Page 24 of Balance
I opened my mouth, although I wasn’t sure what to say. Before I could speak, Damen was ushering me into the room. “Wait here,” he said, tossing his cup into a waste bin near the door. “And thank you for the coffee. Although, for future reference, I’m not a fan of milk-coffee.”
I wanted to smack him. While all coffee was good, I’d been waiting all season for that.
“I’ll be back,” he said. “Just wait.” Then he stepped backward out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Bollocks.
Disappointment left a bad taste in my mouth, and I glared at the flavorless drink in my hands. What a wasted effort.
Then Dr. Stephens cleared his throat—a reminder of where I was, and who I was with.
“I’m not sure what your drink has done to offend you,” he began, nodding his head in the direction of a small coffee pot and basket on a tiny table near the trash, “but if you need some other refreshment, feel free to help yourself.”
My ire fled as my senses sharpened. Dr. Stephens’s stern face seemed to grow sharper and more imposing, and the room shrank. Warning bells echoing in my ears as my heart pounded.
Damen had foolishly left me alone with the man who, upon our first meeting, had sent me into the woods to die. And while I’d seen him multiple times since then, this was the first time we were alone together.
“Or don’t.” Dr. Stephens leaned back in his seat. “Suit yourself.” He didn’t seem to care one way or another if I took him up on his offer. He continued on to an entirely different train. “Did you know that your mother was my niece?”
Did he hope to surprise me with this news? “I know that…”
“I’m also your magical guardian,” he added, watching me with mild interest. He didn’t seem to care much about my lack of surprise.
Why was he telling me this? Was he expecting me to leap into his arms with joy?
“I know that also.”
Where was Damen, and why was he taking so long? If I were the paranoid sort, I would think Dr. Stephens had sent him away just so he could talk to me alone.
“Good.” The elderly professor nodded, acting as if we’d come to a sort of mutual understanding. He picked up a stack of gray scantrons, shuffling them into a more organized pile. “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”
My heart pounded in my ears as trepidation filled me. What, exactly, had we cleared up?
“Obviously, you’ll join Mr. Damen in his assignments,” Dr. Stephens declared. His posture was more relaxed, his tone less curt. Overall, he seemed pleased. “The poor boy does need looking after, I’m sure you’ve noticed. It will make things much easier if you’re nearby.”
I couldn’t argue, Damen did need all the help he could get. But…
“W-what do you mean?” Why would that even happen. Even though Damen had once said I was his assistant, I hadn’t heard anything else on the topic. And besides, I wasn’t even majoring in anything related to either of them.
Not that it mattered right now, since I was taking a break from school.
“What will be easier?” I asked, trying to ignore Dr. Stephens’s expression of forced patience.
Being alone with Dr. Stephens made me nervous. I was rarely—if not ever—alone with men over a certain age gap above me. My adoptive father never stayed in the house with me without my mother nearby until I was a teenager.
Not only that, but the fact remained that this man was also an elder of my biological family. Most likely, he was one of many.
If being with him—who I’d interacted with more than once—made me feel this way, what would it be like to meet my biological father?
This was only another reason to avoid him. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. There was a limit to the number of strong, imposing male authority figures I could deal with at any given time.
That was one thing to be said of my adoptive father—in comparison to every single member of my family I’d met so far, he was a quiet, gentle personality. While it was true that he’d never stopped my adoptive mother and her rules, and that they’d lied to me and manipulated my entire life, he’d also indulged me in other ways.
For example, I never worried about his judgement and disapproval during our WWE nights. Though he was adamant that Mother never found out what we watched. She hated fights, and she seemed to believe I’d be scared.
Why would I be afraid? I was perfectly capable of differentiating between fiction and reality.
But back to Dr. Stephens, he was stern and imposing. He’d been so when we first met, but it seemed as though it’d gotten worse. He’d been bossier, and stared at me a lot more.
