Heat crawls up my neck to settle in my cheeks. “It’s not...”
Not what? Not important? Not serious? Not his business?
Carson waves away my attempt at an explanation. “Your personal life is your own, of course. However...” He sets the pen down, aligning it parallel to his portfolio. “As educators, we must consider how our choices affect our professional standing.”
I fold my hands in my lap to hide their trembling. “I don’t believe my personal associations impact my work with Quinn.”
“Don’t they?” Carson tilts his head, regarding me with what might pass for concern if I didn’t know better. “You occupy aunique position at the Academy, Leif. As an Omega in a visible role, your conduct receives heightened scrutiny. Just look at what happened back in Westbrook, and you didn’t even do anything wrong back then.”
My jaw tightens at the reminder, as well as the implication that I’m doing something wrongnow.
The open house at Westbrook took place weeks after I ended the ill-advised courtship with Carson. I told him with polite firmness that it wouldn’t work and I needed distance. He smiled at the time, said he understood, and agreed we could return to how things were before we attempted to date.
I believed he understood. In reality, he had been waiting for me to come around. During the open house, another Alpha expressed interest in me, and Carson did not take it well. He grabbed my wrist when I tried to move away. I jerked back, accidentally striking him and splitting his lip.
No one saw the bruises that followed me home. They saw blood, heard raised voices, and decided the rest for themselves.
By the end of the week, I wasn’t an Omega who had defended himself. I was a liability. Bigger than most with my designation. Stronger than I had a right to be. And therefore, in their view, dangerous.
“I maintain appropriate boundaries between my personal and professional life now,” I reply, my nails digging into my palms.
Carson leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Leadership is about optics as much as substance. You understand, I’m sure. Your committee work has been exemplary because you appreciate these nuances.”
The praise slides between his veiled criticism, a tactic I recognize from countless interactions at Westbrook. Build up, tear down. Elevate, then undermine.
“As an Omega of your size, restraint matters even more,” Carson continues, dropping to a confidential murmur. “You’re held to higher standards, particularly in educational settings. It’s unfair, for sure, but we can’t ignore the reality of the situation.”
As if I haven’t lived with this stigma my entire adult life.
“Until you’re in a recognized courtship, your personal associations reflect on the school.” His fingers trace the edge of a document, the paper whispering beneath his touch. “On me.” His gaze lifts to mine, intent and unwavering. “On Quinn.”
The mention of Quinn sends ice through my veins. “Quinn’s performance so far this year is exceptional.”
Carson’s mouth curves into a smile. “Indeed. Which is why consistency in her support structure is so critical at this juncture.”
He shifts in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Some parents still aren’t onboard with such a large dog being in our school.”
My pulse stutters. “I thought you said the parents were approving of him.”
“Some.” He sighs and shakes his head with regret. “But not all. And you know how vocal the naysayers can be.”
“The documentation for Sprinkles is complete and up to date, as you requested,” I protest. “The school board approved the revised policy.”
“Yes, your work there has been invaluable.” Carson reaches for his water glass, taking a slow sip before continuing. “Which is why I’d hate to see anything compromise that progress. You know this is about more than the school board. It’s theparentsyou have to win over.”
“I don’t understand how my private life relates to Quinn’s accommodation status,” I say, each word measured.
Carson sets his glass down. “Consistency, Leif. The foundation of any successful educational environment. Parents question inconsistencies.”
A memory surfaces of Carson at Westbrook, questioning a young teacher’s commitment after she missed a faculty meeting to care for her sick mother. His sympathy while he undermined her standing with the administration behind her back.
“I’ve maintained consistent support for Quinn since her enrollment,” I counter, placing my hands flat on the table. “My professional responsibilities remain my priority.”
“Of course they do.” Carson gives every indication of agreement while his expression broadcasts doubt. “Your dedication to Quinn is why I’m bringing this to your attention now, before it becomes an issue.”
He leans back in his chair. “The Omega educators who succeed long term understand the importance of perception. A recognized courtship provides structure and legitimacy. Without it...” He spreads his hands, palms up. “Questions arise about stability, judgment, and priorities.”
The irony burns. It’s the same argument Carson used when he first convinced me to try a courtship with him, and it had failed spectacularly. Meanwhile, what Emily and I have been building is genuine, based on real connection and mutual respect.