You , again?

CALEB

Professor Elliot Ward still hadn’t returned to class.

That was confirmed the moment I walked into the lecture hall Monday morning and saw the substitute again. She was already writing on the board while students trickled in, their voices low with the usual speculation.

Someone asked the question before I even sat down.

“Is Professor Ward okay?”

The substitute nodded politely.

“Yes. He suffered a leg injury recently. Nothing permanent, but he’s been advised to stay off it for a while longer.”

I leaned back in my seat, spinning my pen once between my fingers. A smile slowly making its way on my face.

I knew exactly how that happened.

The image of Ward trying—and failing—to walk down Frost Ridge flashed through my head. The stubborn way he’d insisted he was perfectly capable of getting down the mountain alone… seconds before nearly collapsing.

The lecture itself dragged. The substitute didn’t run the class the way Ward did. People whispered.

By the time class ended, I was already thinking about practice. Which turned out to be a mistake.

Coach was in a brutal mood.

“Again!” he barked across the rink.

My skates carved hard across the ice as I pushed into another sprint drill. My legs burned, lungs tight with cold air.

We’d already been at it nearly two hours.

Pass drills. Defensive rotations. Full-ice sprints.

“Foster! Move!”

“I am moving,” I muttered under my breath, shoving harder across the ice.

The rest of the team groaned as we lined up again.

The locker room buzzed with tired complaints.

“Murphy’s tonight?” someone asked.

A few guys agreed instantly.

I pulled my hoodie over my head and shook my head.

“Not tonight.”

Murphy’s was loud.Half the town watching the hockey team drink cheap beer.

I wasn’t in the mood. Instead I drove out of Silverpine.

The road curved through forest and snow-covered hills before reaching a quiet strip of buildings near the highway.

Most people from campus didn’t come out here.

The club sat at the end of the street. Dim lights. Quiet entrance. A soft neon glow above the door.

I ordered a drink and leaned back against the counter, letting my shoulders relax for the first time all day.Then I noticed a cane. It was propped against a chair at a nearby table. And the man sitting beside it looked painfully familiar.

Professor Elliot Ward.

He sat with his injured leg stretched slightly forward, a dark brace visible under the table light. His coat hung over the back of the chair.

“Mr. Foster.”

I pushed away from the bar and walked over.

“Professor.”

Up close, the brace was obvious.

“So the mountain finally won?” I asked.

“It’s healing.”

“Two weeks off work suggests otherwise.”

“That,” he said calmly, “is not your concern.”

I pulled the chair across from him out and sat.

Ward stared at me like I’d just personally ruined his evening.

“Of course it’s you,” he muttered.

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I seem incapable of going anywhere without encountering you.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

His eyes flicked briefly around the club before settling back on me.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why? Bad influence?”

“This is not an appropriate place for a professor to run into a student.”

“You’re the one already sitting here.”

“That,” he said tightly, “is beside the point.”

I leaned back slightly, studying him.

The dim lighting softened the sharp lines of his face, but it didn’t hide the tension in his shoulders.

“Relax, Professor. Nobody here looks like they’re taking attendance.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

A couple walked past our table, their laughter low and easy. Ward shifted slightly in his chair, adjusting his injured leg with clear annoyance.

“You should leave,” he said.

“Why?And don't give me that... If somebody from school sees us bullcrap... "

His gaze held mine.

A slow grin spread across my face.

"Relax professor.No one will spread rumours. "

I tilted my head .

"As if you sitting alone in a gay club with the campus star would be enough to start a rumour. " I snickered.

His jaw tightened.

“That is not the phrasing I would use.”

“But it’s not wrong either.”

Ward rubbed a hand briefly across his forehead.

“This,” he said slowly, “is precisely the kind of complication I try to avoid.”

“Seems like you’re failing at that.”

“I am beginning to wonder why I cannot seem to get rid of you.”

I smirked.

“You could try being less interesting.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I assure you, Mr. Foster, nothing about this situation interests me.”

“Sure.”

A quiet pause settled between us.

Then Ward leaned forward slightly, voice low enough that only I could hear it.

“If anyone from the university asks…”

“…you and I were never here together.”

I lifted my glass in a small mock toast.

“Whatever you say, Professor.”