by Leta Blake
“Got any good cereal?” he asked, peering into a cupboard and seeing nothing that looked immediately edible in there. Just ingredients for meals.
“Cereal’s bad for you,” Perri informed him.
“Spikes your ’sulin,” Beau added.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s just something Doug’s been telling them. We don’t eat carbs for breakfast anymore.” Mom blushed a little and shoved her hair off her brow, the large diamond Doug had graced her with glittering in the morning sun through the kitchen window. “We try to keep to proteins and veggies.”
“Veggies,” Beau repeated and then made a gagging noise.
Mom snapped her fingers at him.
RJ asked, “Because of something called Suhlin?”
She chuckled, but her cheeks were still pink. “Insulin. Doug says carbs in the morning spike your insulin and can lead to the development of Type 2 diabetes.” She waved the words away like they were silly, but he noticed both the kids were eating eggs and bacon with a side helping of something green.
Mom shoved some coffee his way along with a heaping portion of eggs. “Here. I made this for you.”
He cleared his throat and pushed the plate back to her. “I’m allergic, remember?”
Her eyes flew wide and for a moment he thought she might cry, but then she blinked rapidly, got it together and said, “Bacon then?’
“No. Just coffee. I’m fine.”
She reached out and took hold of his hand. “Of course, I remembered. About your allergy. I mean, usually, I’d remember. I’m just too tired from worrying about you all night. That’s all.”
He squeezed her fingers in return. A childish part of him wanted to say that no matter how tired she was, it’d be nice if she’d remember that her eldest would swell up and die if he swallowed even a tiny bite of those eggs. But he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he could help it, and he’d already hurt her enough just by existing.
But it wasn’t her fault. She’d been the best mom she knew how to be for him. Things had been different when he was a kid. Being married to Doug allowed her to actually focus on being a mom this time around. And the fact that Perri and Beau, and maybe even Doug’s older son, Carter, got a better version of her than RJ ever had well…that wasn’t anything to resent.
And it meant he was a really shitty person that he did resent it, right?
Right.
She put together a plate of bacon and handed it to him with a tremulous smile. “I didn’t use the same spatula as with the eggs. I did remember.” He took it and ate the first piece like it was the most delicious strip of pork he’d ever had. Maybe he even over did it, because she looked hurt again.
Sighing, RJ wondered if Aaron would have taken him home the night before if he knew that RJ was a butthurt bastard who resented his little siblings for the house, the dog, the mom, and the life that he’d never had? Would Aaron have wanted a petty-hearted man like that in his apartment, much less in his body? Probably not. He was a teacher after all. He probably put all children first. A motherfucking hero.
With the hottest ass and sexiest whine and…shh. Shut up, RJ. Mom’s staring at you.
“So, I guess you aren’t going to tell me where you were last night?” She raised a fair brow at him.
“There’s nothing to tell. Unlikely I’ll be there again.” Though, God, he hoped he was wrong about that.
Her lips twisted and she shot a glance at the kids like they might understand that their older brother was a slut. She drew close and whispered in his ear, “I wish you’d be more careful. HIV might be manageable these days, but it’s still out there, and there are other STDs. I hear that they’re all on the rise because of the success of PrEP, and—”
“I wore a condom,” RJ said in a normal tone.
“Shh!” she slammed her hand down on the counter.
“What’s a condom?” Beau asked.
“It’s nothing,” Mom said. “It’s something for grown-ups.”
“What’s an STD then?”
So, the whispering hadn’t worked either. RJ felt a little vindicated by that.
“A kind of disease,” RJ said, reluctant to lie or obfuscate.
“Do you have a disease?” Perri asked, chewing her eggs slowly.
“No. Do you?” RJ tweaked her hair.
Perri giggled. “No.”
“I’m ’llergic too,” Beau said, shoving his plate with the eggs away and giving RJ worshipful eyes. “Like RJ.”
Mom rolled her eyes but didn’t argue with him. “C’mon. Get your shoes from the closet. We’ve got to get to Target and be home in time to fetch Carter off the bus.”
The kids went off to get their shoes, one cheerfully, the other with as much woe as he could muster.
Mom rounded on RJ. “Listen, I know you grew up differently, and that’s my fault. But in this house—”
“I know. Watch my language.”
“And call your mother if you’re going to be late…or not home at all.”
“I promise. I’m sorry.”
She rubbed her brow again and then offered him another smile. “Apology accepted.”
“Can I catch a ride with you guys to Joel’s place?”
His mother sighed and checked the clock on her phone. “Yes. But watch what you say in front of the kids.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell them details about my wild night.”
Mom shuddered. “Better not. Not unless you want me to tell you about mine.”
He winced. “Ew.”
Mom laughed and flipped him off before hustling out to the front hall to help Beau with his sneakers. RJ grinned to see a glimpse of the woman who’d raised him—the one who’d cursed and given people the middle finger. He missed her sometimes. Then he headed upstairs to grab his boots, wallet, and phone.
He checked his messages again.
Still nothing.
Oh well, one night with Mr. Danvers was a better Christmas gift than he’d ever expected to get. He’d have to be satisfied with it.
Hope was as stubborn as partridge in a pear tree, though, and RJ headed down the stairs with it chirping madly in his heart.
Chapter Seven
Aaron was late to work but none of the kids seemed to care, which was perfect as far as he was concerned. When he walked into his paper snowflake-strewn room, they were all discussing the upcoming Winter Dance on Friday, negotiating meeting times, describing dresses, and bragging about the relative popularity of their “dates.” They were so absorbed they didn’t bother snapping to attention the way they usually did whenever a teacher entered the classroom.
The obedience granted to him by the kids wasn’t earned, though, and it always grated on his nerves more than gratified him. The current disrespectful chatter and downright ignoring of his presence was infinitely preferable. He wasn’t a taskmaster or a disciplinarian, and he didn’t like that the school in general had been run in such a way that the kids expected that attitude from him.
Aaron put his bag down on the desk, cleared his throat, and spoke into the rustle of final whispers and the creaks of students turning around in their seats to peer curiously at him. “Sorry I’m late.”
“S’okay, Mr. D,” William Sandburg said, winking. “You probably needed the extra rest.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Aaron’s insides knotted up, confusion warring with the urge to stride back out of the classroom and down the hall to the teacher’s lounge where there was a full-length mirror to investigate his appearance. Did he look like he’d just gotten banged all night or something? William’s leering expression and the sniggering of the boys next to him certainly seemed to say so.
He smoothed his bowtie and lifted his chin. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t mind him, Mr. Danvers,” Chastity Lovell called out, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”
“Or maybe my mom’s boyfriend works at Scruffy City Hall, and maybe she was there last n
ight visiting him, and maybe she saw you flirting with another guy, and maybe you left with that guy, and—”
“William!” Aaron snapped. “Enough.”
There was a low oooooh through the room from William’s friends and a few wide-eyed stares from the other kids. Aaron forged ahead. “We have to get through roll call and announcements.” He glanced toward the clock, sweat prickling his brow. “We’re behind already. Michael Adams? Here. Okay, Shira Bernstein?”
He studiously didn’t look up as he ticked people off as present or absent on his computer screen. No matter what William’s nosy mother saw at the pub the prior night, it was meaningless. Aaron had ogled RJ on the stage over a glass of whiskey, taken a phone call, then sat and chatted with RJ outside before leaving with him. That proved nothing. RJ could have been a friend. None of the kids in this room had any reason to think he’d spent the night lost in paroxysms of pure pleasure with another man.
He was still safely closeted here where it mattered. He hadn’t made another error in the magnitude of Coach McAllister. A titter of laughter rose from near William’s seat along with speculative whispers. Aaron steeled himself against it. He was still closeted, dammit.
But, after he chose Lee Belle Rhodes to read aloud from the announcements sheet, Aaron’s racing pulse and rising nausea bucked off the grip of reason and ran wild, hand-in-hand, with irrational fear. Vomit rose slowly up his throat. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake free.
What was the worst thing that could happen if he got outed at school anyway? The kids would know their teacher was gay. So what? It wasn’t as if he were sucking cock at the front of the classroom or getting pounded while explaining the finer points of grammar. He was a man like any other, who had sex like any other, just with other men instead of women, and there really wasn’t any reason anyone should have a problem with that.
So why was he sweating like a pig?
Because people would have a problem with it: parents, other teachers, some of the kids, and definitely the principal. Aaron couldn’t afford exposure. He’d made one stupid mistake his third year teaching and it’d been more than enough. The humiliation had gone so deep. He’d been lucky to get another job. Even though he wouldn’t technically be breaking any rules to be out and openly dating men, it was safer to keep hidden.
Relieved when the bell rang and everyone in the class gathered their things for first period, Aaron leaned back in his chair and studied the hand-cut snowflakes he’d strung up around the room the week before. He’d made them every year since he started teaching. The kids liked them. He did too. Even RJ had remembered…
Oh, God, RJ.
He’d been so good at fucking. Thank Christ those other men had canceled, because RJ’s hands on his body had been transcendent, and his cock up his ass had been—
“Mr. Danvers?”
Startled out of his memories of the night before, Aaron sat up straighter at his desk. He plastered on a professional smile and hoped he didn’t look like he’d been thinking about strong hands, a cocky grin, and a giant dick. What on earth was wrong with him anyway? He was at school!
Red-headed, lisping Elsie Peters was a tiny little thing. She was almost thirteen and in seventh grade but looked closer in age to a fourth grader. That had to suck for her. Aaron could relate, having been a very late bloomer himself. He hadn’t needed to shave until well into college. Truth be told, some days he didn’t really need to shave even now. He had a baby face, just like RJ had said.
“How can I help you, Elsie?”
“It’s okay if what William says is true, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re gay, I mean. My dads are gay and they’re awesome. You’re awesome too.”
Aaron swallowed thickly. “Uh, thank you.”
“I know that there’s still prejudice out there. I deal with it every day. But I think a lot of people are starting to understand that gay people aren’t bad, or whatever. For what it’s worth, I don’t think William thinks gay people are bad, either.” Elsie pushed a long strand of orange-red hair from her face and shrugged. “His dad’s just a jerk, that’s all. My dads say they feel sorry for William because his father is a raging bigot. They say William hardly stood a chance, you know? But, with people like you and me in his life, my dads say William could still turn out all right. He’s just got a lot of learning to do.”
Aaron swallowed, compassion for Elsie and for himself coming to do battle with his anxiety. “Thanks for sharing all that with me, Elsie.”
“So you are gay?”
“I prefer not to talk about my private life at school.”
She shrugged. “It’s up to you. But I have your back, Mr. Danvers. So do a lot of other kids. Most people won’t care. And the ones who do don’t matter. You should just come out and get it over with.” She smiled, a light in her eyes switching on. “Maybe as a Christmas gift to yourself. I mean, if you celebrate Christmas. If not, Hanukkah?” Her expression grew a bit panicked. “Or Kwanzaa or whatever?”
“I do celebrate Christmas.” Aaron chuckled. “Thanks, Elsie. You’re a smart young lady.”
The bell rang, and Elsie gasped. “I’m gonna be late.” She darted from the room, her hair trailing out like a flame behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Aaron checked the small mirror he kept in his desk to make sure that he didn’t have a giant hickey he’d somehow missed, or some super obvious beard burn on his chin. But, no, he looked all right. A little tired. Maybe his eyes shone a bit brighter than they normally did—lingering delirium—but there was no reason for William or anyone else to assume that he’d slept with a former student the night before.
God, it’d been so good. He squeezed his butt cheeks and closed his eyes, enjoying his asshole’s remaining tenderness. RJ had been really big, the way tall, stringy men like him often were, thick and long, like the fucking eggplant emoji hookups used when sexting.
Shit. He shouldn’t be thinking about this again. He shook the memories free as kids piled into his classroom with expectant eyes and freshly scrubbed morning faces.
Time to get his head out of his ass and into the classroom. It was showtime.
Chapter Eight
Aaron’s first period class went by in a flash. Advanced Composition for seventh-graders was his favorite. They were all intelligent, funny kids, and they never tried to half-ass their work. He’d given them all a creative writing assignment the weekend before to take their favorite winter holiday story from whatever country or tradition they preferred and update it.
They’d finished the draft over the weekend and now it was time for them to edit one another’s work. He looked forward to seeing the end results. He walked around the room making sure everyone used Mr. Danvers’s Three Rules of Criticism: Number one: praise. Number two: critique with the intent to improve, not insult. And number three: praise again.
Most were doing well, but he had to put a hand on Barrett Rogers’s shoulder and lean down to whisper, “I’m fairly sure that, ‘This entire thing is dumb,’ doesn’t follow rule number two, Barrett. Come up with something more specific that your partner can improve on.”
After the bell rang announcing second period—his free period of the day—he’d eased himself back into his desk chair, pleased that his ass cheeks were still smarting a little from the spanking RJ had given him the night before. The speaker above his desk blared, and the principal’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Mr. Danvers. Come to my office. Now. Thank you.”
At school, Principal Shock never sounded anything but irritated and commanding, so the tone was meaningless. Still, Aaron’s gut tangled with worry. Had William or some other kid actually gone to tattle on him for being at a pub last night? Drinking on a school night? And was he going to actually get in trouble for it like some little kid?
He rose from his desk and headed down the quiet hallway, avoiding the wayward backpacks that somehow hadn’t made it into their owners’ lockers and pas
sing by the occasional child camped on the floor outside a classroom working on something alone. Christmas tree lights had been strung up on the ceiling by the janitorial staff three weeks prior, and they glowed like a runway leading him toward the main office.
As he walked, he grew more annoyed than worried. But that didn’t mean he could just ignore the summons. He owed Principal Shock his job after all. She’d been the only one willing to take him on after the Coach McAllister debacle. And she liked to remind him of that fact.
The Christmas tree in the school office was decked out in ornaments made by the kids in art class, but the charm of that didn’t take the edge off the sharp, antiseptic nature of the women who worked the front desks. They glared at him through their glasses—twin sets of disdain. They’d looked at him in that exact same way since he was twelve years old.
“Aaron,” Jolene said, eyebrow twitching up. “She wants you.”
“I know.” He gave her a grim smile. If Jolene hadn’t been wearing a gingerbread man shirt and jingly red Christmas bells for earrings, he’d think she was pure evil instead of a middle school office employee.
“Now,” Rita added, pointing with her index finger, a long, red-and-green striped nail proving that she’d spent yet another Saturday at her salon getting her hair washed and set, and her fingers and toes done up in something gaudy. Was it a prerequisite for the front secretaries of schools to have no taste?
“Aaron!” Principal Shock called from her doorway. “Stop dawdling.”
He held back a scoff. Dawdling with Rita and Jolene would never be something he’d ever do willingly. They’d been a torment to him in his childhood, and nothing about that had changed.
Principal Shock looked pissed as he stepped into her office. The jingle of carols from the radio next to her desk didn’t help ease the palpable sense of danger in the air. Kids often peed themselves when brought in to sit in Principal Shock’s office to await her judgment. She had that way about her.
