Chapter 276: Different Lives, Same Idiots

He thought for a moment, tilting his head like it was a serious question. "When you phrase it like that, it sounds a bit unreasonable."

I gave him a look and he smiled back at me, I shook my head. "You’re impossible."

He faked sobbed, "I’m your father. At this rate I’ll be dead and long gone before I ever get to see my mini Ollies."

I walked over and kissed his forehead. "You’re being dramatic."

"I’m being realistic. At least bring home someone before the mini Ollies start coming."

"You’re sitting by a window watching people walk their dogs. You can’t lecture me about living dangerously."

He laughed and I grabbed my bag from the couch. "I’ll see you tonight, Dad."

"Don’t work too late."

"I won’t."

"And make sure you eat lunch."

"I will."

"And call me if you’re running late."

"Dad, I’m not a kid." I kissed his forehead again and headed for the door.

As I stepped outside, the morning air felt cool against my skin, I paused for a moment, keys in hand, glancing back through the window.

Dad was already back to watching TV.

The cooking show had somehow survived my channel change.

Everything felt normal, and that was the strange thing about life...sometimes it didn’t announce when changes happened.

It just shifted while you weren’t paying attention.

I settled into my car and drove toward St. Jude University.

It was about a twenty-minute drive without traffic, though that was more of a hopeful estimate than a certainty.

St. Jude was a decent regional university with a solid psychology program, good facilities, and students who often looked genuinely terrified when I mentioned assignment deadlines.

It was nothing like Hawthorn, that comparison used to bother me.

Not anymore, at least...at least that’s what I kept telling myself.

I had graduated, completed my postgraduate studies, and somehow became the youngest assistant lecturer in the psychology department due to my outstanding performance in one of them most prestigious Universities in the world.

When I got the job offer, I stared at the email for nearly ten minutes, convinced it was a mistake.

But I accepted....now, nearly a few months later, I had settled into the role.

Teaching wasn’t glamorous, but I genuinely enjoyed it.

There was something fulfilling about standing before a classroom and watching confused expressions morph into understanding.

It reminded me that I had actually built something in my life and something that was mine.

As I crossed campus, I noticed students already filling the walkways.

A few spotted me right away. "Professor Reyes!"

I turned, three girls rushed over, notebooks clutched to their chests, big smiles on their faces.

One of them looked a bit nervous.

"Good morning," I greeted.

"Morning, Professor!"

"We wanted to ask about the assignment."

"Which part?"

"The case analysis."

I smiled politely. "The instructions are on the course page."

"We know, but..." She glanced at her friends. "We weren’t sure if we could use more than one theory."

"Sure, as long as you explain why both apply and don’t just toss them in there because you think more theories mean a better grade."

They laughed. "Okay."

"And remember, analysis means analysis. Don’t waste three pages just describing what happened, and then give me two sentences on why it matters."

One of them nodded earnestly. "Got it."

"Good. Now hurry to class before I become the reason you’re late."

They giggled and dashed off and I watched them go. I was pretty I heard one of them squeal, "God! He’s so young and hot!"

It felt nice, I guess, but I wasn’t sure how to handle it.

Being twenty-five with students giggling and blushing around me didn’t feel flattering.

It just made me feel exhausted, I walked into the psychology building.

My office was small and tidy, containing a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a bookcase that was becoming impossible to keep in order.

No photos on the walls, no personal touches, nothing to suggest anyone actually lived there.

It was functional...that word seemed to define most of my life these days.

Functional.

I taught and I worked, then I went home, I helped Dad. I paid bills and I slept...at least I tried to.

And somehow, years flew by.

I spent the hour discussing attachment theory, fielding questions, correcting a student’s wildly creative take on one of the assigned studies, and trying not to laugh when another student confidently referred to an academic article as "that psychology paper with the weird title."

By the time class wrapped up, my throat was sore, students packed up and filed out.

I collected my notes and went back to my office.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, silence flooded back in.

I sank into my chair and leaned back, the quiet felt too intense.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment...then I reached for my coffee.

Of course, it was cold and I took a sip anyway.

"Fuck," I mumbled to myself.

My gaze drifts to the window.

Outside, students crossed the courtyard, chatting and laughing, their lives moving ahead in all directions.

I briefly wondered what Damien was up to.

The thought came so naturally I almost didn’t notice it.

Then it registered and I looked down at my desk, it had been nearly three years since I’d heard his actual voice.

I could picture his face and I could recall the sound of his laughter.

I even remembered how he said my name when he was annoyed with me, which happened often enough to feel like a second language.

But his voice?

That was different.

Memory had softened it...made it fuzzy around the edges.

I wondered if I’d recognize it if I heard it now, I pushed the thought away.

Nope I didn’t need him anymore! Humph!

I had a life.

A good one, stable, normal and I had a career. I had my Dad up and running, I had friends and I had responsibilities.

I was fine.

At least, that was the word I’d been using for years. Fine, it was a handy word...it didn’t invite questions.

Suddenly, my phone started ringing and I looked down.

Joey.

Despite myself, I smiled, of course it was him, I answered the call. "Hey, Joey—"

"Dude..." His voice cracked, and I straightened up..there was a pause. Then I heard what sounded like someone crying.

I groaned, what was it this time? "Joey?"

"Dude, I can’t do this!"

I frowned. "Do what?"

"I’m so freaking scared, man!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear, half convinced I’d stumbled into someone else’s crisis.

Whatever peaceful, functional life I’d worked hard to create over the past few years had apparently crumbled right at twelve minutes past ten on a Wednesday morning.

I put the phone back to my ear. "What the fuck happened?"

"I think I’m dying!"

"That’s nice." My eyebrows shot up. "So you called me to announce your impending doom?"

"I’m serious! My heart keeps beating too much!"

"You sound alive to me."

"Oliver!"

"Okay, okay. Just take a breath."

"I’m trying!"

"You’re absolutely not trying at all."

"I need you, man." He sobbed, "Come over after your boring ass job, I’ll sound stupid if I say what’s up over the phone."

I rubbed my forehead. "What did you do?"

"I didn’t do anything!"

I closed my eyes, bracing myself, this was going to be a long day.

And I hadn’t even finished my coffee yet; the day was clearly refusing to stay simple the way I liked it.