Chapter 41 Garrett
Garrett
When I walked into the director’s office, I was expecting the usual. A lecture. A few controlled questions. Did you have anything to do with the incident? Did you raise your voice? Did you provoke him? I’d done this dance before. I knew how to answer just enough without giving anything away.
Then I saw Max. And two other guys from the student counsel committee, sitting beside him like a jury.
I figured, fine. This might get a little more intense. Still manageable.
Then the door opened again, and Aslan walked in, and at that moment, everything else stopped mattering.
He looked pale. Not hospital pale anymore, but tired. Drained. The second he saw me, I felt him tense up. Was my lion afraid of me? Sick of me, maybe?
I didn’t like either option.
Something inside my chest tightened painfully, my heart kicking against my ribs in a way that had nothing to do with the meeting. I hadn’t realized how wound up I’d been since he collapsed. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath for hours.
It’s just guilt, I told myself. Just guilt. I didn’t need any more trouble. I didn’t need this getting bigger than it already was. That’s all this was.
But when he sat down and refused to look at me, something in me shifted.
I found myself begging silently for one second of eye contact. Just one. So he could see it. So he could read it on my face without me having to say it out loud. That I was sorry. That I hadn’t meant for it to go that far. That I didn’t understand why I kept making it worse.
He didn’t look up. Not at me, at least.
Then the door opened again and the air in the room changed as my mother walked in.
She carried the room with her like she always did. Perfect posture. Perfect coat. Perfect expression of concerned authority.
I saw Aslan glance at me then. Confusion flickering in his eyes when he caught the way my body went rigid.
He probably thought it was her. That she was the reason my blood had turned to ice.
She wasn’t.
She drew everyone’s attention. The director stood straighter. Max shifted in his seat. Even Aslan seemed momentarily distracted…. But my eyes didn’t stay on her.
They moved past her to the man who stepped inside behind her and closed the door quietly.
He stood near the corner of the room, hands folded neatly in front of him, expression neutral, reserved—almost gentle. I knew that posture. I knew that silence. Dr. Graves—the very same man I had always thought would end up digging mine. Julian Graves had been my therapist for months, the man my mother had trusted to “guide” me, to correct me, to monitor me, to fix what she believed was broken…
To torture me.
The only man I had ever been terrified of. And he was looking at me now—not angry, not surprised, just studying me, judging me in silence, circling around me like a fucking vulture, ready to jump on me if I stopped still for even a second.
My pulse didn’t just spike. It dropped. Because whatever this meeting had been about, it wasn’t anymore.
The director cleared his throat first, reclaiming the room with practiced ease.
“Mrs. William, thank you for coming on such short notice,” he began. “I assure you, this is not disciplinary in the traditional sense.”
“Good morning, Mr. Roosevelt.” My mother offered a thin, composed smile. “I was informed that my son was involved in a serious incident. Did he physically attack another student, or was there some kind of assault?”
Her voice was smooth. Controlled. Just sharp enough to cut.
The director didn’t flinch. “Not exactly, ma’am. The student experienced a medical episode following a verbal altercation.”
“An altercation,” she repeated lightly. “Is this kindergarten, Mr. Roosevelt? My son exchanges words with a classmate, and parents are summoned?”
A few people shifted uncomfortably, and I could see Aslan turning paler, looking down, mortified by the entire situation.
“No, ma’am,” he said evenly. “But when a student council report raises concerns about recurring tensions between two students, and one of those tensions culminates in a hospital visit, we are obligated to review the matter formally.”
Max straightened slightly beside the others. Motherfucker… I knew it had been him and not Aslan who brought up the charade.
“We’ve observed patterns,” he said carefully. “There’s always been friction between the Constellations and non-elite students. That’s not new. But things escalated this term—especially after a scholarship student joined and Garrett William made him his personal target.”
I didn’t have to look to know every eye was fixed on Aslan—Dr. Graves’ included. Curious. Assessing.
His eyes moved to Aslan and stayed there just a fraction too long, and my mother followed the line of his gaze.
I saw it happen in real time—the suspicion, the calculation, the silent mapping of cause and effect. Shit was about to hit the roof.
God, I’m so fucked….
Aslan shifted slightly in his seat, but he didn’t shrink.
Director Roosevelt continued, reclaiming the conversation with clinical calm. “We are not assigning blame. We are reviewing dynamics. There have been prior reports of tension between Mr. William and Mr. Rivers—”
Before he could finish the sentence, my mother cut in with inquisitive calm. “Garrett, is there a specific reason for your animosity toward Mr. Rivers?” She raised an eyebrow with that stupid all-knowing look she always gave me when she caught me red-handed.
My jaw tightened, the words already burning at the back of my throat. Before I could speak, the counselor finally did. His voice was calm—warm, even. “Garrett has been making remarkable progress,” he said smoothly. “I would be surprised if he were the sole instigator of any ongoing conflict.”
My stomach dropped.
That wasn’t support. It was positioning.
I felt Aslan’s eyes flick to me when Dr. Graves spoke, and I couldn’t help it—my body went rigid. Old reflex. Old fear. He noticed. Of course he did. And all I wanted to do then was run to him, feel his arms around me, his heartbeat, his warmth… and be safe. Safe.
“And what do you have to say, Mr. Rivers?” my therapist asked, turning that same quiet tone toward Aslan. “Is there anything between you two that we should know about?”
There it was. The trap.
If Aslan said yes—even without any detail at all—they would immediately put two and two together. They would know the truth—that I wasn’t fixed, that I was still fucked up, that I had relapsed. Then they would take me away, and they would lock me up again. With my demons, my flaws, my brokenness… with Julian Graves.
They would cut the root of the problem before it sprouted—just like they did with James.... Except, I would not survive it this time.