Page 6 of The Naughty Professor
“It is a profound loss,” he began, “to have lost Dr.Alastair Greene.His death was sudden and unexpected.”A pause.“Though perhaps not entirely unexpected, given that he had been with the university for fifty-seven years.”
A murmur of bittersweet laughter rolled through the crowd.
The dean continued, “He was like a father to me, and to many of us here.His legacy lives on in the generations of students he taught, and the colleagues he inspired.”
He gestured to the side.“Now, one of his students has asked to share her thoughts.”
A petite young woman walked nervously to the podium.She clutched her notes, her voice trembling at first but strengthening as she spoke.
“Dr.Greene was…like a grandfather to me,” she said.“I took his History of Civilizations class my freshman year.I was homesick, overwhelmed, and he noticed.He’d check in on me after class, ask if I’d eaten, remind me I belonged here.I’ll never forget his kindness.”
I swallowed hard, blinking fast.Out of the corner of my eye, I stole glances at Thorne.
His jaw was tight, and his eyes glistened, tears brimming as the student spoke.My stomach flipped.
When the student finished, the dean returned.“Thank you, my dear.Now, Dr.Thorne Carr, a close friend of Dr.Greene, would like to say a few words.”
Applause rose gently as Thorne stood.He buttoned his jacket, smoothed his tie, and walked to the podium.The room hushed.
He gripped the edges of the lectern, taking a steadying breath.“Alastair Greene was more than a colleague to me,” he began, his voice low, warm, resonant.“He was my mentor, and my friend.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and my heart cracked open.
“When I first joined the faculty, Alastair welcomed me like a son.He showed me not just how to teach, but how to care for students.He believed education wasn’t about information, but transformation.And he lived that belief every day of his life.”
He paused, his hand tightening on the wood.“Eight years ago, when I was in a car accident, it was Alastair who came to the hospital.He sat by my bed, night after night, telling me stories, keeping me awake, making sure I knew I wasn’t alone.”
The entire room melted.
Joan sat rigidly, expression carefully composed, her gaze darting toward her purse.When she thought no one was looking, she slipped it open and peeked at her phone.My jaw tightened.What on earth did Thorne see in her?
“At the hardest moments of my life,” Thorne continued, voice thick with emotion, “Alastair was there.When I divorced my husband, Mark, four years ago, he was the one who listened.Who reminded me I was still whole.That love wasn’t lost forever.”
My head snapped up.Husband?
The word echoed like a gong in my skull.Husband?Gay?I blinked, certain I’d misheard.But no—he’d said it plainly, his voice unwavering.
My eyes darted to Joan.Her face had hardened, lips pressed into a flinty line.
Thorne finished, and without another word, he stepped down from the podium.Instead of returning to his seat, he strode straight past Joan and me, face in his hands, shoulders shaking.He disappeared through the double doors, leaving the room stunned in silence.
I sat frozen, dust motes swirling in the air, the scent of flowers cloying in my nose.
The dean stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat.“Thank you, Professor Carr.”His voice wavered as he looked out over the crowd.“And now… Dr.Felix Sterling, who was also close to Dr.Greene, will say a few words.”
My blood turned to ice.
How in God’s name was I supposed to stand up there, two minutes after discovering my hopeless crush was not only gay but fresh off pouring his heart out and fleeing the room like a tragic Greek hero?
My brain was static.The only coherent thought echoing through my skull was: Don’t faint.Don’t faint.Don’t faint.
Somehow my legs pushed me upright.The chair squealed against the floor, betraying me with a shriek.I shuffled toward the podium, every step stiff and unnatural.My sleeve snagged on the arrangement of lilies, tugging it sideways.The flowers swayed ominously, shedding a few petals onto the carpet before righting themselves.A gasp rippled through the room.
“Sorry,” I muttered, my voice cracking into the microphone.The sound echoed back at me ten times louder.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Joan leaping to her feet.Her heels clicked sharply as she darted toward the double doors, chasing after Thorne.
* * *
