My Professor's Secret

27|

twenty-seven

"What was so urgent that you couldn't wait long enough for me to finish a conversation with Dad's girlfriend? We were actually making solid progress."

He looked distressed, like he was holding onto something that could only be said between the two of us, so he waited until we were inside the confines of his room before even attempting to speak. Only, he still didn't. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his palms against his jeans, his silence stretching longer than it needed to.

Obviously, I was going to have to be the one to break it.

I already knew whatever was going on between Meghan and Trevor back at Winchester was starting to get to him. Chris had barely been present in anything involving Dad or Lorelei, but now it all felt like too much to unload onto him at once. He didn't need to worry about our father possibly not being okay. Especially not if it was true that Meghan was involved with Trevor again while she was supposed to be with him.

Even I had been stuck on that possibility, and I wasn't the one dating her.

"Is everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," I said, lowering myself into his desk chair.

His brown complexion nearly hid the flush in his cheeks, but not entirely. Before I could fully register what was happening, he lurched forward toward the trash bin, dry heaving before vomiting into it.

For a split second, instinct told me to move toward him, to help—but the sound alone was enough to turn my stomach. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay where I was.

"I'll get Dad."

"Don't!" he managed, finally catching a steady breath. "Please."

He was right.

If Dad came in, he would start asking questions—questions neither of us was prepared to answer. And whatever Chris was dealing with, it wasn't something that needed to spiral into something bigger.

So instead, I stayed where I was, gripping the edge of the chair, trying to steady my own stomach.

Chris eventually got himself together enough to tell me to wait while he cleaned up. He took the bin with him, leaving the room quiet in a way that felt more oppressive than before.

I leaned back slightly, my mind already working through every possible explanation.

Chris had dated before. Plenty of times. Most of them didn't last, but there had been a few that actually meant something. None of them had ever left him like this.

This was different. This was something he hadn't told me. Something big enough to make him physically sick.

By the time he came back, his face was cleaner, but it didn't look better. If anything, it looked worse—drained, like whatever he'd been holding in hadn't actually gone anywhere.

"Just... go to bed," he said, already moving past me. "We'll talk in the morning."

I knew what that meant. We wouldn't. Not unless something forced it.

Chris didn't say a single word to me the next day. Not when we crossed paths in the hallway, not when Dad called us down for breakfast, not even when I tried to catch his attention before he disappeared back into his room with a plate in his hands. Whatever was going on hadn't eased. If anything, it had rooted itself deeper.

The dark circles under his eyes were worse than the night before, heavy against his skin like sleep hadn't even touched him. His movements were slower, his usual energy gone, replaced with something dull and withdrawn. Restlessness. Regret. Something more consuming than either. I didn't push it.