Misconduct(41)

He pushed his wet hair back over the top of his forehead and stuck his other hand in his pocket, all of a sudden looking nervous.

He cleared his throat, raising his hesitant gaze up to mine. “I want to apologize.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Marek. This morning is our little secret. Just go away.”

I moved to close the door, but he shot out his hand, keeping it open.

“Easton,” he called out, sounding unusually gentle. “I should never have been rough with you today, and I’m sorry.”

Rough with me?

I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “Why?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you sorry?” I demanded, forgetting my brother standing nearby.

Tyler Marek was never gentle, and I’d never given him the impression that I had a problem with that. Why did he suddenly feel bad?

He opened his mouth, looking like he wasn’t sure what to say. “I…” He cleared his throat again. “I just don’t feel like I’ve treated you as well as you should be treated,” he admitted.

I stood there, frozen in place and staring at him suspiciously. What the hell was going on?

When had I ever given him the impression that I couldn’t take what he dished out? And now he was worried about me?

“All right.” My brother grabbed the door and opened it completely, breaking me out of my daze. “I’m out.” He leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Be safe and…” He looked at Tyler as he slipped past both of us and through the door. “We’ll meet another time.”

He jogged down the steps, his dark green T-shirt slowly turning black in the rain as he ran for his Jeep.

Tyler looked after him and then turned to me, cocking his head. “I’m not a jealous man, but for you I might make an exception.”

Huh?

And then I realized he’d never met my brother. He thought Jack was a lover.

“No need to be jealous,” I reassured him. “You’re the parent of a student and nothing more.”

He looked away, shaking his head at my audacity.

But then his expression cleared and he looked at me pointedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you played tennis professionally?” he asked.

My face fell. “You had me investigated?” I accused.

“No. I know how to Google, thank you,” he retorted. “You’re as much of a mystery as my son, so I looked you up.”

My hand fell off the door handle, and I searched my brain for a way to deter him without making him more curious.

He stepped through the door, and I backed away, letting him in.

“There wasn’t so much on Easton Bradbury, the Loyola student or teacher,” he told me, closing the door behind him. “But there were thousands of hits and pictures on you as an athlete.” He inched closer to me, not giving up. “Tennis player, close family, promising future that crashed and burned when…” He trailed off, and I looked up, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.

I smoothed my hand down my T-shirt and shorts, steeling my spine.

Now he knew everything. Nearly everything.

There were articles, video footage, interviews… My rise had been highly publicized, and so had my fall.

When my parents and sister died on that rainy night in a vicious accident, I’d lost everything. My routine, the world as I knew it, and my desire to play.

Who was I if I wasn’t the star in their lives, and why the hell did I want to play tennis anymore anyway?

It was my fault they’d been driving that night, and when it was time to get back on the court, my will to play was gone. Even now, on the rare occasion I tried, my game had gone to shit.

My magnificent exit and display of temper were forever digitized. I’d forfeited the match and walked off the court, pushing cameras and microphones out of my face as I left for the last time.

“Easton, I’m sorry.” Marek reached out and touched my cheek

But I pushed his hands away and stepped back. “Stop apologizing.”

How dared he act like I needed to be put back together?

“Don’t handle me, Tyler,” I growled. “I’m tired of everyone hovering and sticking their noses in. You don’t matter,” I shot out bitterly, “so stop trying to push your way in.”

I charged into the living room, but he grabbed my arm and swung me back around, pulling me to him. I crashed against his chest, the rain on his clothes like ice against my arms and legs, and my breath caught.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I don’t matter. I don’t matter so much that there was no way in hell you could say no to me today,” he charged. “And I’d be willing to bet I’m the first man you can’t say no to, because it’s the same way for me.”

He bent his head down to mine, our noses brushing. “You’re strong and proud, resilient and capable. I can see that.” His voice was thick, like he was feeling more than he was saying. “I value those qualities in a person, Easton. You don’t give anyone an inch, and it’s like looking into a mirror, because it’s the same independence I value.” He looked at me like a dare and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer and whispering, “And when I touch you, I can’t explain what I feel, but I know you’re feeling me, too.”