Chapter 55 Lottie
Lottie
Professor Hale has been acting… off.
Not just a little off.
Noticeably.
He looks like a permanently exhausted pigeon—pale, worn down, like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks. There’s a constant tension in his face now, a tightness around his eyes and mouth that never used to be there.
And his mood?
Completely different.
He snaps at people. Gets short-tempered over small things. Students who once praised him for being patient and kind now exchange confused looks when he brushes them off or cuts them short.
And then there’s the bathroom trips.
Frequent. Too frequent.
I try not to read too much into it—I really do—but it’s hard not to let my mind go there.
Especially when he barely speaks to me anymore.
I sit in his class on Friday, pretending to take notes while watching him out of the corner of my eye. He shifts in his seat again, subtly pressing a hand to his stomach, like he’s trying to keep something down.
He looks… miserable.
My fingers dip into my bag, brushing against the small paper pouch inside.
Ginger candy.
When my mom was pregnant with Lilliana and Luca, he swore by these.
They helped with nausea.
I hesitate.
I don’t want to assume. I don’t want to jump to conclusions.
But he won’t talk to me.
And I’m done waiting.
I’m cornering him after class.
Even if he shuts me down, I’m at least giving him the candy.
He excuses himself again—third time this period—and I watch him go, my concern tightening into something sharper.
The moment he comes back and the bell rings, I move.
Fast.
I grab my things and weave through my classmates before he can disappear, catching up to him just as he’s heading for the door.
“Professor—”
He barely gets a chance to react before I’m steering him down the hall.
“Lottie—what are you—”
“Just walk.”
I don’t give him a choice.
We make it to his office, and he fumbles with the key slightly before unlocking the door. He glances at me, confused, a little green around the edges.
I push him inside and follow, closing the door behind us—
—or at least, I think I do.
I don’t notice that it doesn’t latch all the way.
I turn back to him immediately, stepping into his space.
“What’s going on, Professor?” I ask, my voice low but firm.
He shakes his head slowly, like he’s searching for words but can’t quite grab onto them.
I plant myself in front of him, blocking any chance of escape.
“We’re not leaving this room until you tell me.”
He freezes for a second, and I watch it happen—the flicker of emotions crossing his face one after another. Fear. Guilt. Conflict. Something softer underneath.
Then his expression settles.
Resolves.
He takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, his shoulders drop like he’s finally letting something go.
“I wasn’t completely honest with you,” he says quietly, “when I told you about us being fated mates.”
My brow lifts immediately.
“What did you leave out?” I ask, my tone sharpening. “And don’t sugarcoat it. No more half-truths.”
He nods slowly, eyes dropping to his hands as he fidgets with his fingers.
Then he looks back at me.
And the look on his face—
It’s heavy.
Almost… mournful.
“We are fated mates,” he says. “That part is true. But what I didn’t tell you…” He hesitates, then pushes through it. “Is that there was a deadline. A point where, if we didn’t accept the bond willingly, our bodies would force it.”
My stomach tightens.
“What do you mean by ‘force it’?” I ask.
“You would go into a rut,” he says, voice quieter now. “And seek me out. That would trigger my heat.” He swallows. “We would mate… whether we intended to or not. You would mark me...”
My grip on my bag tightens slightly.
“And then?” I press.
He looks away again.
I step closer.
“And then what?”
He exhales sharply, like ripping off a bandage.
“I would get pregnant.”
The words hang in the air.
For a moment, I just stare at him.
Then I take a small step back, more out of surprise than anything else—
—and immediately regret it.
Because his face falls.
Completely.
His eyes drop, his shoulders curling inward like he’s bracing for rejection.
“I know you’re too young,” he starts quickly, voice tight. “I know this wasn’t planned, and if you don’t want to take responsi—”
“Whoa, whoa—slow down.”
I step forward again, cutting him off.
“What makes you think I wouldn’t want this?” I ask, my voice firm now, steady.
He looks up at me, startled.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” I continue, softer but no less certain, “I want you. And I’ll take everything that comes with that. Family. A baby. Us. All of it.”
His eyes widen, disbelief flickering across his face.
“You… you would?” he asks quietly. “You just—you stepped back—”
“I was surprised,” I admit. “That’s it.”
I take another step closer, closing the gap between us.
“But Patrick…”
He looks at me, his eyes glassy now, emotion sitting just beneath the surface.
“Yes?”
“My mark is on you,” I say gently. “That’s permanent. No matter how much you tried to push me away, that was never going to change.”
His breath hitches slightly.
“I’m not happy you kept something this big from me,” I add honestly. “But I want to understand. All of it.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“Can we talk later? Really talk? About what this means for us… going forward?”
He nods almost immediately.
Relief flickers across his face.
I don’t hesitate.
I step into him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him close against me. For a second, he goes still—
Then he melts.
I brush my lips softly over his eyes, then his nose, grounding him, reassuring him.
Then I kiss him.
He responds instantly, like he’s been holding himself back for weeks. He rises slightly onto his toes, his arms coming up around my neck, pulling himself closer.
A low sound escapes me as I tighten my hold on him, pressing him more firmly against me.
For a moment—
Everything else disappears.
The tension.
The distance.
The pretending.
It’s just us again.
And I’m so caught up in it… in him…that I don’t notice the door.
Or the fact that it’s not fully closed.
Or Sandy—
Standing just outside, frozen in place, eyes wide, hand clamped over her mouth as she stares through the narrow gap.
I pull away reluctantly, the loss of his warmth immediate and sharp.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at his lips—soft, flushed, slightly swollen from the kiss. The urge to lean back in, to taste him again, hits me hard enough that I almost give in.
Almost.
But this isn’t the time.
And definitely not the place.
I force myself to step back, drawing in a steadying breath as I reach into my bag and pull out the small pouch of ginger candy. I take one and press it gently into his hand.
“Here,” I say softly. “My mom swore by these when he was dealing with nausea while he was pregnant with my younger siblings. They helped him a lot.”
He looks down at it like it’s a lifeline.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, already unwrapping it with slightly shaky fingers. He pops it into his mouth without hesitation.
A second passes.
Then his shoulders drop, tension easing out of him in a visible wave.
He exhales slowly, eyes closing for a brief moment. “That’s… actually helping,” he admits, voice quieter now. “Everything’s been setting me off. I didn’t know if I’d be able to eat anything again without—” He cuts himself off with a small, breathless huff.
I smile faintly and reach up, tapping him lightly on the nose. I press the rest of the bag into his hand.
“You’ll be fine,” I say, gentler than before. “You just needed a little help.”
He huffs out a soft laugh, the sound still a little strained but warmer than anything I’ve heard from him in weeks.
“I’ll text you,” I add, shifting back into something more practical before the moment slips again. “We need to talk—really talk. Somewhere private. So we can figure everything out.”
His reaction is immediate.
A faint flush spreads across his cheeks, soft and unmistakable, and something about it makes my chest tighten in a completely different way.
His scent spikes slightly—citrusy, warm, familiar—and I realize just how much I’ve missed it. Being this close. Being allowed to be this close.
For a second, I just… breathe him in.
It feels like coming up for air after holding my breath for too long.
“I’d better get to class,” I say finally, even though part of me doesn’t want to move at all. “I’m already late.”
He nods quickly, like he’s just now remembering where we are.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll… I’ll wait for your text.”
I start backing toward the door, my gaze lingering on him just a second longer than necessary.
“As soon as I’m done,” I promise.
He nods again, a soft, almost relieved smile pulling at his lips.
“Okay.”
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then I turn and slip out into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind me this time—
—and I don’t notice the pair of eyes that were just on the other side of it.