by Dan Wingreen
Tim laughed. “So, what happened?”
“Nothing. The principal eventually got her to leave and told me to either call the kid whatever he wanted or ignore him for the rest of the year because he didn’t want to deal with this crap again.”
“I can’t picture you going along with that.”
“Oh, I went along with it. It was my second year, and I didn’t have tenure yet. What else could I do? I ignored the kid, complained to Cass, and then bumped his grade up at the end of the year so he’d pass, and I wouldn’t have to deal with him again.”
“Is that…legal?”
Spencer shrugged and then spread his arms. “Do I look like a lawyer?”
And that was when it happened.
Tim’s eyes flickered. Nothing more. Just a small glance up and down Spencer’s body. Most likely a completely unconscious action because Spencer had basically invited him to give him a once over. Nothing even remotely meaningful or suggestive about it.
Or there wasn’t until Tim finished his perusal, met Spencer’s eyes again, and froze like he’d just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
Was he checking me out?
The second he had the thought, Spencer wanted to smack himself. Of course he isn’t, you idiot. Don’t do the thing where just because you’re gay and he’s gay, you assume everything he does is because he wants to fuck you. Spencer hated that attitude, hated the general arrogance and shallowness he’d encountered during his brief time testing the waters of the so-called gay community in his younger years. He’d always swore he would never be like those people: the ones who sneered at his clothes because they were comfortable instead of fashionable, or who saw his height and his youthful face and assumed he was just another slutty brain-dead twink. Yet, here he was, doing the same damn crap to the only male friend he’d had since college.
Stop. You’re gonna drive him away because you’re misinterpreting shit. You somehow managed to get away with crying on his chest without things getting weird; if you start overanalyzing everything he does looking for hints of attraction that will never be there because you are unappealing, then you might as well just end this friendship now because you’re just going to ruin it like you ruin everything else.
Spencer nodded firmly at his mental pep talk and then made a point of meeting Tim’s eyes so he could say something funny and clever to completely defuse the situation and make everything normal again.
He has really nice eyes though.
The only thing that kept the sheer horror Spencer felt toward himself at manageable levels was the small bit of red he could see beginning to stain Tim’s cheeks. And that was all it took; just one small easily misconstrued hint that what he was feeling could, in some alternate universe, possibly, just ever so slightly, be returned. In no time at all, the air between them grew heavy and thick, but no magic joke or self-deprecating comment came to mind to cut through it. It hadn’t been so long that Spencer had forgotten what it felt like when a crush started forming. He’d probably rather use a more adult term, but the feeling was unmistakable, no matter what it was called. Like a long-unused switch had been flipped somewhere deep inside, Spencer went from This Is Tim, My Completely Normal Friend Who I Am In No Way Attracted To to Oh…Hi in less time than it took to blink. Before he could stop himself, he’d already started cataloging the things he liked about Tim with new crush-tinted glasses.
His eyes are so warm, and his smile is gorgeous. He likes to read. He’s great with Connor. He’s patient with me. He rolls with my bullshit and doesn’t care when I text him a hundred times a day. Buying groceries together is one of the highlights of my week. He’s never judged me, at least not since he’s gotten to know me. He held me when I didn’t even know I needed it, and I think he’s probably the only reason I’m not losing my mind about what happened to my kid today. Holy fucking shit. How did I never realize how perfect he is?
“Dad?”
The bright, shiny new-car smell of his feelings, the sudden awareness of all things Tim, the half-formed, panic-tinged thoughts of how are you ever gonna hide this so he doesn’t find out and reject the fuck out of you, everything came screeching to a halt as reality came crashing back in.
It took much longer than it should have for Spencer to be able to tear his eyes away from Tim, but when he did, he saw his battered son standing in the entryway to the living room, dressed in faded-green pajama pants and one of Spencer’s old Power Rangers T-shirts with his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
Spencer hadn’t felt so out of his depth as a parent since Connor was born. His kid had been upstairs for over an hour, beat up and probably crying, and what had he been doing? Trading funny stories and forming a crush. Jesus Christ, he was the worst dad ever.
“Hey, kid,” Spencer said. Guilt shot through him at the way Connor’s eyes widened when he took a few steps into the room and saw Tim sitting on the couch.
“What are you doing here?”
If Spencer had asked that, it would have come out rude and defensive, but the kid didn’t sound anything but confused and curious and…
Spencer had no idea how to explain why Tim was still here.
“I was just talking to your dad a bit,” Tim said with an easy smile. Spencer tensed, but instead of taking it badly and getting upset that he’d basically been ignored, like Spencer would have, Connor visibly relaxed.
“Oh,” he said, glancing back and forth between them. He shifted in place, and bad parent or not, Spencer knew that meant he wanted to say something but was embarrassed to bring it up.
“It’s getting kind of late. I should probably get going,” Tim said, giving Spencer a quick, knowing smile. For a moment, he thought Tim had found out about his crush, but before he could panic, he realized he’d probably just read Connor the way Spencer had and decided to give them time alone.
Spencer almost choked on the surge of affection that welled up inside him.
Tim got up and walked over to Connor, giving him a short one-armed bro hug. Which looked more than a little hilarious with how much he had to bend over to do it.
“Maybe we could try getting a costume after school tomorrow?” he asked.
Connor blinked, glanced at Spencer, and then shrugged. “Maybe.”
Tim grinned and ruffled Connor’s hair. That got a reaction, and Connor scowled as he tried to get his curls back in some kid of order. It was such a normal thing for Connor to do, and Spencer could have kissed Tim for being so great with him.
Thankfully, he was still too worried about his son to blush. Much.
“Text me later, okay?” Tim asked. It took Spencer a second to realize he was talking to him. “About costume shopping?”
“Oh, right. Yeah. Sure.”
Tim smiled. “See you later then, guys.”
And before Spencer could do more than echo his goodbye, Tim left. A moment later, he heard the front door open and close. Leaving him alone with Connor.
“Hey, kid,” Spencer said softly. “You wanna take a seat?”
Connor didn’t even nod, just walked over and sat down exactly where Tim had been sitting and wrapped his arms around his knees. Nope, not thinking about Tim now. Time to forget your stupid, doomed crush and focus on your son.
“Are you gonna tell people?” Connor asked after a short silence.
Spencer held back a sigh. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation at all. “You know I have to.”
“But why?”
“Because I can’t teach class and worry about you at the same time.”
Connor’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to make my life hell because of your job?”
The kid seemed so insulted, and Spencer had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from letting out a totally inappropriate laugh.
“No, I’m going to protect you because I’m your dad, and I love you, and that’s my job.”
“So, yes then.” Connor scowled and crossed his arms.
Spencer couldn’t hold back
an eye roll—kid was way too much of a smart ass for his own good—but he managed to otherwise ignore the comment. “It’s either I tell the principal what’s been going on, or I follow you around and walk you to and from every single one of your classes including lunch, which we’ll be eating together in my classroom.”
“That’s not fair!”
“No. What’s not fair is that my son got punched in the face, and I can’t call the cops on the people who did it because technically he started it. I’ve kept quiet for this long because you begged me to, and you swore it wasn’t that bad and said you could handle it.”
“I can!” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was,” Connor said, pouting.
“No, kid. ‘Handling it’ and ‘suppressing how bad it makes me feel until I snap and hit someone’ are two different things. We tried it your way.” And I never should have. Jesus Christ I’m a terrible parent. “Now, we’re doing it mine.”
“Even if I get pulled out of your class, and you get in trouble?”
Spencer didn’t so much as blink. “Even if.”
“Even if it means they beat me up every day because you got them in trouble?”
“If they do that, I’ll keep sending them to the principal until they get expelled.” Spencer made sure to stare Connor right in the eye, so he knew how serious he was. “No matter what I have to do, you’re going to feel safe at school. Understand?”
“I’m safe now,” Connor insisted. Spencer didn’t even try to hide his disbelief. “No, really! They’re not gonna punch me in school because they know they can get in trouble. They never hit me before, and they’re not gonna start now.”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
Spencer sighed. “What’s the rule about lying?”
“I’m not lying!”
“The rule, Connor.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then tell me.”
“Ugh! Fine. As long as I don’t lie, I won’t get in trouble for things.”
“Too much trouble,” Spencer corrected. “Now the second part, come on.”
“And if I get caught lying, I’ll get grounded for twice as long,” Connor recited, sounding bored. “But I’m not lying.”
“You said, and I quote—”
Connor groaned.
“—and I quote, ‘I’m getting beat up by a girl, are you happy?’ Getting beat up, Con. Meaning it’s an ongoing process. That doesn’t really fill me with a lot of confidence about you being safe.”
“Oh my God. Did you ever think that maybe I said it wrong? Can you maybe stop being an English teacher for five goddamn seconds? I—”
“Hey! Watch your language,” Spencer scolded. “I’m a literature teacher, not an English teacher.”
Connor made a noise like a strangled cat. “You’re an asshole!”
“That’s it, go to your room.” Spencer internally cringed at how TV dad he sounded. “And keep your door open and your video games off.”
“Fine!” Connor jumped up off the couch and started to stomp out of the room.
“Wait! Get back here.”
In true teenage-drama-queen fashion, Connor stomped back over mumbling under his breath about people who can’t make up their fucking minds. Spencer stood up and crossed his arms.
“Shirt off.”
“What?”
“I told you I was checking you over after Tim left. I might have let it go, but now that you’re lying to me, I need to make sure you’re not hiding any other injuries.”
Connor gaped at him. Spencer knew what he was doing could, from a certain point of view, be considered mildly unfair. He didn’t give a shit. On the best of days, he hated being lied to, and he hated fighting with Connor, and this was definitely not the best of days. If he couldn’t be the cool, fun parent, then he was damn sure going to be the overprotective one. It wasn’t like there was anyone else to fill the role.
An image of Tim standing in this very living room and refusing to let him lie to Spencer popped into his head. He ruthlessly pushed it away.
“Now.”
Connor started to shake, from anger or frustration or humiliation Spencer didn’t know, and pulled his shirt off in jerky movements before throwing it on the ground.
Spencer’s breath hitched.
The entire left side of his son’s skinny little chest was completely black and blue. Spencer’s hand shook as he reached out and gently touched Connor’s ribs. His son flinched, and Spencer didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or punch the wall.
“Does that hurt?” he asked quietly.
“Of course it hurts,” Connor snapped, looking at everything in the room but Spencer. “And I’m gonna be like this every day if you—”
“Take a deep breath,” Spencer said, cutting him off. He’d heard it all before. “Does it hurt any more when you breathe?”
“No.”
Spencer nodded. “Okay. Good. Your ribs are probably fine then.”
I have no idea how. Jesus Christ, he’s so skinny. There’s not even a tiny bit of fat or muscle to protect his bones.
Connor had his shirt back on almost before Spencer had finished speaking.
“I told you.”
“Room,” Spencer said. “Door open. No TV.”
“I heard you the first time.” Connor glared, and Spencer had to fight not to cringe at the utter loathing in his eyes. As he stomped out of the room for a second time, he said, just loudly enough for Spencer to hear, “I can’t believe I’m getting grounded for getting beat up.”
Anger roared to life inside Spencer.
“You’re grounded because you’re a lying little smart-ass!” Spencer screamed after him. Instead of answering, Connor ran up the stairs and kicked his door so hard Spencer swore he heard the wood splinter. He had to grab the edge of the entryway to keep from running up after him and yelling some more, maybe even taking a book out of his own days of hormone-fueled rage and putting a few holes in the wall. It would feel good—so good, better than good, nothing felt better than letting his anger have free rein—but he’d never lost his temper with Connor, not like that; not to the point where he needed to be cruel to keep from feeling like he was being eaten alive by bile and spite. He took several deep breaths and forced himself to sit down on the couch. The late-afternoon sun shone in a bright halo around the edges of the room-darkening curtains, and Spencer had to blink several times to make sure he was actually seeing it. Surely it couldn’t still be light out? It felt like years had passed since Tim had brought Connor home, not less than two hours.
“Shit,” he said to no one in particular. He’d meant it to be bitter and scathing and everything he couldn’t be around Connor, but the voice echoing off his narrow living-room walls only sounded sad and defeated and old.
Spencer dropped his head into his hands and wished with everything he was that Tim hadn’t left. He’d risk his stupid crush being found out a thousand times over if he could have just a little longer to hide in his arms.
Long silent minutes passed until his muffled text tone—the sound of a lightsaber igniting—broke him out of his increasingly morose thoughts. He fished around between his couch cushions until he found his phone. His lock screen was a picture of Connor from the previous summer when they took a trip to Washington DC and spent a whole week exploring one Smithsonian museum a day. The kid was crouched in front of the Apollo 11 command module, grinning up into the camera so wide his delicate, almond-shaped eyes were almost completely shut.
Spencer’s heart lurched, and he quickly unlocked his phone.
In his inbox was a single text from Tim.
TIM: Hey, how did everything go? Is Connor okay?
Spencer stared down at his phone until long after it relocked itself. Hours later, when the sunlight seeping around his curtains faded until it was overtaken by the dim glow of the streetlights, he still had no idea how to answer.
Chapter Nine
Tim barely had enough time to take his finger off the
Kent’s doorbell before the front door flew open, and a tiny Spider-Man raced past him and stomped down the steps.
“Come on,” Spider-Man barked as he came to a stop on the sidewalk. He crossed his arms, causing the large Halloween-themed bag in his hand to bounce off his hip, and refused to so much as glance back at the house. Tim held back a sigh and turned toward the still-open door, completely unsurprised to see Spencer standing just inside, staring right past Tim. His eyes were pinched with stress at the corners, and his hair stuck up wildly, like he’d been running his fingers through it constantly. He looked…worn.
“Still not talking to you?” Tim asked.
Spencer snorted. “Oh, he’s talking. Getting more grounded every time he opens his mouth, but he’s talking.”
Tim smiled sympathetically even though he hadn’t really expected anything different.
The last few days after Connor had gotten attacked hadn’t been the best for either of the Kent men. Spencer was still seething over the school administration refusing to do anything about the assault because it hadn’t happened on school grounds, or the bullying because there were no witnesses, and Connor refused to talk about it. Connor was still pissed Spencer had even reported it in the first place and infuriated that he’d started following Connor around and refused to let him out of his sight when they weren’t at home. They’d had some pretty epic fights in the days leading up to Halloween—Tim hadn’t been there for them, but he had about a hundred texts from both Connor and Spencer complaining about each one—and Tim was pretty sure the only reason Spencer was letting him take Connor out trick-or-treating like they’d been planning was because they might actually end up killing each other if they stayed locked in the House of Tension, as Spencer called it, for another night.
Tim couldn’t help being depressed by the whole situation. Spencer and Connor had a great relationship, and Tim’s heart broke to see it fracturing right in front of him. It was also really frustrating because both of them were stubborn asses and absolutely refused to back down. Tim wished he’d known them longer, that he was closer to them because as much as he desperately wanted to force them to sit down and talk to each other without it devolving into a screaming match, he knew it wasn’t his place.
