intangible contract, he'd lose his biggest client, his boyfriend, and his entire sense of self. He was too enthralled by the idea of escaping the life he'd grown tired of that he neglected to consider how her offer only initiated the change; it didn't implement it. That was his responsibility, and he felt like a fool for falling for her deceiving act of kindness.

"I honestly don't know who to feel more sorry for," Roger thought aloud, folding his arms once again, "You, Brian, or Timothée."

"What makes you say that?" she muttered, an innocence to her question.

The blonde chuckled. "Because you think you're a winner, Chrissie; that you've played your cards right and finally got what you've always wanted, but in reality, you're just as much of a loser as the two of them. And you want to know why?" The headmistress bit her lip, Roger shortening the distance between the two of them and whispering darkly, "Because their lives aren't the only ones you've fucked over by getting knocked up. Yours is too."