Chapter 12 Chapter 12
Tito’s POV
Kendrick’s office was quieter than the hallway outside, like sound didn’t dare breathe here.
The scent of coffee and something like cedarwood, hung in the air. He looked up from his desk when I entered, eyes catching mine in that unreadable, surgical way of his.
For a second, I thought he’d snap, ask why I’d barged in like that. But instead, he just studied me.
Then, without saying a word, he extended a hand. I blinked before realizing he wanted the assignment.
I stepped forward and placed it on his desk.
He didn’t even glance down at it right away. His gaze lingered on my face, as if he could see every smudge of panic that had gone into the rushed pages. Then his eyes finally dropped, scanning the first sheet with that same eerie calm he carried everywhere.
He knew. I could tell he knew.
He knew that I hadn’t written it last night. That I’d probably woken up before dawn trying to fix what couldn’t be fixed.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he reached for the register on the side of his desk, flipped it open, and with a tilt of his chin, gestured to it.
“Sign,” he said simply.
His voice was calm, low, steady, that same professor voice that made you want to sit straighter.
I swallowed, stepped closer, and picked up the pen. The paper trembled slightly as I scrawled “Tito Morel” in the neatest script I could manage.
When I was done, I should have left, but my eyes betrayed me.
The office was… meticulously organized. Every book was stacked by height, and pens aligned in perfect symmetry. A minimalist’s paradise, or a control freak’s sanctuary.
And yet something didn’t fit.
Hanging in the corner behind his chair was a black leather jacket. It looked worn, not like something a man like him that was used to pressed suits, tailored cuffs, and expensive shoes would wear.
The sight made my stomach tilt. Why does he even have that?
But I brushed it off, signing the last part of my name and placing the pen down.
Then, as I turned back toward the desk, something else caught my eye, the necklace. The same one he’d worn in the car yesterday. It gleamed faintly beneath his shirt collar: a small silver bird, wings spread, delicate and strange.
I forced my eyes away quickly before he noticed I’d been staring.
“Thank you,” I muttered, already stepping back toward the door.
But before I could leave, his voice cut through the silence.
“Tito.”
I froze.
“Yes?”
“Don’t take that bus again.”
I turned around slowly. “Excuse me?”
“The bus you took this morning.” He leaned back in his chair slightly, his fingers steepled. “Don’t take it again.”
I frowned. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice, remember?”
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded once, as if coming to some silent conclusion. “Fine. I’ll fix that.”
“Fix—?”
“I’m getting you your own car.”
My brain blanked. “What?”
“I’ll teach you how to drive during the weekend,” he said his voice stern, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
I stared at him with my mouth open, trying to find the line between his authority and my confusion. “You…you don’t have to—”
“It’s not a favor,” he cut in. “It’s a necessity. You live in my house now, which means your safety falls under my responsibility.”
My heart stuttered. The word responsibility landed heavier than I wanted it to.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded stiffly, muttered a quick “thank you,” and practically fled from the office before my brain could combust.
Chloe was waiting in the hallway. She smirked the moment she saw me.
“Took you long enough,” she teased. “What, did he give you extra credit or something?”
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my head. “No. He just… scolded me. My assignment wasn’t exactly impressive.”
“Please,” Chloe snorted, linking her arm through mine as we started walking. “That man probably reads them all like secret love letters. Did he at least smile?”
“Not even close,” I said, shaking my head, though a small laugh escaped me.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, a mix of classrooms, chatter, and the faint hum of exhaustion in my bones.
But when the final bell rang and students started trickling out, I realized I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
So when Chloe and I reached the school gate, I stopped her.
“Hey,” I said quickly. “Can I get your number?”
Her eyes lit up. “Finally! I thought you were too cool for friends.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled as she tapped her
number into my phone.
“Thanks,” I said. “My mom’s supposed to pick me up, so you can go ahead.”
That was a lie. My mom wasn’t coming. Kendrick was. But I didn’t want questions.
“Alright, see you tomorrow!” she chirped, waving before disappearing through the gate.
The moment she was gone, I turned back toward the main building and waited.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
And then he finally showed up.
Kendrick emerged from the side entrance, his sleeves rolled up, jacket slung over one arm, moving with the same unbothered calm as always.
But this time, my eyes caught something new.
His knuckles were bruised.
Not fresh enough to bleed, but dark, healing blotches stained his skin like old shadows. The kind that didn’t come from grading papers or rearranging books. I furrowed my brow and thought of what could have possible caused that, and looked up accidentally.
He caught me staring.
My throat tightened, but I pretended to glance away, fumbling with my phone.
He said nothing, only gestured toward the car parked near the curb. “Let’s go.”
I climbed in quietly, trying not to think about what I’d just seen.
The drive started out normal. The usual hum of the engine, his silence filling every corner of the car.
But then, instead of turning toward the road that led home from what I remembered, he took a left.
“Uh… that’s not the way home,” I said.
“I know.”
I frowned, watching the cityscape change outside my window. “Then where…”
“You’ll see.”
The answer didn’t help my nerves. My brain started spinning theories; maybe he’d changed his mind about the whole car idea, maybe he wanted to show me something—
And then I saw it.
The signboard ahead read ELMWOOD AUTO CENTER.
A row of gleaming cars stretched beneath the evening sky, reflecting sunlight like mirrors.
He pulled into the lot and parked neatly between two shiny sedans.
I blinked, my brain short-circuiting. “What the—are you serious right now?”
He got out of the car like this was an errand he’d been planning all along. “Come on.”
I just stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he said, walking around to the passenger side to open my door.
He didn’t. He never did.
The dealership lights flickered across his face, glinting off the thin silver bird resting against his collar.
And I realized, not for the first time, that I didn’t understand this man at all.