Table of Contents
Teaching Tenderness
The amazing book cover was done by:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Acknowledgements:
About the Author:
Other work by Brittany Cournoyer:
Teaching Tenderness
Forever in Middlebury Book 1
Brittany Cournoyer
Copyright © 2018 by Brittany Cournoyer
All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or events are purely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, establishments, businesses or locales is purely coincidental.
The amazing book cover was done by:
Five Star Designs
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This is a gay romance that contains adult language, adult situations, and sexual explicit material between two men. It is intended for ADULTS ONLY.
To the two ladies who wouldn’t let me give up. Thank you for loving Marcus, Mr. A, and Jackson as much as I do.
Prologue
“You can’t be serious about this, Rebecca. Surely we can talk it out,” I begged my wife as she raced around the room and threw items into her suitcase.
“There is nothing to talk about, Marcus. I tried and I can’t do this anymore. I’m done,” Rebecca told me as she walked over to the dresser and started pulling the drawers open.
I gaped at her as she grabbed an armful of her bras and underwear and then walked over to the bed to dump them inside her suitcase.
“Y-you’re done?” I stammered. “You can’t just quit being a mother. A wife? Fine, then we can get a divorce. But a mother? That’s not possible. He is your ch—”
“Watch me!” Rebecca flung the words at me, cutting off my sentence. “I’m tired of pretending I’m happy and living a lie. I. Am. Done.”
“Mommy?” a small voice said from the doorway of our bedroom.
My head whipped over and my gaze softened as I saw our son, Jackson, standing there. His dark brown eyes were wide and scared from the sound of our raised voices, and his bottom lip was poked out and quivering. I walked over to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Mommy and I are talking, sweetie. Go play in your room, okay?” I asked him softly.
“Is mommy leaving us?” he asked me. It broke my heart when I looked down into his innocent eyes; knowing I was going to lie to my child.
“She’s just going on a little trip. Go play,” I said with a false smile and kissed the top of his dark hair.
I watched as our son turned away and walked down the hallway. At only nine years old, he was the light of my life. There wasn’t anything in the world that I wouldn’t do for that child, including beg his mother to stay in a home where she was clearly unhappy.
“What happened to us? I thought we were happy.” I didn’t even bother to turn around and face her.
“And that’s where you thought wrong. I am fucking miserable in this sham of a marriage. You spend every ounce of attention on that child in there and none on me. We haven’t had sex in months!” she yelled venomously.
“That child is our son! Of course I give him all of my attention. That’s what a parent does!” I thundered as I slammed the bedroom door shut and turned back around to face her. “And maybe we’d have sex more often if you were ever home!”
“Have you ever stopped to think how that makes me feel? I am your wife! I should come first,” Rebecca shot back at me as she rushed into the bathroom and returned with an armful of her toiletries.
“You stopped coming first the minute Jackson was born, and you know that,” I said as I placed a hand on her suitcase to stop her from closing it. “Is there someone else?”
Rebecca laughed bitterly and her green eyes flashed with hatred. “What do you think? Of course there is.” She slapped my hand away and started to zip up her case.
I stared at the woman I’d been married to for the last ten years. My high school sweetheart. The woman who I took to my junior and senior prom. The woman who I lost my virginity to. The woman who was the mother of my child. But all I saw when I stared at her was a complete stranger. She might have the same dark hair and beautiful green eyes of the woman I fell in love with, but the woman who was currently snatching her suitcase off the bed was someone I didn’t know anymore.
“So I’m assuming that you’re going to his house?” I asked; my voice dripped with disdain.
“It’s none of your fucking business where I’m going. You will hear from me when it’s time to sign the divorce papers. Oh, and don’t worry about custody. I don’t want that child,” she hissed before she walked to the bedroom door.
“Please don’t do this,” I pleaded. “We can work this out. Go to marriage counseling or something. He is your son. We are a family, and we love you.”
Rebecca paused at the door and sat down her suitcase with a sigh. She turned around and cast her eyes on me, eyes full of hate. Eyes that once used to look at me, and our son, full of love and happiness. Her hands rose up and I followed her movements as she pulled off her wedding ring. She sat it on the dresser and turned back around to pick up her suitcase.
“I don’t love you. Either of you,” she said with finality. I didn’t even bother to follow her or try to stop her again as she walked out the door.
Tears filled my eyes as I walked down the hall to Jackson’s bedroom. I peeked in on him and watched my innocent child playing with his monster trucks on his bedroom floor. I couldn’t believe his mother just walked out on such a precious person. The person she gave birth to, who was a part of her. The child I was now going to be raising on my own. How was I going to do it?
Chapter 1
Marcus
Three years later
“Jackson Connor Anderson, you have five minutes to get downstairs, or you’re grounded for a week!” I called down the hall to Jackson as I quickly buttoned up the sleeves on my shirt and pulled my suit jacket on.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson huffed as he rushed into the living room. “I couldn’t find my shoes.”
“Maybe if you cleaned that pigsty of a room you’d be able to find things much easier,” I sing-songed to him as I grabbed my briefcase off the kitchen counter and handed him a toaster pastry. We had the same argument, week after week, about the state of his room.
“I know. I heard you the first one thousand times you said it,” Jackson said. I could hear the eye roll in the tone of his voice.
“And yet, you still don’t do anything about it,” I argue
d and opened the front door. “Let’s go. We’re both going to be late.”
“Mr. A doesn’t mind if I’m a few minutes late.” Jackson followed me outside and to my car.
“Well I mind. And so does my boss.” I climbed inside the car and started the ignition.
“Your boss is a douche,” Jackson muttered under his breath as he fastened his seatbelt.
I was in the middle of backing out of the driveway and slammed on my brakes. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
Jackson shrugged. “I heard Timmy Jones call his brother that word. And I figured since your boss makes you work all of the time, that he’s one too.”
“Jackson, look at me,” I said firmly and waited until Jackson was facing me. “That’s a terrible word. Not only is it offensive, it’s the equivalent of a curse word. I don’t ever want to hear that word out of your mouth again.”
“Okay, fine. I’m sorry,” Jackson mumbled. “But it’s still true.”
“Jackson!” I yelled at him, then winced. I hated raising my voice when disciplining him. But, Jesus, sometimes he just pushed.
I continued backing down the driveway, and realized what Jackson had said to me. Guilt started to eat away at my stomach. I had been working a lot lately. My job as an advertising executive sometimes required grueling hours, and most of the time, I didn’t make it home until after Jackson was already in bed for the night.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I know my job requires me to work a lot,” I said. “I don’t like being away from you so much, either.”
“Well if you are going to work long hours, do I have to stay with Miss Kathy? I am so tired of hearing her say I need a mom at home and how she’d gladly sign up for that job,” Jackson grumbled.
“Uh, um, wow. I didn’t realize she felt that way,” I felt my cheeks grow warm.
“Really, Dad? How could you not? She makes it pretty obvious.” Jackson shrugged as he dug through is backpack.
“I’m not having this conversation with you. What are you looking for?” I asked. I mentally started going through all of the times Kathy was at my house. I recalled all of the times Kathy would subtly touch my arm, leave dinner for me in the oven, or clean up the house without me asking. How in the hell did my twelve-year-old son notice and not me?
“Just my—” Jackson dug further into his backpack and sifted through a bunch of papers. “Crap! Dad, do we have time to turn around?”
“No, we don’t. I’m going to be late as it is,” I told him, instantly on alert. “Why?”
“I left my English paper at home. Shit, Mr. A is going to kill me,” Jackson groaned as he zipped up his backpack and threw it against the console.
“Jackson! What in the hell has gotten into you? I warned you about that mouth of yours! One more word like that and you’re grounded for a month,” I warned him. “Now, surely we can ask your teacher if he can let you turn it in tomorrow.”
“Can you ask him? He’ll probably listen to you better than he will to me,” he begged me.
“Jackson, I don’t have ti—” I started to say; my voice regretful.
“Time. Yah, sure I get it. You never have time anymore,” he snapped and turned to look out the window.
“Hey, buddy, I’m sorry.” I reached out to grab his shoulder and he shrugged me off.
“Save it. It’s fine. I’ll ask him myself. Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jackson mumbled as he grabbed up his pack.
I pulled up in front of the school; Jackson unsnapped his seatbelt before he opened the car door and sprinted towards the front of the school. I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye.
“Fuck!” I pounded my fist on the steering wheel.
Torn between my job and my son, I reluctantly pulled away from the school and headed in the direction of work. I arrived with a few minutes to spare and raced into my office. I barely had time to shrug off my suit jacket and set my briefcase down before I was bombarded with paperwork and a ringing phone.
My day was full of meetings with clients and looking over the campaigns of my employees. I was on the phone schmoozing companies I hoped would soon be new clients, and setting up interviews for a new advertiser. I barely had time to breathe.
“Mr. Anderson? Is it okay if I leave a few hours early today?” my secretary Sheila asked after we wrapped up a meeting.
“Is something the matter?” I asked her as I opened up my email.
“My daughter has a dentist appointment and I need to pick her up from school,” she said.
“Oh, sure. Go ahead. I hope it all goes well,” flashed her a quick smile.
“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson,” Sheila said as she rushed out of the office.
Hearing Sheila mention her daughter reminded me of the issue I had with my own son. My mind flashed back to the look on his face when he begged me to talk to his teacher, and the hurt in his voice when I told him I didn’t have time. I glanced at my watch and saw that his school let out in twenty minutes. That’d barely give me enough time to make it, but I knew I had to try.
After stuffing some paperwork into my briefcase, I grabbed my suit jacket and rushed out of the office. I could feel the strange looks from my employees as I high-tailed it out of the office. I was usually the last one to leave, but I didn’t give them a second thought. Jackson was waiting for me.
I shot a quick text to Kathy letting her know that I was picking Jackson up myself and drove frantically to the school. Pulling up just as the bell rang to release the students, I waited by my car for my son to walk out. I kept my eye on the children as they wandered out of the school and felt nerves bubble in my stomach when Jackson never showed.
I walked into the school and made my way down the hallway. My foot-falls echoed in the now empty building. And the farther I went, the more I could hear hushed voices talking.
“Jackson. What did I tell you the last time this happened? That if you turned in another late assignment you’d have to stay for detention. Now I have been very lenient and patient with you given the circumstances, but I have to draw the line somewhere,” a male voice said.
“Mr. A, please. If I get detention, my father will freaking kill me. I didn’t mean to turn it in late. We were rushing this morning and I left it sitting on my desk,” I heard Jackson plead. “Jackson, what is going on here?” I asked as I stepped closer to them.
“Dad!” Jackson said with relief. “Please tell Mr. A that I left my paper at home. He’s trying to give me detention!”
A man with dark hair, a strong square jaw dusted with at least three days growth of facial hair, and the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen turned to face me. “Ah, the infamous Mr. Anderson. Please step into my classroom. I think it’s time for an impromptu parent-teacher conference.”
“Excuse me? If this is about Jackson’s late paper, I can vouch for him that he left it at home on accident,” I said to him, completely taken aback. Not only by what he just said to me, but also because I caught myself noticing how attractive he was.
Mr. A stepped around us, and opened his classroom door. With an overly dramatic wave of his hand, he gestured for Jackson and me to step inside. Once inside the classroom, we each took a seat at a students’ desk while Mr. A sat down on top of his.
“So, Jackson, should you tell your dad about all of the trouble you’ve been in the last month? Or should I?”
Chapter 2
Anthony
I loved my job. Being a sixth grade English teacher was a very rewarding profession. I loved my job. I loved my job. I. Loved. My. Job. Those three little words had become my mantra. So why did I have to keep reminding myself of that when Jackson Anderson and his father sat down in my classroom? Oh, that’s right. Because children like Jackson were what made my job difficult. And yet, out of the one hundred and twenty students I taught on a daily basis, that little twerp was my favorite one.
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what kept drawing me to that kid. The constant power struggle with him definitely made
teaching a challenge. Other kids saw the difficulties between Jackson and me and tried to follow suit, which of course didn’t work in their favor. And yet, as unfair as it sounded, I always seemed to give Jackson a little more of a break than the others.
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?” a deep, husky voice asked me.
I looked over towards Jackson’s father and sucked in a deep a breath. Now that we were settled in my classroom, I had the opportunity to get a really good look at him. And appreciate what a fine specimen he was. Mr. Anderson was a very attractive man. From the thick, light brown hair on his head that begged me to run my fingers through it, to the pouty lips that I wanted to put my own mouth on. And the broad shoulders that filled out his suit jacket very nicely. But what had me catching my breath were his eyes. Deep brown eyes, much like the betrayal-laden eyes that Jackson was currently looking at me with. But Mr. Anderson’s eyes were filled with exhaustion, confusion, and lots of a pain. Though the look they conveyed sure didn’t stop my pants from getting tighter when my dick began to stand at attention. Of course, that piece of equipment had to take notice. I quickly laced my fingers together and rested them on my lap to try and cover any tell-tale bulge.
Get it together, Anthony Capriotti. This is the father of one of your students! And undoubtedly, he was straight. I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to Jackson. I hated that it’d come to this. I enjoyed being the fun teacher. I was the teacher that students begged to be placed with when they were headed into middle school; the teacher all of my students felt they could come to in times of hardship and trouble. So maybe I let a few things slide here and there. I might’ve even tried to avoid sending the kids to the principal if at all possible. I hated writing the kids up. I didn’t want to take the time to fill out a discipline referral. And honestly, I had better things to do than wait after school while a student served detention. But I could only do so much before a parent had to be notified.
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