She’s wearing a dress that’s at least ten years out of style, but it’s clean. It’s probably the nicest thing she has in her closet. There’s a recoil in my chest like I’ve been hit by the butt of a rifle. She dressed up for Erin. I’m thankful and horrified at once. I’m glad Erin wore a pair of jeans and a sweater, no jewelry. But she still looks unbearably clean and shiny against the backdrop of my childhood.
“Come on in, guys. Lunch is on the table.”
Caleb’s already climbing out of the back, slinging his bag over his shoulder and tucking his stash of cookies under his arm. I thread my fingers through Erin’s as we walk up to the house and when we reach the front door, I make introductions.
“Mom, this is Erin. Erin, this is my mom.”
Erin holds out a hand and offers a big smile, so genuine I want to squeeze her and then smother her with kisses. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Shepherd.”
“Oh,” my mom says, wiping her hand on the threadbare apron she’s tied around her waist, “Christy, please. There’s no ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.’ around here. I hope you like potato salad.”
“I do.”
My mom ushers Erin into the house, asking about the drive down, and I follow behind, feeling like I’m on the wrong side of a tug-of-war. My mom brings us into the kitchen, where there’s a bowl of potato salad, one of coleslaw, a plate of corn fritters and a Jell-O mold with mandarin oranges frozen in it set out on the table.
She went all-out. I wonder how pissed off my dad is about this. I get my answer when he staggers into the kitchen from the living room, where some talk show is blaring. He dumps himself into a chair at the table and spoons food onto a plate, spilling as he goes because his hand is unsteady. For fuck’s sake. At least let him be stupid drunk instead of mean drunk.
“Doug, why don’t you let our guest help herself first?”
My dad blinks up at the four of us, still standing, as if he’d forgotten we were here.
“Siddown and help yerselves.”
We sit and pass the food around. Erin tucks in like it’s the most delicious food she’s ever had. That half-grateful, half-horrified feeling kicks in again. I can’t wait to get her out of here. She chats with my mom and tells her the food is really good. This is comfort, special-occasion food to me, but I don’t expect Erin to actually like it. She should be eating filet mignon and smelly cheese and things I don’t even know I don’t know about.
It’s been half an hour of awkwardness. We might get out of here unscathed, but that’s when my dad comes out of his food-consuming trance.
“So this’s yer girlfriend, Zach?”
Erin flinches the tiniest bit and I lay a hand on her thigh under the table. “Yeah, Dad.”
“She looks familiar.”
“I don’t know why, you’ve never met.” I’d made sure of it, steered my family away from any teachers or coaches or friends I could at graduation. It hadn’t been hard; only Caleb had wanted to be there. My mom had been awkward and intimidated, my dad angry and resentful. No, they haven’t met before.
He takes another bite of Jell-O. Maybe he’s let it drop. But then he looks up and points his fork at Erin.
“I remember you. Yer a teacher at Zach’s school.”
“I am.”
“No, you were.”
Erin blinks and I want to drag her out of here by the hair.
“This why you wanted to go back there, Zach? You could’ve been anything and you wanted to be a fucking teacher. Or, maybe, you wanted to fuck a teacher? S’that it?”
“It’s not like that.” I tighten my grip on Erin’s thigh and stare straight ahead, my voice quieter and less steady than I’d like it to be. A lifetime of my mother telling me, Stay out of it, Zach, it’s not your fight. Go to your room and don’t make it worse floods back to me.
“Yer not stupid, Zach. Or at least that’s what errybody’s always telling me. You never seemed that fucking smart to me. Specially not if you managed to get pussywhipped into going back to that school. You could’ve been something, done something, but look atchu. And trying to drag Caleb into it. Shame on you. Here I was, thinking you went to a faggot school. You think I’m gonna let you take the only son I have left and turn him into a prissy-ass cocksucker like you? No fucking way.”
My mom’s been spluttering over herself, apologizing to Erin and trying to get my dad to shut up. I want to shove Erin out the door and haul my brother back to our room to wedge ourselves between the beds until the fighting stops. I knew this was a bad idea. I never should’ve let her come here. I’m trapped and I can’t protect her. I’m a kid again and I can’t even protect myself. My dad rages on but I barely hear him. I’m too busy trying to figure out how to crawl under this table. Then there’s the most surprising sound in the world.
“Mr. Shepherd, Zach is a really fine man. He’s a wonderful teacher and a great coach. The boys love him, and he works hard. Hawthorn is fortunate he came back.”
“You would say that, Mrs. Fucking Robinson. Were you fucking my son while he was yer student? I should have you arrested for statutory rape.”
He’s stumbled over the word “statutory.” For some reason that brings my blood to a boil but I’m frozen.
“Of course not. Zach and I, we never—”
“Is that why yer so hot to have Caleb come up there? Zach getting a little old for yer tastes?”
“Stop. Stop. Stop it. Stop it.” The words are coming out of my mouth but not loud enough for anyone to hear them. I can’t believe I’m letting Erin fight this battle all by herself while I stare at the tablecloth with the faded stains my mom’s never quite been able to scrub out.
“Zach wants Caleb to come to Hawthorn for the same reason he wanted to come to Hawthorn. Because it’s the best boys’ school in the country. Having a diploma from there will open doors for him. Doors that won’t be open if he stays in Shamokin. He’ll get into a good college.”
“So he can be another fucking teacher?”
“Maybe. If he wants. Or maybe he’ll want to be a lawyer, or a stockbroker or an architect. But in the meantime, he’ll meet a lot of important people. He’ll get a really good education. And not for nothing, but he’ll always have as much food as he can eat. He won’t want for anything. Zach is in a position to give that to him.”
That’s when my dad loses it. He knocks his chair back from the table and leans over, meaty palms planted on either side of the half-empty bowl of coleslaw to yell in her face. “Get the fuck out of my house, you uppity little bitch. You come into my home, eat my food, fuck my son, and you have the nerve to say I can’t provide for my family? Fuck you, you fucking cunt.”
That shakes me out of my stupor enough to grab her hand. “Erin, come on. Let’s go.”
“Zach—”
“No, it’s not worth it. He’s never going to change his mind no matter what you say. Or what I say. I can’t take this anymore. Please, let’s go.”
The stubborn set of her chin and the fire in her big brown eyes tells me she’s ready to go another few rounds with my asshole father. In that second I know I’m going to ask her to marry me.
My beautiful, sweet, supple girl with a spine of steel. She wants to stomp her tiny foot and scream back at him, but it would end badly, so I say quietly, “Come on, lamb. Be a good girl for me and let’s go.”
The emotions rage behind the soft curves of her gently upturned nose, her pink cheeks and her pretty mouth, but she reins it in and then squeezes my hand. “Yes, Zach.”
My father is still ranting, something about calling off my attack bitch, but I don’t care. “Mom, I’m sorry. We gotta go.”
She nods tightly. “Probably best.”
I’m turning the key in the ignition when there’s a knock on my window. Caleb’s standing there, scrawny arms crossed over his narrow chest. I roll down the window and he leans in, his hai
r brushing the roof. “I wanted to say thank you before you go. It was fun.”
“When this blows over, I’ll see if you can’t come up for a couple of weeks this summer, okay? I’m sorry. I know what he’s going to be like when we leave, and I—”
Caleb shrugs. “I’m used to it. Besides, it was kind of awesome.”
“Awesome?”
“Yeah, I thought Erin was going to punch Dad when he called her a cunt.”
“Caleb!” We’ve both shouted at him and he smirks.
“I know, I know, I won’t say that word again. Promise. Thanks for the cookies, Erin. Bye, Zach.”
He scrubs a hand through my hair in a weird reversal of our usual roles and I watch him walk back toward the house, wishing I could throw his lanky frame in the backseat and drive off. Instead I grip the wheel and back out of the driveway, onto my street, through town and onto the highway.
Erin doesn’t say anything during the ride home, but keeps a hand above my knee; a reminder she’s still here and has no intention of leaving no matter what she saw. When we get back to campus, I park behind Sullivan and we trudge up the stairs to her apartment, where I strip her naked and bury myself in her until I forget my name.
Chapter Twenty
Erin
Now I know. How Shep grew up, how Caleb is growing up. Why Shep is so quietly desperate to get him out of there. Blue-collar living doesn’t bother me, but the way his dad talked to me? I’m a stranger. I can’t imagine how he must talk to his sons. Or their mother. And for how long? How a man like Shep came out of a house like that, I don’t know. The chances of Caleb coming out as well are a long shot, but those Shepherd boys seem to be defying the odds.
Shep’s been so quiet since we got back, barely getting out instructions last night. Sometimes he was rough with me, but more often it seemed like he wanted to lose himself and forget everything. I don’t want him to forget everything. I want him to remember his life here, with me, but I’ll do whatever I can to help him bury the rest, leaving a trail of cookie crumbs should Caleb be able to follow.
Shep has to leave tonight for Fort Lauderdale and today was supposed to be one long play session I’ve been looking forward to. It’s hard enough to steal time to be together at all, never mind to find the time and space for him to do rude things to me that—despite my fears about the translations of fantasy into reality—I’ve really enjoyed.
But after yesterday . . . He’s wrapped around me, still asleep after a fitful night. I slide a hand from the cut of his hip, up the muscles of his back, and grip the top of his shoulder. I kiss his neck and he stirs, holding me tighter.
“I’m so sorry about yesterday—”
I hush him with a finger over his lips. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can we have our day like we were planning to? Pretty please?”
The corner of his mouth tugs up and I trace the curve with my fingertip. “Since you’ve said pretty please, how can I say no?”
We eat breakfast and then Shep guides me to the bathroom, telling me to strip and get in the shower. “Are you coming, too?”
“Yes, I’m coming, too.”
I climb under the spray and wet down my hair before Shep pushes the curtain aside and steps in. He leans against the far wall and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Go about your business. I want to watch you.”
“Yes, Zach.”
I soap up my hair, rinse it out and then slather on my conditioner and rinse that out, too. When I wipe the water that’s streamed over my face from my eyes, Shep’s pressed against the tiles, but his arms aren’t crossed anymore. Oh, no. Instead, he’s closed a fist around his . . . his cock and he’s stroking himself idly.
“You’re so pretty, Erin. Did you know that?”
It’s not something many people have said to me but I don’t want to sound like I’m fishing for compliments, either. “You’ve said so, Zach.”
“I’m not the only one who thinks so. You have beautiful eyes and the cutest nose. And your mouth . . .” He sucks a breath between his teeth and grips himself harder, sliding faster. “Every time I look at your mouth, I think of you sucking me off.”
That’s what I’m thinking of, too, watching him. I’m jealous of his hand. I want to smack it away, hold it behind his back so I can be the one making him feel good. I drop to my knees and reach for him, but he stops me by gripping my shoulder, pushing me back on my heels. “Not yet. I’m not done. You have these perfect breasts, and the way you react when I play with your nipples . . .”
His head drops back and he fists his cock harder still. Such rough strokes. All the times I imagined this, this is so much better. And worse because I’m aching for him and he won’t let me touch. I whimper and he looks down. Smiles. He must know how hot I am for him, how wet, how desperate.
“I love how you’re so soft. It’s like an invitation.”
I’d scrawl calligraphy on the wall with my bar of soap if I thought it would get him to give in sooner. “Please, Zach.”
“Hands behind your back, naughty girl.”
He may as well have run a finger over my clit. His words have the same effect, a tightening, heaviness, and I weave my fingers together.
“Has anyone ever fucked your face, Erin?”
I squeak. God, could I be any less sexy? But I close my eyes and take a breath. “No, Zach.”
“Have you ever sucked cock before?”
“Yes, Zach.”
“Did they come in your mouth?”
I shake my head tightly.
“Did they come on you?”
Again, a shake of the head. It had been foreplay, not the main event. But this talking, the dirty words, this is foreplay and it won’t take much to set me off. He’s slowed down his pace, loosened his grip and reaches out to stroke my cheek.
“I’m going to teach you to take my cock down your throat and then I’m going to come on your perfect tits. Would you like that?”
My clit is throbbing with want, so yes, yes. “Yes, Zach.”
“Open your pretty mouth.”
He directs his cock between my lips and I slick my tongue over the tip, tasting a drop of moisture that’s leaked out. He grunts as I lap at him, and I hold my hands tightly. “That’s nice, lamb. But you’re going to stop and let me tell you what to do.”
Though I want to keep licking, sucking and having something in my mouth that I’m not supposed to do anything with is torture—I stop and look up, the head still between my lips, warm, smooth and heavy. “Good girl. Breathe through your nose and relax. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. If you get scared, tap my leg and we’ll stop.”
I give a lick in response and he cradles the back of my head, his fingers twining with my hair, his palm at the nape of my neck. He draws me forward. I take more of him in my mouth, closing my eyes and trying to breathe. Using his other hand, he strokes my neck, tips my chin up and starts to edge into my throat. I choke and he eases back. “Relax, Erin. You’re doing so well. I’m so pleased with you.”
I blink my eyes open and it’s true. It’s written all over his face. “Try again.”
He rocks back into my throat and this time I’m ready, expecting the brief airlessness. It doesn’t scare me, though I still gag and my eyes water. After a few more strokes, he thumbs the few tears sliding down my cheeks. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”
Then he withdraws from my mouth, leaving me wanting. I stare hungrily as he fists his cock, pumps a few times before his release hits me in the chest. The density is different, thicker, than the spray of the shower pelting my back. It’s hotter somehow, and slides over my skin like gravity doesn’t affect it the same way. His other hand is planted on the tiles, fingers spread and tensed, and he hangs his head, spent. A low glow of pleasure spreads from my chest knowing I was the one who made him lose control.
When he come
s back to himself, he studies me where I’m kneeling, hands clasped behind my back, evidence of his pleasure still visible on my chest and across my breasts. He grabs a washcloth, soaps it up and runs it over where he’s marked me. Though it washes away, it’s like the strands are still hot on my skin. When he’s finished he leans back against the tile. “You’ve had your show, now I’d like mine.”
I blink at him, uncertain, and wait for him to be more specific.
“I want you to get yourself off, lamb. Show me how you touch your pussy. Go on, I want to watch while you make yourself come.”
I release my hands from behind my back and slip one hand around my hip and he grins.
“What?” I’ve frozen in panic. Is he laughing at me? Am I doing this wrong?
“I was right. You do masturbate with your right hand.”
All the air in my body makes a break for it as blood rushes to my face. “You’ve thought about me . . .”
“Yeah. Lots of times.”
“And that . . .”
“Got me off? Yeah, lots of times. I want to see it for real.”
My fingers inch forward and when I reach my mound, I tease myself with a press of the heel of my hand and rock against it. I close my eyes and find my clit, circling slowly at first and then faster, harder, grinding against my palm. I’m driven on by the idea that when I open my eyes, Shep is going to be standing naked in front of me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting hard again from watching me.
I touch myself for another minute before I let myself look at him. There he is, like I thought he would be, but he’s taken himself in hand again with slow, leisurely strokes.
“Holy fuck, Erin. Do you put your fingers in your pussy when you jerk off or just play with your clit?”
“It depends.”
Sometimes I want penetration and sometimes I don’t. Right now, I do, so I slip a couple of fingers inside. I moan and layer my other hand over the one inside me, giving me more to rock against as my hips buck and my cheeks clench.
School Ties Page 23
