Chapter 65 Patrick
Patrick
I sit there for a long moment after the call with Lottie ends, my phone still grasped loosely in my hand.
I don’t move.
I don’t think—at least not coherently.
Everything feels… distant.
Like I’m watching myself from the outside, trying to catch up to what just happened.
The dean knows.
The words echo in my head, heavy and unrelenting.
A meeting.
“Sexual misconduct with a student.”
My stomach twists at the phrasing.
At how easily everything we are—everything we feel—can be reduced to something so… clinical. So damning.
I should be doing something.
Looking through my handbook. Preparing. Figuring out how to defend us.
But I can’t seem to make myself move.
Not yet.
Instead, my thoughts circle back—
To Sandy.
Lottie’s friend.
Or… who I thought was her friend.
Apparently not.
Apparently, she’d been harboring feelings for Lottie this whole time.
A slow, sharp ribbon of jealousy coils through my chest.
From the way Lottie spoke, it sounded like she knew.
Knew—and still stayed close to her.
My jaw tightens.
Lottie is mine.
The thought comes fast. Instinctive. Possessive in a way that startles me with its intensity.
Mine.
No one else gets to look at her like that. Want her like that.
No one else gets to have her.
She belongs with me.
A beat passes.
Then I shake my head sharply, forcing the thought away.
“No,” I mutter under my breath.
That kind of thinking—
That’s dangerous.
Jealousy is what got us here in the first place. It’s what pushed things, twisted things, made everything more volatile than it needed to be.
I can’t afford to let it take root now.
Not when everything is already on the line.
I drag a hand down my face and let out a long breath, finally pushing myself to stand.
“Okay,” I murmur. “Focus.”
The handbook.
I need the handbook.
I start searching, moving through the house with more urgency now, opening drawers, scanning shelves, digging through boxes that I never quite got around to unpacking when I first moved in.
They sent everything ahead of time.
I just… never needed it.
Until now.
It takes me nearly half an hour to find it.
Tucked into a box of books in the corner of the spare room.
Of course.
I huff out a quiet breath, pulling it free and brushing a thin layer of dust off the cover before heading back to the living room.
I drop onto the couch and open it immediately, flipping through the pages with more care than I feel.
At first, I tried to read everything.
Line by line.
Policy after policy.
Curriculum expectations. Professional conduct. Boundaries. Ethics.
It’s… exhausting.
And not helpful.
My focus starts to slip, the words blurring together into something monotonous and irrelevant.
“Come on,” I mutter, flipping forward.
I turn to the index instead.
Fraternization between staff and students.
There.
I find the page and flip to it, my pulse picking up slightly as I start reading.
There’s an entire chapter dedicated to it.
Of course there is.
It goes into detail—why it’s prohibited, the ethical implications, the imbalance of power, and the consequences.
Severe consequences.
Termination.
Loss of license.
Legal ramifications.
My chest tightens, but I keep reading.
Because somewhere in here—
There has to be something.
There has to be.
I skim faster now, searching, scanning, my eyes catching keywords.
Then—
There.
A section.
Smaller than the rest, almost like an afterthought.
But it’s there.
Fated mates.
I sit up a little straighter, focusing.
The policy is clear:
If a faculty member discovers that their fated mate is a student under their instruction, they are required to immediately remove themselves from any position of authority over that student—
And inform the dean of the relationship.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My shoulders loosen slightly as something in my chest eases.
Okay.
Okay.
We can work with this.
We didn’t follow protocol perfectly, no.
But—
We can explain.
We can tell them we didn’t understand at first. That we fought it. That we resisted as long as we could.
That we were trying to avoid exactly this situation.
That we only recently came to terms with what we are.
And that we were going to report it ourselves—
Before someone else stepped in.
A small, tentative smile tugs at my lips.
“We can fix this,” I murmur.
We can get ahead of it.
Follow the policy now.
Transfer her out of my class.
Be transparent moving forward.
Show that we’re willing to comply.
That this wasn’t negligence—
It was confusion.
Denial.
Fear.
My grip tightens slightly on the handbook, but this time it’s not from panic.
It’s from resolve.
We can beat this.
We can come out of this without losing everything.
Without me losing—
Her.
And for the first time since the call—
I feel like I can breathe again.
I grab my phone almost immediately, the relief still buzzing through me, making my fingers move faster than my thoughts can keep up.
\[It’s in the handbook! We can work with this! Though we didn’t follow protocol to the letter, we should be able to work around the consequences!\]
I hit send, my foot bouncing lightly against the floor as I wait.
It only takes a few seconds.
\[That’s so great to hear, Professor! I’m happy that we can be together even after everything was found out. What’s the protocol?\]
A smile spreads across my face—quick, unrestrained.
The word together settles warmly in my chest.
I start typing immediately.
\[Protocol dictates that upon learning you are fated mates with a student, the teacher has to move—\]
I stop.
Stare at the screen.
Then delete the entire message.
This is too much.
Too important to reduce to text bubbles and half explanations.
Before I can second-guess myself, I hit the call button.
She answers on the first ring.
“Professor?”
The sound of her voice—
It steadies me instantly.
“Yes,” I say, a little breathless. “I figured it would be too much to text, so I decided to call.”
“Okay, cool beans,” she replies easily. “So what’s the protocol?”
I huff out a quiet breath, sitting forward slightly, bracing my elbows on my knees.
“Right,” I say. “The protocol.”
I gather my thoughts.
“The handbook says that once a teacher realizes their fated mate is a student, they have to remove themselves from any position of authority over them.”
There’s a pause.
I swallow.
“That means… you wouldn’t be able to take my class anymore,” I continue. “Or be my TA.”
The words feel heavier out loud.
“I’m so sorry, Lottie. I know how much that means to you—”
“Bah humbug!”
Her immediate interruption startles a laugh out of me before I can stop it.
“Yes, I always wanted to be your TA,” she continues, completely unfazed. “And I got to be. Maybe not for the whole time, but the class ends next month.”
I blink, the tension in my chest easing just a little.
“I think we can talk them into letting us finish it out,” she adds. “We’ve already made it this far—even while being fated mates and trying not to act on it.”
I find myself nodding along before she’s even finished speaking.
“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Yeah, that makes sense. It’s late in the semester—it would be difficult for you to switch classes now and still earn enough credits.”
The more I say it, the more convinced I become.
“We can argue that it would be academically disruptive,” I add. “That letting you finish the course is the more reasonable option.”
Lottie laughs, bright and excited.
“Yes! We can totally win this, Professor!”
I flush at that.
The way she says it—Professor—so casually, so naturally.
Like it’s not just a title.
Like it’s a part of me.
And… it is.
These past few years—teaching, building something meaningful, shaping minds—it’s been the best part of my life.
So much so that the thought of losing it—
Because of this—
Because of us—
It terrified me.
It still does.
That was the biggest reason I fought so hard.
Being a professor isn’t just what I do.
It’s who I am.
Losing it would mean losing a part of myself.
A tremor of relief passes through me so suddenly that it almost makes my breath hitch.
I didn’t realize how much I was relying on there being a clause like this.
How much I needed there to be a way through.
I lean back slightly, running a hand through my hair.
“I wish I had looked this up sooner,” I admit quietly.
A soft huff of self-directed amusement escapes me.
“We could’ve… saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”
A pause.
Then I shake my head, half-smiling.
“Then again,” I mutter, “I didn’t believe in any of this back then.”
Right.
That.
Even if I had known, I still would’ve fought it.
Still would’ve resisted.
Still would’ve tried to pretend it wasn’t real.
But…
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so afraid.
Maybe I wouldn’t have pushed her away as hard as I did.
Maybe—
I glance down at my phone, listening to her quiet breathing on the other end.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“We’re going to be okay.”
And for the first time in a long time—
I actually believe that.