It had been years since I'd fallen asleep in my car. Wrapped in nothing but my coat, I made it to Mulligan's alleyway before dropping the seat back and giving in. A walk across the restaurant and up the flight of stairs was not manageable after the night I had. The change of scenery, unfortunately, did not stop a night terror. Watching my dad take his last step was enough to jolt me upright, with my chest colliding with the steering wheel. Just once, I wanted a time where I could climb the rafters fast enough without my hand landing on a wasp's nest. Many people assured me Dad died instantly, but they weren't there to see him struggle for air. The same noise could be heard from me every time I awoke from a nightmare.

I left little time to ready myself for a Monday and eventually opted to skip the shower and dress for a school day as fast as I could. I was out of the car and back in within a half-hour's time, putting myself back on schedule for the day. There was little surprise to see various missed calls flashing from the phone on the passenger seat. Kit, Mom, and Shelby all had voicemails waiting for me, and I knew they all revolved around Mikah and last night.

There was also a text from Sloan that resulted in a heavy intake of air and an exhale that made my lungs ache.

One swipe of my thumb, and a red delete option removed Sloan Smith's message. I'd stupidly broken my rules, and this was the punishment. Never the same girl twice. Never an employee. Never a student—that one was for sure coming back to bite me in the ass today. And last but definitely not least, never, under any circumstances, fall in love with another girl again.

I broke every single one.

With whatever Sloan had to say to me out of the way, I selected the only caller that mattered at the moment. My thumb selected my mom's number instead of listening to the voicemail she'd left. Kit's message wouldn't matter—it would be a warning that Penelope Mulligan knew what had happened last night. Shelby's messages were not my problem.

"Oliver Dean," she said, with disappointment already clear. I didn't need to see her to know she was shaking her head with my name.

"It needed to be done."

"He needed to learn that for himself!" she said, beginning her argument as I entered morning traffic. "His love life is not your business! Neither is hers!"

Even though there was always some sort of sibling rivalry between Mikah and me over the years, I always held that protective, older brother role close to me. Last night wasn't supposed to happen the way it did. Did Mikah need to know? Yes. But Mom was absolutely right; Mikah should have learned about Shelby's actual intentions for himself. How long was I supposed to let Mikah be led on for? Maybe Shelby loved him. Maybe she didn't.

"I don't know if you can fix this." She sighed. "He's so angry. I've never heard him like this."

"There was no fixing it before either," I reminded her. "Or have you forgotten that we aren't exactly the goddamn Brady Bunch? Mikah is a dick. Kit is a disaster. And I'm ..."

"You're what?" She intervened to make sure I finished the thought.

I swallowed hard, not wanting to complete the sentence. My hand gravitated towards the glove box, hoping there was still a pack of cigarettes waiting to dull my nerves. My mind was screaming the words 'not okay'. The search for a pack came up empty.

"I worry about all three of you. None of you have been the same since that year. I can't help you fix what's broken if you don't talk to me. And I know, better than anyone, you are broken, Oliver. We all broke, but something in you shut down in that barn. I worry about you the most."

How was I supposed to not shut down after what I had experienced that day? It was my fault he was on that beam. The irony of it being the rope from a swing I demanded to be hung was not lost on me. He didn't hesitate—even after looking me square in the eyes. I was so greedy and unapproachable that Dad couldn't bear the thought of telling me the truth about the foreclosure. My dad also knew how short on money I was after tossing most of it at the restaurant, followed by Shelby leaving me and losing the dual income of our household. Shelby comforting Mikah during the funeral was just the cherry on top, solidifying that I got everything coming to me. I thought of only me and was left with nothing.

"You will not find me hanging from a rafter." My voice cracked like a pubescent teen. "If that's what you are insinuating, I'm not Dad."

"You are more like him than you think. You all are—using humor as a crutch to hide how you really feel. I love the humor side of you, Ollie. You should show the other side as well. I think you should get help."

I showed the other side. In a moment of weakness, I tossed it all at Sloan—the one person who needed no more shit on her plate. I had a plan to fix all of this and stupidly put it on the back-burner, because I fell for a girl. And after all was said and done, Sloan chose Steve's bed. Apparently, I didn't learn my lesson after watching Shelby choose Mikah's. It was always when I needed someone the most—that mistake wouldn't be made again.

>>

I arrived at the Chicago Culinary Institute right on time, allowing a good half hour before classes started. It would allow me time to complete semester grades. It was also going to give me time to decide how to approach the situation around Sloan's little friend who saw us at the bar last night. Until yesterday, I didn't know the girl's name. I rarely learned the names of the students—unless they had a certain knack for pissing me off in some unique way. Ava never stood out until she witnessed me carrying Sloan out of that kitchen. I now had an immense problem on my hands.

The more I thought about it while walking the halls to my classroom, the more I decided there was nothing that could be done by the school. Albeit, Ava saw me holding Sloan. I doubted she saw me press my lips to her. There was no proof we had any sort of relationship other than that of a student/teacher or employee/employer. The school held a zero-tolerance policy for a teacher having a relationship with a student. Nothing said I could not employ Sloan. It still held her accountable for all tardiness, assignments and tests—actually more so than other students. There was no special treatment to be had with her. The zero beside her name for semester testing agreed with that. All other tests and assignments were rightfully given high markings. I was certain she could ace them again and prove it.

The closer I got to the classroom door, the more relief I felt. Ava really had nothing other than seeing me carry an injured employee to my car to be taken to an emergency room. The relief vanished the moment Ava walked out of the Dean's office with her arms wrapped around her books. The girl didn't even miss a step as she walked past me wearing a glare, telling me exactly what was about to happen next.

"Oliver," Dean Lawrence emerged from his office. I was being summoned with a single finger and a stern glare.

Usually it was me that had students and staff fearing an expression, not the other way around. I did as I was being beckoned to do, passing my classroom to enter an office I hadn't seen since my interview a few short years ago. The door closing behind us was not a good sign.

"Do you know why you're in here, Mr. Mulligan?"

I cringed. My father was Mr. Mulligan. In this school, I was Chef, as were many of his coworkers. The man standing in front of me, motioning for me to take a chair, was one himself. I was already finding myself becoming defensive and angry over a situation that had not yet been brought to light. Needing to calm down, I took the seat offered.

"Because I employ a student?" I answered gruffly, and with little enthusiasm. "There are no rules regarding such a thing. I'm sure you, yourself, have done the same at some point."

"I have," he agreed with a tug of his brown suit coat, taking a seat behind his desk.

"So...? Why is this suddenly a problem?"

Dean Lawrence leaned back in his chair, not showing any hint of what he knew. Sweat was beading along my hairline, now assuming he knew more than I thought. If there was no rule regarding hiring Sloan, something else was bothering him.

"Are you in a sexual relationship with this student?"

"No," I lied, without skipping a breath. Sloan's reputation at the school was depending on it.

The dean licked his lips, tossing an envelope to the top of his desk and flipping it open. Papers were being shuffled faster than I could read them, but they appeared to be Sloan's tests and assignments. He'd retrieved them from the locked drawer of my classroom.

"She's an employee," I continued. "I show no favoritism towards employees or students alike."

"I beg to differ." He smiled cockily.

My blood boiled. Even when sharing a bed with Sloan, which this man had no way of knowing, I never gave Sloan any advantages over the other students. She was by far the best student I had since beginning my employment with the school. She didn't need any help.

"You recall you had your students sign a waiver stating that you do not allow for the retaking of any assignments or tests without written consent verifying the definition of an emergency was met."

"Yes," I agreed. "And you will see in the submitted grades from last week that Sloan failed her semester test with a zero. She never showed."

With a bob of his head, the man agreed, continuing to shuffle through page after page before finally pulling one free. The document was pushed towards me with the man's pointer finger, showing that it was the grading sheet for each week's knife lab.

"What about it?" My brows scrunched with my nose. This was fast becoming a waste of time.

The man's finger jabbed one date in particular, and that's when my stomach crawled its way into my throat. I fucked up.

"On this date, your student left the room during this lab and quit the program. Did she not?"

I leaned back in the chair and intertwined my hands to place on my lap.

"She did. She joined again shortly after."

"Did she complete the assignment as instructed?"

I couldn't even lie, because Ava had seen Sloan storm out of the room. Ava stood right beside her as she cut that pepper, just as she did every other day. Even if Sloan had completed the assignment, she would have received an F for the shit knives she was dealing with. If I tried to lie right now, buying Sloan her own knives was another form of favoritism that would likely be thrown in my face. I didn't need more attention being brought to Sloan's academic career than it already was.

"No."

"Yet, she has a grade for this day. It was changed from an F to a C."

She received a grade for that day. And that was because the night I offered her a job, after finding out the truth about Steve, I offered half of her grade back to her—breaking my own class rule. She cut the pepper in front of me, and only me, while at the restaurant. I never had her sign anything saying she had an emergency.

"Yes."

"You may pack your things, Chef. That's all I needed to hear."

>>

Storming through the door of the kitchen, I dropped the box of my things beside the doorway to the alley. Then I decided I didn't need the shit and kicked it back out the door for someone to steal on their way through. That was except for the pack of cigarettes I'd pulled from a desk drawer. Those were coming with me.

All eyes were on me as I stormed through the room. Dinner rush would start in a few hours, but I knew that whoever was back there would handle it. The fucking menu never changed, because I got no say, so how could they not know what to do? Sloan had been scheduled to work tonight, but it seemed unlikely that she'd be showing up, because I'd fucked that up too. I was now taking sole responsibility for the fact she was currently on crutches. It was typical. Nothing had gone right in two years; so why start now?

Blowing through the swinging door of the kitchen and into the bar, I only stopped for a bottle of Yamazaki whiskey from the top shelf. Then, I selected two glasses. One was going to be used for drinking my dad's favorite whiskey, and one was going to be used to throw at the wall for when I took my anger out on everyone else while hating myself for it.

"What are you doing?" Mikah's brows lifted over bloodshot eyes.

I was too tired to answer him. Instead, I took the bottle and glasses with me across the restaurant floor, ignoring the greetings of people who had been eating here since I was a kid. I took myself to the one room I avoided at all costs. It was a time capsule of wonderful memories with my dad. I flipped on the flickering light that instantly burned itself out with a pop and plopped into a chair that sent up a cloud of dust. The bottle was smacked beside a letter that had sat on the desk for nearly two years. I'd missed it with my ignorance all those years ago. I took the long-ago expired notice of foreclosure into my hands, ripped it into the smallest pieces I could manage, and cursed the day my dad brought me into the Mulligan's kitchen. My dream of seeing the place he loved more than anything thrive did nothing but hurt everyone around me.

It only took one cigarette, two glasses of whiskey, and the return of the plan I'd made before stupidly falling for its key ingredient, until my exhaustion took over. I fell back into a familiar nightmare where I couldn't breathe. And I didn't want to.