by Dan Wingreen
“I don’t, actually. It can’t be much different than letting him go over to a friend’s house unless you ask all his friend’s parents if they’re going to molest him.”
So much for not being waspish.
Spencer crossed his arms. “Maybe I would have if he ever had any friends.”
Tim frowned. “He doesn’t have friends?”
“Apparently not.” Spencer sighed. “It’s part of the reason why we’re here. I was hoping that being around someone who isn’t me would help him open up to people his own age. You might not have noticed with the way he was bitching me out, but Connor is a really shy kid. Even worse than I was at his age, which is saying something. He’s being harassed in school too, and I just found out he’s scared of crowds, and I have no idea what to do about any of that and—” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “And I’m not here so I can complain to you. Sorry.”
Tim hated how every word Spencer spoke dug another hook of sympathy into his heart. He really was just a dad trying to do the best he could by his kid, and considering he was here and the words “wife” or “mother” hadn’t crossed his lips yet, Tim probably wouldn’t have been reaching to assume he was a single dad either.
“It’s not a bad thing to unload on someone,” Tim said, completely against his better judgment. “But you’re right that I’m here for Connor before anyone else.”
“And that’s good,” Spencer said with a small smile. “He needs that. And definitely from someone who isn’t his father.”
“Then I don’t think we need to waste any more time talking about what happened today,” Tim said. “We’ll just chalk it up to nerves and put it behind us, okay?”
Which was Tim’s attempt at salving his pride by not having to actually say the words “I forgive you,” but it was a mostly empty gesture as most pride-saving gestures tended to be. Even if he didn’t say the words out loud, Tim was well aware he’d pretty much forgiven Spencer the second he saw how much he cared about his son.
“That sounds great.” Spencer smiled up at him, tossing a few black curls out of his eyes. A moment later, the smile dimmed. “Oh, uh, one more thing you probably need to know. It doesn’t happen a lot, but sometimes Connor has short mild panic attacks. They’re not that bad, but you should know how to deal—”
“I know how to handle panic attacks,” Tim assured him.
“Good. And, um, I wasn’t trying to tell you how to do your job, or anything,” he said, wincing. “Or assuming I knew more about it than you did. Because it pisses me off when people do that to me, and I’d hate it if anything I said came off like I was doing that, so…yeah.”
Tim nearly smiled. He’s almost kind of awkwardly cute when he’s not accusing me of wanting to rape children.
“Don’t worry about it. I know what you meant, Mister…” And now Tim was the one feeling awkward. I don’t know his last name, do I?
“Kent,” Spencer supplied. “Spencer Kent. I…probably should have said that earlier.”
This time, Tim did smile. It was small, but he still couldn’t help feeling like he was being a pushover. Tim was terrible at holding grudges, even when it was in his best interest—it was part of the reason Rudy lasted as long as he did.
“We both probably should have. Tim Ellis, by the way.” Kent. Spencer and Connor Kent. Why do those names sound familiar? A moment later it clicked. “Connor Kent. Did you name your son after Superboy?”
Spencer seemed surprised for a moment and then laughed. “You know, I think you’re actually the first person who’s ever picked up on that.”
“You mean I was right? You really named your son after a comic book character?”
That was…kind of adorable.
“I was fourteen,” Spencer said wryly. “It was either a comic character or Darth Vader.”
Tim’s breath caught in his throat.
Fourteen? He had Spencer when he was fourteen?
He knew Spencer had to have been a young dad, but he hadn’t guessed that young. Suddenly, he very badly wanted to ask what had happened, but once again, his professionalism held him back. He wasn’t here to satisfy his curiosity. He was here to be a friend to Connor, who they’d already left alone long enough.
Still, he couldn’t hold back all his questions.
“Why not Clark?” Tim asked. “Then he’d be Superman.”
“And make him go through school with the name Clark Kent?” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “I might be an asshole, but I’m not a monster.”
Tim very quickly decided there was no good way he could respond to that. “So, when were you planning on picking Connor up?” he asked instead.
“Is it okay to leave him here for two hours?”
“I’m free all afternoon,” Tim said, somewhat surprised. After his earlier outburst, he’d expected Spencer wouldn’t want Connor here longer than it took to walk down the block to get a cup of coffee. “That seems a bit long for a first meeting though. Are you sure he’s gonna be okay with that?”
“I’ve got a shit ton of grading to get through, and I’d really like to get my work done before we have the fight I’m pretty sure we’re gonna have about the whole pedo thing.” Spencer raked his fingers through his curls. “And, honestly, it’ll probably take at least that long for you to get him to do more than grunt or stare at the table.”
Grading? This guy’s a teacher?
“That’s good to know, but it’s not what I asked.” Tim tried not to be disappointed Spencer didn’t even consider how his son would feel being left here with a stranger for two hours. “I asked if Connor would be okay with that.”
Spencer stared at him for the longest time before shaking his head and letting out a self-deprecating laugh.
“What?”
“Oh nothing, just realizing the guy I called a child rapist is actually a really good fucking person,” he said, sounding more than a little disgusted. “Fuck.”
“I thought we were putting that behind us?” Tim didn’t even care if he was being a pushover anymore. Seeing those big hazel eyes swimming with regret felt like getting socked in the stomach, and he needed to get this conversation back into the realm of professionalism before he forgot which of the Kent men he was supposed to be comforting. “Part of putting it behind us means not beating yourself up over it.”
Spencer shook his head again. “If you’re trying to make me feel like shit, you’re doing a great job.”
“I’m—”
“That was a joke,” Spencer added quickly. “And yeah, Connor will be fine with being here for two hours. We talked about it before we left.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s good.” Tim nodded, falling back into his responsible caregiver persona with a sense of relief he hoped to God didn’t show on his face. “But if Connor wants to come back after today, we should probably work out a schedule. I’m free most afternoons, but I’m not always here.”
“We can talk about that if the kid wants to come back,” Spencer said, not sounding too optimistic about the prospect. He sighed, opened his mouth, then paused and let out a little laugh. “I was about to ask if I need to drop him off every time, but since everyone seems so surprised that I’m here, I guess that’d be a no.”
Tim felt his lips twitch. “You really didn’t read any of those papers, did you? Everything about the program is written down right there.”
“Right.” Spencer flushed ever so slightly. “I have copies in my back pocket…”
“Maybe you should read them.”
“I’m thinking probably, yeah.” He snorted. “All right. It’s definitely time to go before I embarrass myself or the kid even more.” He chewed his bottom lip for a moment, and then added, “Just…he’s a really good kid, okay? Don’t hold me against him.”
“I don’t judge any of the kids who come here, Mr. Kent,” Tim said. “And I’m not about to start because of something someone else did.”
If he hadn’t already been accused of being a child molester, Tim mi
ght have been insulted by how relieved Spencer looked.
“Right. So…I guess I’ll see you in a few hours, then.” He hesitated and then held out his hand.
After a short hesitation of his own, Tim shook it. Spencer’s skin was incredibly smooth with a slight slickness to it that could only come from recently applied hand lotion. It was something Tim had noticed when they’d shook hands earlier too. They let go, and Spencer made his way back to Connor. He leaned down, said something, and then gave him a quick hug, which Connor shrugged off violently. Spencer took it in stride, ruffling his son’s hair before saying something else and walking toward the door and Tim.
“Good luck with the kid,” he said as he passed. Tim watched him leave and then turned to Connor. The boy still sat at the table, his head down as he picked at the seam in his jeans. His hand stilled when Tim sat down across from him, but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge Tim at all.
“Hey,” Tim said, as casually as he could. He smiled even though he was sure Connor wouldn’t glance up long enough to see it.
Connor made a noise that might have been a mumbled word, but Tim wouldn’t have put money on it. Spencer wasn’t lying about the shyness, then. But that was okay. Tim had dealt with plenty of shy kids in his life, and he was always good at getting them to open up. A sudden surge of confidence welled up in his chest.
Nothing but grunts for two hours, huh? Just watch me, Spencer Kent. I’ll have him talking in half that.
“So—”
“I’m sorry about my dad,” Connor muttered.
Tim blinked.
That was easy.
“You really don’t need to apologize for him.”
Connor scoffed quietly. “Not like he’s gonna say sorry.”
Tim pursed his lips. Center policy said not to badmouth any of the children’s parents in front of them no matter what, and Tim had always extended that to not saying anything about their parents at all unless he was asked a specific question; even then, he kept his answers as nonjudgmental as possible. He didn’t know the parents personally, and it wasn’t his place to put himself between family members. Unfortunately, making a noncommittal noise and gently shifting the conversation was a lot harder when he’d actually talked to one of the parents. Undoubtedly, Spencer was an asshole; the guy even admitted it himself. The problem was, from what Tim could tell, he was also a father who really cared about his son. Despite his better judgment, Tim couldn’t help wanting to try fixing their relationship.
“Actually, he already apologized before he left.”
“Bullshit.” Connor glanced up at him through dark curls with eyes the exact same shade of hazel as his father’s. In fact, aside from his slightly darker skin tone and what seemed to be a bit of Asian heritage, everything about him was the spitting image of Spencer. “Apologizing would mean admitting he was wrong, and he never does that about anything big. Especially not to strangers.”
“He did to me,” Tim said with a shrug. Judging by Connor’s expression, he clearly didn’t believe him. “Do you think I’m lying?”
“Probably.”
“But why would I?”
“Because he told you to?” Connor’s tone heavily implied Tim was an idiot for asking. “He hired you to talk to me, so that basically means he’s your boss, right?”
“It doesn’t work like that. This is a nonpr—”
“Nonprofit volunteer thing, yeah, I know. But you still have to do what he says, or he can get you fired.”
Tim chuckled. “Neither one of you read those papers, did you? That’s not at all how this works. Yeah, he signed you up for the program, but he has no say in anything I do. He can pull you out, refuse to bring you back, request someone else be your Big Brother—but he can’t get me fired. I’m not here for him. I’m here for you. So, I have no reason at all to lie to you.”
“Doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“Of course it does. I know it sounds stupid because we’re not related and we just met, but I’m your Big Brother. There are a lot of things that can mean, but honestly? All it really means to me is I’m here to hang out with you and talk with you—or just sit here without saying anything if that’s what you want. This is all about you. Whatever you want. But no matter what that is, personally, I’m hoping we can be friends. And maybe you’d disagree, but I don’t believe in lying to people I’m trying to be friends with.”
As he spoke, the belligerent gleam in Connor’s eyes slowly faded. It was replaced with an emotion Tim couldn’t identify before Connor’s gaze lowered back to the table. By the time Tim finished speaking, Connor had hunched in on himself and appeared to be even more uncomfortable than he’d been during Spencer’s outburst.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?”
“No one wants to be friends with me.”
Tim’s heart broke a little. If there was one part of volunteering with kids he hated, it was this. The words were always different—“I have no friends,” “my mom left,” “my dad won’t look at me”—but the tone never changed. Absolute resignation. A too-old, world-weary acceptance that they would never have love or companionship.
“Well, I do.”
The words weren’t enough, no matter how much Tim wished they were, but he’d always been good at following his words up with action. He only hoped Connor stuck around long enough for him to try.
Connor crossed his arms over his chest in a way he probably thought made him appear tough. To Tim, it seemed more like he was hugging himself.
“Why?”
Tim hesitated, the usual stock answers about every person being unique and worthy of friendship or love sticking in his throat. They seemed so disingenuous. Especially since, even though Tim believed those words wholeheartedly, if he said them this time, he’d be lying.
The “right” answers don’t seem to be working out for you so far. And you did promise you wouldn’t lie.
Tim took a deep breath. “Honestly? Because I’ve been having a shitty few months, and I could really use a friend right now.”
Connor glanced up. “So…you’re the one who needs a therapist?”
Tim barked out a surprised laugh. “Probably,” he admitted. Connor ducked his head, but not before Tim saw his lips twitch. “Mostly though, I just need someone to talk to who isn’t my boss or trying to guilt me into coming home for Christmas.”
“Your boss is guilting you into coming home for Christmas?”
“No.” If anything, she’d be trying to get me to spend Christmas with her family. “That would be my mom.”
“She’s already talking about Christmas? It’s still September!”
“Thank you!” Tim said a little bit louder than he’d meant to. White-hot vindication surged through his veins, and he had to fight to keep from slapping the table like some kind of eighteenth-century politician arguing a bill in front of Congress. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to say that over the phone?”
Connor flushed slightly, but he laughed too, so Tim counted it as a win. “No way.”
“All right,” Tim said, exaggerating his disappointment with a dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll just put on a fake voice and pretend to be you.”
Connor snorted. “Don’t you have other friends who can tell her she’s crazy?”
“Not anymore.”
Connor chewed his lip for a moment. “What happened?”
As if that isn’t the loaded question to end all loaded questions. Oh well, no sense holding back now, not when he’s opening up so nicely.
“My ex got them all in the breakup.”
“She took all your friends?”
“He,” Tim corrected automatically. He mentally cringed and waited for a reaction, but Connor didn’t even seem to notice. He was too busy looking appalled. Tim relaxed. “And he didn’t really take them; they were his to begin with.”
“That’s still crappy. If someone’s your friend, they shouldn’t stop being your friend just because you break up with their
other friend,” Connor said with the knowledgeable air of someone who had zero experience with what they were talking about, yet was sure they were 100 percent correct.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Tim said, hiding a smile. “And they were kind of awful, so I wasn’t really sorry to see them go.”
“Then why were you friends with them?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Tim hoped his smile didn’t come off as strained as it felt.
“That’s not an answer.”
Tim shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling incredibly defensive. “I thought you were supposed to be shy?”
“You’re not as scary as everyone else.” Connor crossed his arms. “Now, are you gonna answer me or not?”
Tim almost said no. There were about a dozen guidelines he could hide behind to keep from having to answer; a dozen ways he could slip past the scary probing words of the tiny teenage boy sitting in front of him. He’d probably be destroying any chance of building any kind of trust between them, but wasn’t that better than having to face the one question he’d been refusing to think about ever since he’d decided to leave Rudy?
No. You’ve already faced it. You just don’t want to think about what it says about you.
“Sometimes…” He licked his suddenly too-dry lips. “Sometimes it’s easier to go along with things you know are wrong when the people doing them make you feel like you matter. And it’s even easier when you’re in love with one of them.”
“Your boyfriend was one of the awful people?”
Tim snorted. “He was their king.”
Connor made a face. “Then why did you date him?”
Thankfully, this one had a much easier answer. “Because he wasn’t all bad, at first.” Connor seemed less than impressed, and Tim couldn’t help smiling despite the raw gaping wound he was prodding. “Relationships are probably the furthest thing in the world from black and white. If someone gets you to fall in love with them…” He stopped. Saying it like that implied more than a few things that weren’t true. As manipulative as Rudy could be, he was also strangely honest. The Rudy Tim had fallen for wasn’t very different from the Rudy he hoped he never saw again: sexy and charming and toxic in equal, uninhibited measures. The only thing that changed was Rudy’s decision to focus the worst parts of his personality on Tim, instead of the best. “When you fall in love with someone,” he corrected, “it’s really easy to ignore things about them that, in hindsight, are pretty big red flags.”
