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“Good lord, Mr. Simpson, what’s happened to your face?”

Fuck.

“Just a misunderstanding,” I mumbled. “It’s nothing, really.”

“My office, Mr. Simpson,” he said sternly. “Now.”

Fuck.

If my kidneys weren’t still on fire I might have considered running for it. But the way I still felt, I was pretty sure that if I tried, O’Shea would easily catch me. So I just huffed out a sigh and followed him to his office.

“I cannot condone fighting at my school,” he said as he pushed open his door and stalked across his office to his desk.

“Well, sir, if it makes you feel better, I clearly wasn’t doing any of the fighting,” I answered, settling gently into the chair he pointed to.

“This isn’t funny, Mr. Simpson,” he said. “You’re going to tell me what happened. Right now.”

“No, sir,” I argued. “It’s a private matter and it’s handled.”

Well, that was a lie. It wasn’t handled at all. I’d spent my entire walk to class checking over my shoulder to make sure that Mark wasn’t creeping up behind me.

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Andy,” he said.

“Well, it’s going to have to be,” I insisted. “I’m fine, really. And I’m not interested in bringing it into school. It happened off campus, so really it’s none of your concern.”

“You’re seriously comfortable speaking to me that way?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“About this, yes, sir,” I said. “Contrary to what everyone seems to think, I can make my own decisions. I know what’s best for me. And in this, I don’t wish to discuss it any further.”

I jumped at the sound of a loud knock at the door. It opened before O’Shea could even respond and the monsignor was clearly not pleased.

“I’m in the middle of something,” O’Shea said coldly.

“I’m sorry, sir, this can’t wait,” a deep voice, clearly full of anger, responded. “Inside.”

I turned and felt my good eye widen as Mark and Trevor trudged into the room. Both of them bleeding and clearly having fought each other.

“My goodness,” O’Shea said. “It’s an epidemic.”

Well…fuck.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~Trevor~

Andy stood up and moved further away as Mark and I approached O’Shea’s desk. It seemed as if he were trying to escape, but O’Shea wasn’t having it.

“What’s going on here?” the monsignor asked, turning an icy glare between me and Mark.

“Schoolyard antics,” I said. “Practice got out of hand sir, I apologize.”

“Bullshit,” Tine barked. “You two have been acting squirrelly for weeks. I’ve never seen two friends go at it like you did this afternoon. You will tell us what’s going on.”

O’Shea turned from us to look at Andy, then turned a narrow gaze back toward Mark.

“If you make me guess what’s transpired here,” he said coldly. “Today is not going to end well for any of you.”

Tine glanced over at Andy and his eyes widened. Suddenly it became clear that everyone in the room was figuring out what had happened between the three of us, and I wasn’t sure we were getting out of there without telling the truth.