Don't Go by L.J. Breedlove (series like harry potter txt) 📕

that that was why she’d left. God knows she had every right to do so. But he’d been afraid it had been worse than he remembered. It was why he hadn’t gone after her.

She’d seen plenty. Seen him drunk and a mess. Seen him after he’d been with another woman. She’d been there the evening he’d gotten caught in the green room and caused the FCC to fine the station. Not one of his finest moments. He’d lied to her. Cheated on her. And when she’d left, he figured she had finally had enough, and he hadn’t blamed her. He hadn’t gone after her.

He hated that now. If only. But maybe not. That was six months before Cage rescued him, and Erica Clarke had forced him to look in the mirror: he was an alcoholic and a drug addict. He had to stop and stop completely.

It took four months for him to commit to it, but he did. And once he did, he found the party scene wasn’t as glamourous as it had seemed through an alcohol and drug induced haze. Oh, his own parties were famous, but he knew. They were nothing compared to the parties that happened after nights at Satyricon or Embers, now both gone, or the more upscale places where people wore tuxes and fucked in the bathrooms. He liked the parties he hosted; people had a good time. And if Joanne and the entire sports crew had managed to try out Robert’s new penis ring? What of it? They were all consenting adults. And somehow Joanna’s giggling about it had appealed to him. A lot. He laughed and shook his head.

He went into his office and unlocked his desk drawer. He pulled out the rest of the stuff that had been in the folder Teresa had pushed at him before she’d fled. He found the thumb drive. It was an archive of photographs of Rafael growing up. He flipped through them. Laughing at some, misting up at others. He started them revolving through a second time. Then reluctantly he’d turned it off. But it left him feeling better than he had in days.

He went through the rest of the folder carefully, and he found the attorney’s business card in Portland. He looked at it thoughtfully.

He called and made an appointment. The receptionist asked him if he had reason to believe ICE would be arresting him in the next 24 hours or over the weekend. He said no. She then scheduled him an appointment for next Thursday.

“It regards Teresa Valdez,” he said quietly. “And Rafael Matthews Valdez. I have been approached by ICE.”

There was silence, and he was put on hold. “Mr. Matthews?” a male voice said. “What did ICE want?”

Ryan described what happened the night before.

“And what do you want from us?” the voice asked.

“I want to retain you in case I do need you,” he said, and added, “And I want to find the mother of my child. And bring her home.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud. But it was as if a load had been lifted from his mind. Yes. That was what he wanted.

“You realize that may not be possible.”

“Then I’ll go where she is,” he said.

There was a pause. “I can see you Monday at 2 p.m. Do you know where we are?”

Ryan glanced at the card in his hand. “I do.”

The man hung up.

Well now, Ryan thought, and leaned back in his chair. Well.

“Hello?” a male voice called from the front desk. “Is someone here?”

Ryan frowned. He knew that voice. Given his thoughts before he made the telephone call, how could he not? It was as if he’d conjured him up. He thought about just sitting in his office and letting him go away. But truth be told, he wanted to punch someone — verbally if not physically — and Professor Ian Black would do.

He walked out of his office and circled around the living area so he could be seen but still not be close to the counter. And he’d been right; the voice belonged to Ian Black.

“Professor Black,” he said flatly. “I heard you were back on campus. I’m surprised that Eyewitness News is among your first stops.”

“To find my favorite student?” Ian Black asked. Black was in his mid-40s. He had aged in the three years he’d been gone, but not in a bad way. He was still of a height with Ryan, slimmer, although he had developed some muscle tone during his leave. But he also had sun-damaged skin now, with lines at his eyes and around his mouth. That was new. His hair, a dish-water brown had a blond streak in front, also from the sun, Ryan thought. He looked like he’d spent the three years on a field dig somewhere in the sun. He wondered where.

“No, I don’t believe you’re looking up your old students,” Ryan said.

Black laughed. He looked around the newsroom. “Nice place,” he observed. “And you’re the editor? I wonder what your staff would say if they heard the stories I could tell?”

“About me?” Ryan asked. He laughed. “Go ahead, Professor. Don’t tell me you’re unaware of the rep EWN has. You’d be raising my stature here ten-fold.”

He paused before pushing the old dominance to the forefront. He could see from the startled expression on Black’s face that he recognized it and was reacting.

“But what would they say about you?” Ryan asked softly. “Now, that would be an interesting question. Because I don’t see how you can tell stories about me without you outing your own self. Do you? And perhaps the university wouldn’t just send you off on sabbatical this time.”

“There’s the man I came to see,” Black said softly. “I missed him.”

“Really? Because until someone mentioned yesterday that you were back? I haven’t thought of you in years,” Ryan said truthfully. “I left that scene, Ian, years ago. I got clean, and the clubs and the playrooms? Without drugs and alcohol, they seemed pretty