Page 66 of Hot for Teacher
It hadn’t been the right time to push Chase. Killian had knownthat, even as he’d done it. But he hadn’t been able to bear it—that calm, stone-faced decision to deny their relationship to Chase’s parents. It had been too many steps back after not enough steps forward. The straw that had broken Killian’s lovesick back.
“You’re too quiet over there,” Devon complained from his spot in Killian’s best armchair. “What tragic things are you thinking about?”
Killian rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. He was sprawled on his back on his living room floor, and if Chase could see him—under different circumstances, of course—Killian knew the exact shade of quiet amusement that would paint his beta’s face at the sight.
“I still can’t believe he hesitated, with how gone he seemed over you,” Prince mused unhelpfully from his own horizontal position on Killian’s couch.
“He has these walls,” Killian told him, setting his glass on his chest, more than ready to expound on the subject.
“Oh my god,” Devon groaned. “Enough about the goddamnwalls. We heard you the first hundred times.”
Killian frowned at the ceiling. The walls were important, so he didn’t know why Devon was being an asshole about them. “He doesn’t know how to be loved, I don’t think. Doesn’t know how to ask for it,” he finally said, and he must not have repeated that one quite as often, because his words were met with a respectful silence.
It wasn’t exactly right, but it was close. Chase allowed certain gestures of affection, some of them more easily than others. The physical sort was of course always allowed, as well as Killian’s favorite, commanding sort of care—shared baths and hearty meals and quality time that he kept sneakily expanding. But not … declarations, aside from specific praise that was very of the moment.
Killian could tell Chase he was a good boy, that he was a perfect fuckhole, but not that he wanted to cherish him for the rest of his life. Apparently.
What Killian should have done was tire him out first. He should have gotten Chase spent and comfortable and content, faced away from Killian in his arms—eye contact could be hard for Chase during these types of conversation—andthenapproached the subject.
But he hadn’t. And Chase was gone. Back to his other alphas.
“Except those friends of his,” Killian amended, aware that he sounded unbearably morose. “He letsthemlove him.”
“Well, it’s different with friends,” Prince said, waving a hand to encompass the room. “Fewer expectations, you know. Easier.”
Killian supposed Prince knew something about that; he hadn’t had a particularly happy childhood himself.
Devon groaned again. “It’s becoming contagious, I can hear it in Prince’s voice—you’re both getting maudlin now. It’s time for us to go.”
And maybe to someone else, that announcement would have seemed unkind. But Killian’s friends had let him ramble and mope for hours, and forcing him to get some rest might have been the kindest thing they could do now.
And maybe Devon was also right about the timing, because Killian’s eyes had shut at some point, and it was surprisingly difficult to get them back open.
He couldn’t sleep though. Chase was gone. He had to stay awake to remember that.
Killian kept blinking up at the ceiling as he felt someone pry the whiskey bottle out of his hand. And then there was a determined sort of rummaging sound from somewhere, but Killian didn’t bother to look.
He’d scared his beta away. What if he never got him back?
An eternity later, Killian heard the telltale sounds of Devon tugging Prince off the couch. Prince wasn’t drunk—not like Killian—but hewasquite lazy when he got comfortable somewhere.
“I’ve hidden your liquor,” Devon told Killian. Or at least, Killian presumed Devon was talking to him, since it was Killian’s house they were in. “Don’t want you drinking yourself into a coma. We’re off to the club to rid ourselves of the scent of your despair. Prince is going to lure some unsuspecting soul into his sadistic clutches with his kind eyes and easy smile, and I’m going to—well, you know.”
“Make a pretty omega cry?” Killian answered for him.
“Precisely.”
And then it was Killian who was getting tugged off the floor. Firm hands led him to his bedroom, then pushed him gently into bed. Warm lips pressed to Killian’s forehead—a kiss, how nice—and then Devon told him, “Don’t go doing anything stupid. We’ll check on you in the morning.”
Killian was asleep before he heard the front door close.
Killian wokeup with a pounding behind his temples and a mouth drier than the desert he lived in.
That was what he got for turning to whiskey when he was this close to forty—his body was rebelling in the aftermath, as it fucking should.
Killian let himself wallow in the physical torment for a few minutes—a decent distraction from any other kind of torment that might be lying in wait under this heaviness in his chest—before gingerly turning his head and searching for his phone on his nightstand.
There was a glass of water there. Devon’s doing, no doubt. Killian made himself chug it down before checking his texts.
