Keep Me If You Can (If You Can #3)

21. What If

Chapter twenty-one

What If

“H i, Professor Cameron,” I said, pretending the fact that he was staring at me like I was his worst nightmare personified didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did.

“Nellie,” he said again. “What… why are you… uh…”

“I go to school here,” I said. “And I just wanted to say hello. I hope your sabbatical is going well.”

“It is,” he said, still gaping a bit. “Yes. It’s… it’s going very well.”

“Cool,” I said. “Well, have a good day.”

And I left.

Well, I turned and took three steps before Ben called after me.

“Nellie, wait. Don’t go.”

I told myself not to listen. He didn’t want to see me. And that was well within his rights, as was him being nervous about my presence in his office. There were no hard feelings about that. It was to be expected.

So I kept walking.

For two more steps, at least, before a little tug in my chest made me stop and go back to the doorway of Ben’s office.

“What, as the kids say, is up?” I said, trying to sound casual.

He lowered his voice a bit. “Is anyone, ah, in the hallway?”

I shook my head.

His mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, not when there was that much concern in his eyes, but it had the hint of one. “You can come in if you’d like to talk, you know.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re busy. I can leave you to whatever it is you’re doing and—”

“I’m never too busy for you, Ms. Belanger.”

The sudden warmth in his voice was jarring given his initial reaction. Or, well… what I thought his initial reaction was. I stared, not quite sure what to think or how to respond. Seconds earlier, he’d looked at me like I was the Ghost of Hookups Past come to drag him to a disciplinary tribunal. Like despite the fact that we’d parted on the best possible terms for a professor and his former student who’d spent the summer fucking each other’s brains out, he would’ve rather seen an apparition clad in chains and moneyboxes and ragged nineteenth century clothing—because the ghost of Jacob Marley was visibly spookier than the Ghost of Christmas Past, obviously—standing there instead of me.

How in the hell was I supposed to believe someone who had just looked at me like that wanted to see me at all? Especially since he hadn’t messaged or emailed me or anything since he’d left for California?

Before I could respond, Ben did that thing where he knew exactly what I was thinking and shifted, glancing past me before lowering his voice again.

“Let me explain?” he asked just loud enough that I could hear him. “If you have a moment, that is.”

I didn’t consider it.

Not for a second.

I just walked into his office.

You couldn’t consider something you’d already decided to do, after all.

“Should I close the door?” I asked.

“No,” he said, then frowned. “Wait. Yes.”

“What was the thought process behind that?” I asked as I closed the door.

His mouth twitched in amusement. “A closed door between us and any potential witnesses invites far, far too much temptation.”

“Fair. I do tend to misbehave more when doors are closed,” I said. “So why’d you make me close it?”

“I figured the chance of someone overhearing our conversation is higher than us giving into those temptations,” he said. “Especially given the fact that my reaction clearly upset you, I feel like the chance of misbehaviour plummeted.”

I didn’t meet his eyes as I wandered further into the office. “I definitely got the sense that you’re currently anti-misbehaviour.”

He sighed, bending down to pick up the empty cup. “That wasn’t my intent at all. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” He started collecting some of the pens off the floor. “I needed some things from my office. I was worried about running into you, so I waited until I knew you’d be in class. Which meant I was extra startled when you appeared.”

I dug my thumbnail into my finger harder. “So you didn’t want to see me.”

“Understandable conclusion, but incorrect.” He straightened up and set the pen cup on the desk. “I am absolutely thrilled to see you, Nellie.”

“You just said you waited—”

“Because I didn’t know what the reaction would be if I ran into you,” he said.

“You don’t trust me to be good, Professor?” I asked.

“I should hope not,” he said. “But I meant for me, mainly.”

Frowning, I finally glanced up at him. “How so?”

“The first thing I thought when I saw you standing there—after ‘Oh God, I hope I’m not going to have a heart attack from jumping like that,’ that is—was that I wanted to kiss you,” he said, half-laughing. “I tried to avoid running into you unexpectedly because I didn’t trust myself to act like I don’t know what it’s like to be inside you. If I’d be able to look at you and maintain some kind of casual conversation without everyone being able to tell I was picturing you naked.”

Damn.

I fought to keep my breath from hitching, instead tapping my hands against the desk. “You could’ve texted me. My number hasn’t changed.”

“And there lies the other aspect of things that I never thought to address before I left,” he said, chuckling. “I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. As many times as I’ve wanted to send a message to see how you’re doing, I told myself I couldn’t. I needed to leave it up to you to reach out. So I wasn’t entirely certain… and then suddenly, you were standing there and before I could even process that you were clearly comfortable enough to come and say hello, you’d started walking away.”

“Oh.” Warmth stemmed up my neck and to my cheeks, but not the good kind. “I wish you would’ve told me. I thought you didn’t want to hear from me, so I… I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh, Nellie.” He shook his head. “I handled this badly. I’m sorry.”

The sincerity of his apology sent an unfamiliar ache through my chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I wish I’d thought this through a bit more. But I was preoccupied with Isabelle’s recovery and—”

“Wait,” I said. “Isabelle? Your ex-wife?”

“She had a medical emergency last week and had to have surgery. But her wife uses a wheelchair and Isabelle needs at least a week of assistance getting around and, ah… you know.” His cheeks reddened. “Using the washroom and showering and such. Neither of them have anyone else they’re close enough to ask for that kind of thing. Stanford has a fairly generous personal leave policy, so I offered to come back to help for the week.” He held up the folder I’d seen him looking through when I first walked up to his office. “I also had some study results here that would be useful for the project I’m currently working on, so I drove to Ottawa to pick those up before I fly back.”

“That was nice of you,” I said. “I hope she’s okay.”

“She’s more concerned with being cleared to run the marathon she’s been training for in the spring,” he said, chuckling. “It’ll take a couple of months, but she’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Well, I guess it makes sense you didn’t tell me, then,” I said, heaving a fake sigh. “You’re forgiven. And I’m sorry I ruined your plans to avoid me.”

He grinned. “What are you doing out of class, anyway? I was sure you had a pathology class this afternoon. Dr. Spitzki only teaches it once a year and it’s always been at the same time.”

“I got kicked out again.”

He flicked an eyebrow up. “Again?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t seem to like my ringtone, even though I got rid of the Titanic one and now it’s just Spongebob Squarepants.”

He chuckled. “You’re not going to fall behind though, are you?”

“Not in that class,” I said without thinking.

Ben tilted his head to the side. “What class are you falling behind in?”

“We don’t have to talk about that,” I said.

“Don’t we?” he asked.

“Nope. Let’s talk about you. Do you have a girlfriend in California?”

“I do not,” he said, frowning. “How’s your semester going, Nellie?”

“It’s fine. Have you been surfing yet?”

“No, but I’ve spent a good amount of time jogging on the beach.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What’s giving you trouble?”

“Nothing. How did—”

“Nellie,” he said. “I can tell when you’re lying.”

“There’s nothing to lie about,” I said. “My classes this semester are a little harder than I expected. Probably because I’ve got other stuff going on and just need to pay more attention to things.” I shrugged. “I mixed up some due dates for Forensic Science and Law. It’s a stupid class anyway. And I got the paper done in time, no thanks to wasting fifty bucks on Glitch. And now I’m ready for the midterm next week so it’s totally fine.”

Ben nodded slowly. “What’s Glitch?”

Fuck.

Fuck my stupid mouth.

And not in the fun way.

“The TA for that class,” I said.

“What, ah… what was the fifty bucks for?”

I swallowed hard. “I couldn’t get an extension so they gave me some… advice.”

“What kind of advice?”

Fuck. I could feel my face turning red.

“Stupid advice,” I said. “That I shouldn’t have followed and that didn’t help anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Mmm,” Ben said. “See, it sounds like it might be a bit of a big deal.”

“Maybe it’s just an embarrassing deal you’re going to judge me for,” I mumbled.

“Nellie, don’t tell me you cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“I know it can be tempting, but it’s incredibly easy to find plagiarism and it would end your career before it even begins. You’ve worked so hard—”

“I didn’t cheat ,” I repeated heatedly. “I thought you could tell when I was lying.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “Yes, but—”

“So you should be able to tell when I’m telling the truth.” I picked at the side of my thumbnail. “I didn’t cheat. I wrote the paper myself.”

“And Glitch helped you?”

I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “Glitch, um… suggested… some help. From study buddies.”

“What kind of study buddy charges fifty dollars to—oh.” He nodded slowly. “The pill kind.”

My shoulders tensed. “Don’t lecture me.”

“I’m not going to—”

“I was panicking and it was a stupid decision. I know.” I crossed my arms. “You don’t need to tell me that. And I already got the karma from it because the stupid pills didn’t work anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I glared at the floor in front of me. “They didn’t work.”

“What did you think they were supposed to do?” he pressed.

“Glitch said they’d give me, like, energy,” I said. “But they didn’t.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Did you feel calm?”

“What?”

“After taking them? Or focused?”

“Focused on what? I don’t understand—”

“Humour me for a moment, Nellie,” he said. “After you took the pill, you wrote your paper. Do you remember feeling focused on your paper or more productive than usual?”

I sighed, but did as he asked and thought back to a few days earlier. I’d taken the first pill as soon as I got home, then sat down in front of my laptop and started working. A while later, I’d looked at the clock and realized a few hours had passed, but I didn’t have any more energy than I had before. So I’d taken the other one and kept working for the rest of the night.

“I guess so,” I said. “I pulled an all-nighter and missed two classes the next day, but I finished the paper.”

Ben nodded before drawing in a deep breath and let it out.

“I need to do something inappropriate,” he said, turning around and reaching across his desk.

Oh thank God. “Does it involve taking my pants off or do we just need to do yours?”

He half-laughed. “It involves me suggesting something I probably shouldn’t be suggesting considering the amount of times we’ve had our pants off together.”

He turned back to me and started scribbling something on the scrap of paper he’d grabbed. After he handed it to me, I frowned down at the name and phone number he’d scrawled. “What’s this?”

“You should probably get assessed for ADHD,” Ben said.

And I fucking lost it.

“Are you serious?” I snapped, crumpling the paper in my hand. “This is getting really old. Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

“Who else has said that?” he asked.

“Glitch,” I said. “They’ve asked, like, three times. And I had this teacher once, but she… I was going through some stuff. And now you, because apparently there just has to be something wrong with me, and—”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Nellie.” Ben’s voice was gentle, especially considering the iciness in my own tone. He reached out, taking the crumpled paper back and working it open so he could smooth it out. “But there are some things you’ve said that are fairly common in other people with ADHD. And with the study buddies not working as you’d hoped—”

“They were just shitty pills,” I said.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or they were one of the usual stimulants that people refer to as study buddies or dexies or whatever name students are using to describe what we prescribe as Adderall or Dexedrine or Vyvanse. For people without ADHD, it increases energy, but for people with ADHD, it can be calming and help with focus. It’s why they’re prescribed.”

I stared at him wordlessly. He folded the paper in half, then held it out to me again.

“This is a colleague who does assessments,” he said. “Call or don’t call. It’s up to you. I simply want you to have the resource if you need it.”

I took the paper slowly. “But you think I have it.”

“I think finding out if things could be better would be worth talking to someone far more experienced with that sort of thing than I am,” he said. “I’m a forensic psychologist. He’s a psychiatrist. He went to school with Isabelle and specializes in late diagnoses. It’s a particular passion of his. If you say I’m the one who gave you the number, he may be able to get you in more quickly.”

“If I do that, he might question why you gave it to me,” I said.

“And?” Ben asked, unconcerned.

“You’re not worried I’d tell him…” I trailed off, gesturing between us.

“If you do, so be it,” he said. “I am still never going to ask you to keep that a secret to protect me, Nellie. But if you’re concerned that you can’t be fully open with him, I will say that as a psychiatrist, he doesn’t take many—if any —patients for talk therapy. The shortage of doctors, especially mental health professionals, and especially ones who deal with adult assessments is—well.” He shook his head. “I know he has a list of recommended psychologists. He asked me once if I would be willing to be on it, but I don’t do that kind of therapy either. Regardless, if you feel the need—”

“I won’t.” I slipped the piece of paper into my pocket. “If I even call.”

Ben nodded in understanding, but didn’t say anything. A few moments of contemplative silence passed.

“Any other new and exciting things to tell me?” he asked.

“I got a tattoo.”

“What?!”

I had to brace myself against the side of his desk as I laughed at his reaction. Ben looked so completely startled that I couldn’t stop, although it might have had something to do with the relief of a change in subject.

“Why is that so surprising?” I asked. “Lots of people have tattoos.”

“I just never pictured you with one,” he said. “What did you get?”

I bit back a smirk. “Do you want to see it?”

The air between us tightened until heated tension filled the office.

“Is it in an appropriate location for me to see?” Ben asked.

“Of course, Professor Cameron. I wouldn’t have to undress.”

“Are you saying that because you could technically keep your clothes on to show me?”

“Yes.”

He made a soft noise. “Where is it?”

“On my ribs.”

“But you’d lift your shirt far higher than necessary, wouldn’t you?”

“You know me.”

He swore softly. “There’s a line, Nellie. We’ve crossed that line, repeatedly, and admittedly enjoyably, but we’re in my office right now. This line is so far beyond that line that you can’t even see the original line anymore, that’s how beyond that line we are.”

“I see your point,” I replied, glancing down at his lap. “May I counter with the fact that your cock is hard?”

He flushed red. “For the record, this is entirely wrong. Morally reprehensible. Completely unethical.”

“So should I step back over the line?”

Ben opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“I’ll go, Ben,” I said. “You could come over later, if you wanted. If getting a blowjob while I kneel under your desk is too far over the line.”

His throat flexed, then he let out a sigh that was dejected and secretly pleased all at once.

“Show me your tattoo, Ms. Belanger,” he murmured, his voice husky and low.

A little while later, I let him smooth my hair down and adjust my t-shirt so it wasn’t askew. He wiped a drop of cum I’d missed off my chin, then promised that he would always be happy to hear from me and I could message him whenever I wanted.

Then I cheerfully continued on my way to the library like I’d intended to before I got sidetracked sucking Ben’s cock before letting him slip his hand into my jeans and finger me until I had to bite down on the sleeve of my hoodie to muffle the sound of my orgasm.

And I was going to study.

I really was.

But after I had my headphones on and my laptop open in front of me, I dug in my pocket to grab my lip balm and felt the little piece of paper Ben had given me.

He was wrong.

He had to be.

But even if he wasn’t, what did it matter?

If I had ADHD—and that was very much an if —what was knowing about it going to do? I was almost done school. I could take care of myself. My life was good, aside from the stuff that sucked, but most of those things were out of my control. Knowing I had ADHD wouldn’t fix my dad’s materialism. It wouldn’t change my mom’s flightiness. It wouldn’t make JP less of a bastard or make Anne-Marie forget that she’d caught me fucking her brother.

Adding some extra letters to my medical chart wouldn’t fix anything. All it would do was answer the question of why I was the way I was, and what good was that? I was fine as I was. My life was fine as it was.

But.

But .

I couldn’t tell whose voice it was whispering in my head. It wasn’t Ben’s. It wasn’t my fifth-grade teacher who couldn’t stand me because I was a shithead in her class. It wasn’t my mom or dad’s.

I didn’t know whose it was.

Maybe it was mine.

But what if it could be better? it whispered.

I stared at my computer screen for a long, long time.

Then I clicked the browser and brought up the search engine.

how do you know if you have adhd