by Meg Harding
He wasn’t going to survive spending the day like this, let alone the rest of the week. He stared at the ceiling, frustration eating away at him. There was a list of things he needed to do, and sure they might not have been doctor sanctioned, but they were necessary. Life didn’t stop just because of an injury. And they’d said it themselves. Cole’s concussion was mild. This was all precautionary.
He explained this to his keepers, and they went right on ignoring him. He didn’t even get ear twitches to show they were listening.
“A bath,” he said, thinking aloud. “I can take a bath. That’s not frowned upon.” And if he put some music on, low volume of course, no one had to be the wiser. He tried to move his legs. “I’ll give everyone treats if they let me go.”
The magic word did the trick.
Moving around wasn’t pleasant. Cole was stiff from all the time spent lying down or sitting. His bones might not have actually creaked, but he imagined they came pretty close. He waited till he was in the bathroom to take a gander at his body in the full length mirror hanging on the back of the door.
It was the first time he’d seen his reflection since the accident yesterday morning.
His face was… not pretty. His forehead was red, and the stitches were dark against his skin. There were more than a few of them. He’d been joking with Patrick about the scarring, but it was going to. Hell, he was going to have a Harry Potter type thing going on when the stitches came out. The bridge of his nose was cut, and it was tender to the touch, though not broken. His bottom lip was puffy.
Stealing himself—he could feel them even though he hadn’t seen them—he lifted his shirt painstakingly over his head. His torso was black and blue. The burn marks were small, mostly on his collarbones and his arms, little raw patches of flesh that stung. The pain was worse around his ribs, the bruises the darkest there, going all the way through to the bone. He felt the ache with every deep breath he took, so he tried to keep them shallow.
His lower half had fared the best by far. A few scattered bruises, a scratch on his knee from who knew what, and that was all.
It could have been a lot worse.
His hair stood on end and he shivered. He’d had a lot worse. Hospital walls and steady beeping. The prick of IVs. Everyone talking around him. Hazy pain and the sound of crying. So much crying. Nauseous at the memory, he turned away from the mirror. All he had of that time were brief snatches, closer to sensation than recollection. He didn’t remember the event itself, though he’d heard the retelling from others. Twenty-one. That’s how old he was, and he’d been at a club. If he’d gone with any specific reason in mind, it had been lost to the black of that night. The attack had come after. He’d left the club with a guy, and they’d been jumped on the walk to his place. Cole had been in a coma for two weeks and three days. He’d awoken confused and in pain, unable to recall anything other than the sensation of dread, of panic, no matter how much anyone prodded. Eventually they’d given up and called it a mercy.
In the grand scheme of things, this was far better, even if it had felt awful.
He switched the lights off and lit the candles he kept under the sink, scattering them around the room. He picked a classical station on Spotify, and the soft strains of Mozart drifted through the room. The tub was full, and he dropped a bath bomb into it, watched the dark colors swirl out and take over. Sinking into the water was both pleasure and pain. The heat against his burns and scratches was unpleasant, but against his muscles it was heaven. Cole tilted his head against the lip of the tub and sank everything else into the warmth.
He was capable of relaxing.
When he closed his eyes, he saw a list of everything he needed to do.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t. Cole sighed and reopened them to stare at his distorted reflection in the faucet. He needed to call his parents. It’s what a good son would do. Then again, he hadn’t been one of those in a while. The mere thought of them caused a dull throbbing in his head. He’d always thought midlife crises were over exaggerated, but his parents’ had hit theirs a few years ago and it didn’t show signs of slowing.
They’d started with a divorce. Cole had—mistakenly—gotten involved. They were his parents, and despite being an adult, the idea of them not being a unit hit him hard in the chest and sent panic racing through him. So he’d tried to mediate. Then his dad met a woman about Cole’s age, and next thing Cole knew, he had a baby sister. His mom’s head had just about exploded from the indignation. She’d started going out and partying like she was twenty, not well into her fifties. She hadn’t talked to Cole for a month after he’d served as best man at his dad’s wedding. As if Cole had betrayed her.
In self-defense, Cole had limited contact with them to holidays and random, rare check-ins. When the pod people who had stolen his parents left, then Cole would test the waters. Until then, he was Switzerland.
If he told them about this, one if not both would fly to see him.
Cole grimaced. Yeah, maybe ignorance on their parts would be bliss on his this time around.
“You’re supposed to be chilling out,” he said aloud, as if that would somehow make it easier.
Mozart played on, and his thoughts kept whirling like background noise.
There was a stranger in Zander’s house. She sat cross-legged on the floor with Savanah and what looked like the entire contents of Savanah’s toy trunk. There were stuffed animals and Barbies and dinosaurs everywhere. They appeared to be having tea. The girl—and that’s what she was, she couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen—was facing Savanah, a cup in her hand and her pinkie finger held out.
She swiveled to stare at him when he stopped in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and muddy brown. She set the cup down and then stood, crossing the room to him with a big, braces filled smile. “Hi. You must be Savanah’s dad.” She held her hand out.
“I….” Zander accepted the handshake. “Who’re you? Where’s Grace?” A glance over her shoulder showed Savanah not paying him the slightest bit of attention. She was busy holding court with the dinosaurs. Obviously Savanah was fine and not at all bothered by the presence of this stranger.
That made one of them.
The girl took a bouncy step back, still smiling. “I’m Daphne. From next door. Grace gave me a twenty to keep Savanah company till you got home. She had an appointment.”
“She had an appointment,” repeated Zander, brain working to process this.
“Yeah. A doctor’s, I think? It’s cool. I’ve watched Savanah before. She’s a good kid. We’ve already finished her homework and everything.”
Zander’s right eye twitched. He forced a smile. It wasn’t Daphne’s fault he hadn’t known about her. There was no need to take out his unpleasant feelings of surprise on her. “Well, uh, thank you.”
“No problem.” She turned to Savanah. “See you later, Sav.”
Savanah didn’t look away from what she was doing. “Bye, Daph.” She wiggled her stuffed T-Rex’s arm. “Cujo says bye, too.”
Zander waited till he heard the sound of the door closing behind Daphne. He propped his shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his legs at the ankles. “How long has Daphne been babysitting you?” He’d hired Grace months ago for when Maria couldn’t watch Savanah.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like her.” Cujo, controlled by Savanah, knocked over a teddy bear. “I like when she comes over. She always lets me pick what we do.”
Zander wondered how many times Daphne had been in his house when he’d thought it was Grace there instead. He had a scathing call to make. Grace wouldn’t be invited back. Shoving down panic at what maniac could have ended up watching his daughter, Zander took a seat where Daphne had vacated. Savanah was fine and Daphne appeared to be well adjusted and mature. It was okay.
“How was school?”
He was sitting across from her, and this finally got him eye contact. “Mr. Whitaker’s supposed to be back after the weekend.”
Zander�
��s stomach definitely didn’t get all fluttery at the mention of Cole. He’d been absent for a week and a half now, and Savanah had been filled with nothing but complaints about the substitute. The voicemails on his phone let him know the substitute had returned the sentiment. Savanah wasn’t bullying the other students, but she had taken to sassing the sub. It was progress… of a sort. She wasn’t going to be getting student of the week anytime soon.
“Are you excited?” he asked, handing her the zebra next to his leg when she made grabby hands.
She nodded vehemently. Her hair bobbed with her. “Jay said her mom’s going to bake cookies for him.”
“That’s sweet of her.” She was probably trying to flirt with him. Too bad, it wouldn’t get her anywhere. Zander might not know who Cole was now, but he knew for a fact the only sex Cole was interested in involved another man.
“And Faith’s mom is going to bring lemon bars.” She’d slipped the slightest inflection into her tone, and she was looking up at him from beneath her long lashes.
Zander knew when he was being worked. “You want to make something for him?” The prospect absolutely did not raise any kind of proprietary competitiveness in him. While he was no longer in the closet, and he’d admitted to himself men weren’t a rebellious phase some years ago, Cole came from a time in his life he didn’t need to revisit. He had no claim to him, and to try for something now would be insane. At the core of it all, they were the same people they’d been then. Zander didn’t believe in permanency.
Savanah’s crooked grin reminded him of an imp. “Yes. I want it to be the best.”
He laughed. Savanah had gotten his competitiveness in spades and had no compunction about it. “What do you want to make?” He didn’t know much—or anything, honestly—about baking, but he figured it couldn’t be that hard. It was just following directions, after all.
She was very serious as she thought it over, her brows furrowed and her pointy chin propped on her fist. “What would he like?” she asked, minutes later. “What do guys eat?”
Zander tugged her into his lap, wrapping an arm around her waist. She settled against him, tipping her head against his shoulder to stare at him. “Guys eat the same things girls eat,” he said, wondering where she’d gotten the idea otherwise from.
Her little nose wrinkled. “Mom always made something different for guys. She said ribs and things were unladylike.”
Savanah rarely brought up her mother, and when she did it always hit Zander in a tender spot. He hadn’t loved the woman. She’d been nothing more than a drunken fling. He’d had to look her up after Savanah appeared, and parts of the night he’d spent with her were hazy and unclear once he realized and thought back. He remembered her tight black dress and her mile-high heels. They’d been in Brussels, him on a free weekend and her, he didn’t know. Research had revealed she worked in advertising, liked nights out—if the various club pictures on her Facebook profile were indications—and she lived in New York. There hadn’t been one mention of Savanah on her page.
He imagined she must have found him in much the same way. Their contact had all been through lawyers after that. Zander had initiated the process, and while she hadn’t spoken directly to him, she’d been more than happy to begin the process of releasing her custody. Maybe one day he’d be able to ask why she hadn’t wanted Savanah. Why in god’s name had she thought Zander would be a fit parent? He had the feeling the responses would only upset him. And what… what if she decided she wanted Savanah back? Papers or no, he wouldn’t deny Savanah her mother.
He shut down that thought immediately, slamming a door mentally. He was not going there.
“Maybe she didn’t like those things,” he said, for lack of anything better. “If you want ribs, I’ll make you ribs.” He’d need to stick her in a poncho or something to protect her clothes. He’d seen her eat ice cream, and that wasn’t near as messy.
“Really?”
“Of course.” He kissed the side of her face, smiling as she giggled. “You have to eat your veggies, though.”
She stuck her tongue out. “Boo.” She dug her elbow into his stomach. “What about Mr. Whitaker? What’re we going to do for him?”
Zander rested his chin on her shoulder, grabbing her arm to keep her from assaulting him again. “Hmm.” What had Cole liked? He’d been a chocolate fiend, always dragging Zander into the stores that smelled so heavily of it one could barely breathe. They’d steered clear of the German bakeries. “How about brownies?” He could make those from a box.
“I like those.” Her hair tickled his cheek.
“You want to make a box to keep here?” he asked, having a good idea what her next question would be.
“Yes!”
Chapter 6
Because teachers were, essentially, insane, the first field trip of the school year took place at an amusement park. Returned to teaching and with the stitches freshly removed from his forehead, Cole almost wished he’d been out long enough to miss the trip. There was hectic, and then there was thirty children under the age of six running loose at Universal. Plus parents. How could Cole forget the parents?
He’d been back for a little over two weeks, and nearly every student had brought him in dessert or a meal by this point. Cole sincerely appreciated the gesture, but it left him trying to organize children into groups while answering the parents’ questions about how he’d liked their food. If they weren’t quizzing him on his enjoyment of the brownies or cookies they’d made, they were asking him how they were supposed to control the kids or remarking on his shiny new scar. More than a few tried to talk cars with him.
Cole felt like screaming.
The urge only got stronger when Savanah bounced her way through the door towing along a rigid Zander. Literally, Zander looked as if someone had inserted a metal rod where his spine used to be. He wasn’t sure how much fun any children placed in Zander’s group would be having.
Running a hand through his hair, Cole tried to gather himself. This was far from his first rodeo, and just because his life had gone wonky in the last few weeks didn’t mean he suddenly forgot how to do his job. He stepped onto a chair and whistled sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. He waited a moment for silence. “Hi, all. I know for many of you this might be your first time chaperoning.” He went through a brief run down on the order of things before bending to retrieve his clipboard from the desk. “Now I’ve got your assigned groups. There will be four to five children per group. Please don’t lose them.”
The parents all laughed—save for Zander with his slightly horrified expression, who Cole’s gaze kept straying to—and Cole wished he’d been joking.
Once groups were assigned, they headed to meet the couple hundred other students embarking on the trip at the bus loop. It was a kindergarten to grade three trip, and the drive would take about an hour and a half. Cole exchanged more than one glance of commiseration with his fellow teachers.
The students filed onto the buses first, Cole standing by the door and checking off names as they went. Once they’d all taken seats, the parents came on. A couple went to sit with their children, while others grouped together to chat amongst themselves. Cole watched the seats filling with a growing sense of anxiety. Savanah had taken a seat at the end of the bus, next to Harper, a member of her group and perhaps the only student she hadn’t terrorized in some way yet.
That left two seats at the front, and of course Zander was the last adult to board.
The problem wasn’t that Cole didn’t want to sit next to Zander. It was how much he did. Cole’s response to Zander’s presence was damn near Pavlovian. He saw Zander, and at the same time his brain screamed “bad idea” the far more emotionally controlled part of him begged for “just one touch.” Cole had spent over half his life letting his feelings rule, and they hadn’t led him anywhere good. Now, with Zander back in the picture, was definitely not the time to let go of years of hard won self-control.
What Cole had said while in the hospital
was true—Zander was a good person when it came down to it. It might take him time, but Zander eventually came around to what was right. He’d never tolerated injustice, and he’d always tried his hardest. But he was a stubborn ass, and if he deemed something was in his way, it wasn’t going to be there for long.
Cole did not want to be the obstacle in Zander’s path again. One time was more than enough, thanks very much.
So, as Cole took the seat beside the bane of his existence, he tried not to think about the body heat Zander was generating. He told himself not to obsess over the way their legs were brushing through their jeans—unavoidable with the way Zander sprawled—and their shoulders knocked. Every minute shift of Zander’s body shouldn’t have pinged on Cole’s radar. The contact shouldn’t have left Cole holding his breath and reciting numeric tables in his head.
Zander’s presence created a tangible buzz under Cole’s skin, an awareness of the other man that was all consuming and completely absurd. Without consciously paying attention, Cole could tell anyone who asked that Zander had sighed twice since Cole had sat down, he’d scratched his stubbled jaw five times, licked his lips three, and he smelled like warm cinnamon and fresh detergent.
A glance at his phone showed Cole it had been a whole five minutes. Just eighty-five more to go.
Zander cleared his throat, and Cole fixated on the store fronts passing by. He could see Zander’s reflection in the glass, layered over the businesses of St. Pete. He had his teeth worrying on his bottom lip, and his eyes were hooded, thoughtful. Their gazes met. Zander parted his lips. “How’s your head?”
“It’s fine, thanks.” Cole twisted his fingers together in his lap. He was better than this. He was an adult now, and he needed to act like one. He twisted in his seat, putting his back to the window and giving Zander his full attention. It was time to put the past firmly behind him. They weren’t those kids anymore. “I got lucky. Just a minor concussion.” The release of tension in Zander’s shoulders at Cole’s response was noticeable, and it cemented Cole’s decision. For the next several months, Cole would be teaching this man’s daughter. He wouldn’t make it painful for either of them.
