Chasing Forever

by Kelly Jensen

  “Big crowd,” Brian said.

  He turned in, and Josh slipped quickly through the doorway as though he’d rather be anywhere else, even if anywhere was an airless moon on the other side of the galaxy.

  Ethan hopped off the desk he’d been sitting. “Josh!”

  Why couldn’t Ethan be gay? He was so damn confident and nice and . . . by the blush staining Josh’s cheeks, definitely crush-worthy.

  Well, damn. Maybe Mal shouldn’t have encouraged that friendship.

  The scent of oranges and cardamom drifted toward him as Brian moved into Mal’s sphere and leaned in slightly. “This would have been an easier sell for both me and Josh if you’d told us no one would be here.”

  “There’s supposed to be nearly thirty-five kids. I think they’re in the wrong room.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I changed the meeting to here because I didn’t want to walk all the way to Cheryl’s old classroom and then back to mine. The door at the end of this hall is the closest exit to the staff lot.”

  Brian’s gaze flicked down, taking in the brace covering Mal’s right leg. “How’s the knee? Both legs? Getting enough rest?” Genuine concern creased his brow. “Can I get you anything? Is there a soda machine around?”

  “In the cafeteria, but I’m fine. Unless you need something?”

  “Nope, I’m good.”

  So.

  Brian smiled.

  Josh and Ethan hovered in one another’s periphery.

  The last bell chimed through the empty hallway outside the nearly empty classroom.

  “I told Rachel I was the wrong choice for this group,” Mal said.

  Brian began to put a hand out, then cut the gesture short, shifting so that he pushed his fingers through his own hair. “I’m sure it’s just the classroom mix-up. Let’s use the time to go over your notes.”

  “You think I made notes?”

  “You’re a professor. Of course you made notes.”

  Mal extracted his notes from beneath a stack of homework.

  The classroom door banged open and students started filing in. Phew. Mal recalled most of the faces. He’d stopped by the meeting last week, late, sweaty, and exhausted from the trek to Cheryl’s classroom, had briefly introduced himself, and then quickly left for the PT appointment he hadn’t made. Coward. Now, he studied the faces more intently and realized that he knew most of them. Some surprised him, others not at all. The arrival of one student in particular had him smiling. She always kept to herself in class and had a face that rarely looked happy in repose. But when she pushed through the door with two other girls, she was obviously comfortable and friendly with both.

  For a couple of minutes, the sound of scraping chairs, shifting desks, and chatter filled the room, and it wasn’t unlike the beginning of class, except a really nice smelling man stood next to his desk, crumpling the piece of paper Mal had handed him. Mal snatched it back before Brian could render the agenda completely illegible, and glanced up to meet what could almost be described as a “deer in the headlights” expression.

  He couldn’t touch the back of Brian’s hand. Not here. He smiled instead. Dipped his chin. You’re going to be fine.

  After much dragging and resettling, the desks had been converted from neat rows into a loose circle and everyone was sitting comfortably and chatting. Resisting the urge to call for attention in an official capacity, Mal simply cleared his throat. Most of the kids stopped talking and turned to the front.

  “Hi,” he said.

  A few murmurs and giggles answered him.

  “Most of you probably know me. I popped in to the meeting last week. But, anyway, I’m Malcolm Montgomery. In here, you can call me Mal or Mr. M. I don’t mind which. I’ve taught history here at Morristown High for just over twenty years and will hopefully teach it for another twenty years. I’ll be that creepy old teacher people tell stories about, because I also went to school here and played football here. I’m like a part of the furniture.”

  A few students snickered at that.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve been around for a while and I’m not planning on going anywhere soon. I’m not going to tell you all I hope we can be friends, because as a teacher, that’s not my job. But I am here to support you and guide you, and while I’m anxious about having this club handed over to me, I believe in the importance of it. I want to reiterate that this classroom is a safe space, even outside Monday afternoons.

  “I also want this to be an honest space. You can be yourselves in here, whoever that is, okay?”

  A few more nods, a couple of shy smiles, a collection of yeah, yeah, we’ve heard it all before grumblings, and a whole lot of silence from Brian. Mal glanced his way and instantly regretted it. Brian maintained his confident stance, his easy smile, but the back of his neck was damp, and the line of his jaw had tightened, his skin a little pale beneath his tan. He was obviously uncomfortable. Maybe even . . . afraid? What was he scared of? Surely men like Brian feared nothing.

  “So, that’s my introduction. We’re all going to miss Cheryl. She was a good teacher, and as I understand it, a valuable mentor to many of you. But she’s moving on to the next phase of her life and we can only wish her the best. Now comes the part you all hate. I know some of you, but not all of you, so let’s rectify that. Going around the room, names and something about yourself. Can be anything, silly or serious.” Mal held up his hands. “You don’t need to tell me why you’re here, but if you ever do want to talk, my door is always open.”

  God, he was already exhausted and only five minutes had passed. How long was an hour anyway?

  The kids started rattling off their names and facts, the few names he didn’t quite have to hand quickly attaching to the faces he’d recognized, most of the facts making him smile and laugh. Pamela was addicted to Mallomars. Anna Marie wanted to be an astronaut. Geraldo had moved recently from Puerto Rico and was living with his aunt and uncle. Kat boldly proclaimed they preferred nongendered pronouns, and Daria shot them an envious look. Ethan surprised everyone by saying he’d been thinking about attending the group for a while because he was questioning a lot of things about himself. Briefly, Mal wondered if that included his relationship with his girlfriend, who was conspicuously absent. Josh finished the circle by stating his name and adding that his favorite color was blue. He spoke softly, but everyone heard him and everyone laughed. Flushing, he dipped his head.

  Mal risked another glance at Brian. The fear from before was still there, but somewhat dimmed by a mixture of fondness and pride that looked good on him. Mal nudged his elbow. “How about you?”

  Brian opened his mouth, faltered slightly, then seemed to reset, as though he remembered who he was and what he was capable of. “I’m Brian Kenway. Not a teacher. Just a volunteer.”

  Not just anything, Mal thought.

  “We need a fun fact,” Kat called out.

  Brian’s smile tightened. “I build things.”

  “That’s what you do,” Josh pointed out. “Tell us something else.”

  “I wish there’d been a club like this when I was in high school.”

  Still not a fact, not really, but enough of a statement to quiet everyone. Approving nods rippled around the room and once again, Mal had to resist the urge to touch Brian intimately—to wrap his hand around Brian’s arm and squeeze. It was the lingering tightness in Brian’s expression and more. He’d been leading Brian on for a while—and it wasn’t quite fair. Mal couldn’t lay the blame entirely at the feet of his ex, though. He’d been waiting for something, for this. A kindred soul. A man who understood what it was like—not only to be gay, and not only gay and fifty or nearly so, but someone who’d taken the same journey to this place. Someone who’d watched the world change, often for the worse but sometimes for the better.

  He didn’t know what Brian was so afraid of, but had a feeling it was because he understood on a personal level why this club was so damn necessary.

  Swallowing, Ma
l flattened out his agenda and peered down at the loops of his far-from-neat handwriting. “So, from what I understand, aside from making time to talk, you all are working on a couple of fund-raisers. One for Vernon Williams.” Who had recently been the victim of a hate crime—right here in Morristown—and was still recovering from his injuries.

  Mal knew about the case and had been shocked and dismayed. Knowing Vernon was a part of this group made his situation all the more personal. This was why Mal hadn’t wanted to get involved. Because now Vernon was one of his kids, and while he’d cared before, now he felt responsible.

  He cleared his throat. “And for a drop-in center.”

  Brian glanced over. “A drop-in center?”

  “There’s one in Morris Township,” Daria said, “but it’s a bus ride or car ride away. It’s not here, in our neighborhood. This club is one afternoon a week. Sometimes we met with Cheryl for coffee on other days, or at lunch”—there went his entire schedule—“but some of us need a safe space after school and on weekends.”

  Eyebrows lowering, Brian dug his phone out of his pocket. “Is there anything even remotely like that in Morristown right now?” he asked, opening an app and tapping at the display.

  “Nothing,” Daria replied. “There are a couple of places for women and children and three shelters, but nothing specifically for us.”

  Mal glanced at his notes. “I see you’ve already raised a considerable sum.” The club had a couple of corporate sponsors—local businesses—but that money would be withheld until they were fully funded and had a site. “Okay, Brian and I will get up to speed on that side of things later. When’s the next fund-raiser?”

  “Winterfest.”

  “That’s just a few weeks away. What are our plans?”

  The meeting continued in that vein for another couple of minutes, Mal and Brian both making notes, then they opened up the session to more personal issues. Mal discovered that this was when some of the students liked to break off into smaller groups where they would offer support to each other. It was heartening to see. A couple of students approached him for a brief chat and one group called him over for a consult. Brian was also called upon and seemed to get along well with the group he chatted with.

  Finally, after an approximate hundred hours, it was time to go and the shuffling began in reverse—desks being pushed back into line, backpacks swinging up off the floor, the rustle of coats and hats and scarves. The chatter of folks celebrating the end of their day. Then they were gone, except for Josh, who lingered by the door with Ethan a moment, before Ethan ducked out.

  Josh pulled out his phone and plugged in, as kids seemed to do when left alone for more than three seconds, and Brian glanced up from straightening the last desk. His smile was a strained and weary thing.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mal said. “I had no idea.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “Thank you for coming. I’d understand if you didn’t come back. That was heavy.”

  “It was. But also . . .” Brian pushed his fingers through his hair and gripped the nape of his neck. “I dunno. I don’t want to say ‘affirming,’ though that word keeps popping up in the front of my verbal center. It was enlightening. And sad, but also positive. That these kids have each other. I had no idea there were groups like this.”

  “But the foundation you’re involved with is all about kids. That’s how I got you signed off as a volunteer for this thing.”

  “I’m the money man, Mal. I write the checks. And those letters . . .” His eyebrows crooked together. “I always meant to get more involved. The Smart Foundation is important to me. Tristan, the man we named it for, was the uncle of one of my best friends. I knew him. I . . .” Brian drew in a quick breath. “We’re probably on your list of donors for the drop-in center, or we would be if someone had approached us.” He gazed back out at the empty classroom, attention lingering on Josh a moment. “But this is more real.”

  “Is it too much real?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to come back?” Mal raised his hands. “Before you answer, just let me say”—you look amazing in that suit—“I understand this is the middle of a workday for you, and I appreciate you making time and doing whatever it was the office needed you to do to get your visitor badge.” The list got longer every year.

  “They’re not strip-searching yet, but that might be coming.” Brian offered a thin smile.

  “Really. I can’t thank you enough for being here this afternoon. Was Josh . . .”

  “Pretty much dragged here, but I’m beginning to realize that kids will only let you drag them to places they actually want to go.”

  “That’s . . . Yeah.”

  Brian gave him a serious look. “You were amazing, Mal. I can see why you’ve been at this school for twenty years and will be here for twenty more. You’ve got that perfect combination of ‘trust me, but don’t play me’ down. It’s impressive.”

  “Teaching 101.”

  “You didn’t need me here.”

  “I didn’t say I did. But the kids do.”

  Brian took in the empty classroom. “Yeah. I can see that.”

  “So will you come again?”

  Lips quirking up on one side, Brian murmured, “I haven’t come once yet. Not with you actually in the bed with me, anyway.”

  “Did you just admit to fantasizing about me while you jerk off?”

  “I did.”

  Mal patted his cheeks, which were quite hot. “You can’t say that here.”

  “Why, is there an inappropriate language button on your desk?”

  “Ha ha. Very funny. And, yes, there is. Me.”

  “Going to report me?”

  “How do you do that? Go from zero to one hundred in less than sixty seconds.”

  “A lot of practice. So, do I get my date?”

  Yes. “Are you going to come again?”

  “Are you changing the rules on me, Professor?”

  “No.” I’m stalling because I’ve already changed them in your favor.

  Brian’s smile cooled by a degree or two. It was still flirty, but also more serious, and only a combo he could have managed. “How about this? Whether or not you keep our bargain, I’ll be here again. I can’t say this was the most fun afternoon I’ve spent, ever. It was, frankly, terrifying. But you’re right.” The fear made a brief and dark reappearance. “These kids need us. So, yes. I’ll be back.”

  “I’d have given you your date even if you weren’t going to come back.”

  Brian’s lips twitched. “I know.”

  A sigh gusted out of Mal, along with words he probably shouldn’t say. “What are we doing?”

  “Getting to know each other, the way you planned. How’s Friday night? Am I picking you up or are you cooking for me?”

  “I’ll cook.”

  “Am I allowed to kiss you?”

  “Quickly.”

  “No pressing any buttons now,” Brian breathed as he leaned in. Then his lips were against Mal’s, touching, tasting, moving oh-so-delicately. Teasing.

  “Seriously?” Josh’s mild bellow held little censure, and when Mal glanced over, Josh’s scowl had a wistful angle to it.

  After extracting fourteen separate promises from Josh—one for each year he’d been alive—that he’d stay home, not steal anything, and not run away, Brian spent the short drive to Mal’s place paying close attention to his GPS. He knew where Walker Street was in a vague, “it’s over by the park” kind of way. He could find it without directions, but focusing on the turn by turn allowed little time for other thoughts.

  He’d been doing the other thoughts thing all day—reaching inbox zero at eleven in the morning before hassling every contractor currently under his watch for project updates. If it wouldn’t have made him late for his date, he’d have driven out to the Poconos to check on the roof of Franklin Tern’s lodge. An hour in Frank’s company—particularly when the subject of Simon came up—always made him feel li
ke an asshole. And that would have given him something else to focus on.

  Mal’s split-level ranch was attractive in the same understated manner as the man: neat, tidy, a little shopworn, but obviously well tended. No one’s garden looked good in winter and Mal’s was no exception. The low bushes lining the front walk were trimmed and bagged, though, so he knew what he was doing. Fresh snow covered what was probably a terraced lawn, and dripped from dark holly bushes clustered on both sides of the front door. Circles of light over the garage door and to the left of the front stoop illuminated dark siding. The windows were not picked out in a contrasting color, which only made Brian like Mal more. A house could say a lot about a person, as could the colors they chose to paint it. There was nothing charming or cute about Mal’s place. But neither was it completely staid.

  The path and drive were swept of snow, prompting thoughts of Mal struggling with a shovel. Did he have a blower? Maybe he used a service.

  Why the hell was Brian sitting in his car wondering who shoveled Mal’s walk?

  Brian grabbed the bag of stuff he’d spent thirty minutes dithering over and got out of his car. The wind chose that moment to whistle down the street. Drawing his shoulders up to protect his ears, Brian made short work of the front walk and prodded the buzzer. Mal opened the door a second later.

  “Were you sitting on the stairs or something?” Brian asked.

  “Pretty much. If I got all comfortable on the couch, your ass would be frozen by the time I got to the door.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Brian hustled inside and started removing his shoes.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Mal protested.

  Brian gave him a quick grin. “Just making myself comfortable.”

  Like the outside, the inside of the house said a lot about Mal. Or rather confirmed several details. The main level—a handful of steps up—spread out in an open and inviting manner. Brian could see into the kitchen, but not the sink, thankfully. No one wanted to see a stack of dirty dishes from the front door. Instead, arresting his attention from the kitchen was the seemingly endless expanse of wide plank flooring that made the space feel larger than it was. Mal had a good-sized living area, a dining area separated by a couple of columns, and beyond that, another small seating arrangement that obviously took advantage of the tall windows lining the back of the house, and the morning sun that probably streamed through them. The color scheme was light and bright; the rugs outlining each space muted but not boring. The furniture didn’t all match, but nor did it clash. It had the look of being collected over the years and, like the house, was well cared for.