Chapter One
Cam
“He was lucky to get away with seven years,” Jim, my exhausted counsel, and only real friend took a seat opposite me in the small room off the main corridor of the courthouse. I hadn’t been able to afford a lawyer of my own, and when Jim had turned up at my door, telling me he was my court-appointed liaison, I was horrified. I needed better representation, but how would I pay for any of it?
Turned out he was the best thing to happen to me. He’d done everything to keep me from being dragged into the case by the DA who insisted I must know things I wasn’t revealing. Hell, I wish I had known something that would help put my husband behind bars because his actions had put Finn—my son—in danger.
How could I know anything when I’d coasted through the last few years in a daze of uncertainty, lies, and pain?
Finn hiccupped a sob into my neck. I held my son so tight that I hoped he felt safe. He didn’t need to hear anything else about what his other dad had done, or how hard Jim had to fight behind the scenes to exclude paper thin lies created by my husband’s team.
The defense had painted Graeme as a solid family man who’d simply found himself caught up in things he had no control over. They’d been lying. If there was one thing the court case had shown everyone it was that Graeme had had all the control all of the time. Over money, and people.
Over me.
Graeme had been born into a rich family, given more money than he knew what to do with and went on to hold a respected position with a group of investment managers who’d courted him as if he were a king. He was a smooth talker, able to con even the most normal of people. Even me.
Pathetic. Idiotic. Blind. Me.
Falling for Graeme had just been step one in a tragic story. I’d fucked up, and I should never have fallen under Graeme’s spell or allowed him to control me as he had.
I’m a strong, principled man who knows right from wrong. I’m a good dad.
Repeat as needed.
“There’s nothing lucky about what happened to us,” I whispered back, aware that Finn, huddled into my side, could hear everything I said, and some of it I never wanted him to know. Thankfully, Finn hadn’t been in court for the long closing statements, sitting instead in this small room with a kindly court officer who’d played computer games with him and fetched him lunch. I’d been on my own to listen to the defense as they lied to explain away what Graeme had done as trying to please his money-obsessed husband. It was apparently my fault. He loved me too much. He wanted to please me. Me? I’d never wanted a single dime of his money.
I wanted a family, a husband who didn’t fuck about on me, a dad for Finn who cared enough to be at home. I didn’t want money, or maids, or a chef who lived half the week in our house, or private schools and exotic holidays, although that was how I was painted. They argued that the pressure on Graeme was intense, and the defense team cited me wanting Italian marble tiles in a bathroom as the straw that broke the camel’s back. I never said anything about a bathroom, let alone tiles.
The lies were many, and through all of it I could see the way people stared at me, one of them, an angry white-haired man, never took his eyes off me. Simon Frederickson had everything going for him—a newly retired pension fund manager he was expecting a retirement full of good things. But, he’d bet everything on Graeme which was the start of his downfall. He’d been a key witness for the prosecution and had given gut-wrenching testimony about how he’d lost everything, his money, security, family, his entire life—and it had all been Graeme’s fault. Simon had become my touchstone in this whole thing. From watching him I could see the lies that would be believed, and the way the jury was slowly buying into the defense’s rhetoric.
It was somehow all my fault, and the way that the witnesses stared at me, Simon included, showed me what they thought.
I could see the point where every single one of them thought I was getting away with hiding money, living the life, and that I needed to pay as well. My only blessing was that there was not a single shred of evidence to say I was involved.
There wouldn’t be, because I wasn’t part of what Graeme had done, unless my naïveté counted. I just wish I could push the guilt away, because they were right in one way—I should have known. Finn shifted in my hold, but it wasn’t to move away, it was to bury himself even closer and I smoothed my hand on his back.
“What next?” I asked Jim, staring right into his eyes, able to see the very moment where optimism and relief died, replaced with defeat.
“The house is gone,” he said.
“We knew it would be.”
The house was where I’d thought we’d be happy, where I thought I could give Finn the life he deserved, where I’d fallen in love. But now, all I could recall was Graeme in the kitchen holding a knife, a lifeless body next to him, as he held a pity party for one where he blamed everything except himself for cold-blooded murder.
How does a man kill another person and not end up behind bars with a life sentence?
The prosecution had wanted him put away for anything they could find. They’d settled for a plea bargain, in exchange for passwords to a multi-million dollar bitcoin account, and now Graeme was locked away for seven years for the white-collar crime of embezzlement. Seemed to me as if other people’s money had helped him again, and I could feel the weight of everyone staring at me in court.
“There’s no money in any accounts, it’s all gone.”
I nodded. Every cent that was legitimately mine was in my backpack—all five thousand dollars that I’d stashed away over the last six months from helping out on small renovations in my spare time. It wasn’t enough to start over, let alone even rent a place, but it would get us a bus ticket away from here.
He held out his hand, and I managed to shake his without dislodging Finn. “It’s been a pleasure working on your behalf.” He crouched in front of us, his round glasses reflecting my image. “Finn?”
Finn stirred in my arms and finally peeked out of my coat, his dark hair mussed and his eyes red from crying. “Yes, sir?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. You look after your daddy if you can, but also, let your daddy look after you. Pinkie swear?” He held out a pinkie, and Finn didn’t hesitate to offer his as they shook, and then Finn buried himself again. With a smile that softened his normally stern face, Jim patted Finn’s knee before nodding to me. “You know how to reach me if you need any advice.”
“Thank you for all you did, Jim. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“You’re welcome—I’m not bad for court-appointed counsel, right?” His eyes twinkled, and I winced, recalling our first conversation where I’d told him outright that we needed a real lawyer who could look out for me and Finn. He’d been better than any high priced lawyer I could’ve imagined.
“Not bad at all,” I turned the joke back on myself, and we exchanged smiles. He was filing divorce paperwork as a favor, and I knew I’d never be able to pay him back in this lifetime.
“This is for you,” he held out a large envelope, and I took it without hesitation, used to being passed this and that, and long past questioning anything. “It arrived by courier to our office, but it’s addressed to you. Is it something I need to deal with?”
I needed to open it and see, so sitting on the hard bench with my nine-year-old son crying in my arms, I managed to open the envelope, and pulled out a handwritten note. I skimmed to the name at the bottom—Nick. My chest hollowed with pain. Why was Nick writing me notes when I’d told him to stay out of my life? What did Nick have to do with me right now? As far as I was concerned I’d burned any bridges between me and my best friend a long time ago.
“Cam? Are you okay? You look pale. Do I need to get help?”
I shook my head. “It’s from an old friend.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Only when he was gone did I pull the note out again to read it.
Dear Cam,
PLEASE READ.
I found a place for you to stay. I promise Finn will be safe from the media circus there. All the details are in the other envelope.
Don’t be stubborn about this. Don’t run. You don’t even have to see me. Just come home.
Nick.
Inside the other smaller envelope were details of someone called Adam Williams, and an address in La Jolla, San Diego, not far from where I’d grown up in Carlsbad in the same neighborhood as Nick.
Nick had started as my childhood nemesis, then become my very best friend, and even my boyfriend for one night, until a kiss had determined that we were better off as brothers than boyfriends. He’d been the one to support me when I’d adopted Finn—I’d asked him to be Finn’s godfather—that was how much he’d been part of my life. I’d been unnecessarily cruel to Nick when he’d called me just after Graeme had been arrested. He’d asked if I wanted help. I’d still thought my husband was some kind of innocent victim, and with hindsight I’d acted in an emotional form of self-defense. The last thing I needed was Nick to say I-told-you-so because he’d never liked Graeme at all.
I’d asked him to leave me alone, irrationally distrustful and harsh. He’d backed off… so why was he contacting me now? Shocked, worried, uncertain about what I was reading, I sat for the longest time, hugging my son, and spiraling back to that last conversation with Nick when I’d told him that he couldn’t understand what I was going through and to leave me and Finn alone.
How could I face him? Was it even possible that San Diego was the right place to stay for a while? Was it time to go home? Finn and I had been living out of suitcases in a cheap motel, sharing a room for so long it had become our normal, we spent most of our time dodging journalists and people hurt by what Graeme had done. At times I feared for our lives.
So, what is keeping me in New York?
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What do we do now?”
I didn’t have a clue. New York was nothing to us. No friends. Nowhere to live. No money. And, worst of all, the media frenzy around us that wouldn’t abate for a long while. And in the middle of it all, Finn.
“I think we need to head home.”
He stiffened in my hold, and pulled back. “I don’t want to go there. Can’t we go back to the motel?”
We wouldn’t be going back to that motel now, everything we’d left there was going to stay, not that it was much. I’d already put a plan in place for us to slip away, but never with a destination fixed in my mind. I pressed a kiss to his head. “We already talked about this, you don’t have to worry, we’re not staying in New York and we have plans, right?”
“A horse place in Montana with a river.”
“And a new job for me.”
“And I can get a dog.”
I side-hugged him. “Yep, a dog of your own. But we can’t do that straight away, we need to…” hide, avoid the press, lick our wounds. “… just take some time. Back to my old home, California, then it will be you and me against the world, Finn.”
He processed the information with a frown, his eyes red from crying and his hair in tufts where he’d hidden in my hold. Then he wrapped his arms around my neck, tight as he’d done since last June, over a year ago. Everything in his world had been destroyed, he wasn’t going back to the private school. He didn’t have friends here. It was the two of us, starting over.
“You and me against the world, Finn,” I repeated, and felt his tears hot on my skin.
I’m not sure either of our hearts would heal from this.
But we had to try.
Security guided me to the exit, but determined journalists had gathered outside, a whole mess of them waiting, and I hovered inside, hiding Finn behind me. I could see the road to the train station, and if we could just get there then we could make it anywhere.
I crouched in front of Finn, zipped up his coat, pulled up his hood, and clicked the snaps so that the lower half of his face was hidden and the furry hood shielded his eyes. I did the same with my coat, and then I gripped his hand and pointed out of the front window.
“You remember what we’re doing now.”
“Running away,” he said with renewed confidence.
“It’s the last thing we have to do. Just as we planned, okay, we’re heading for McDonald’s. Can you see it?”
Finn nodded, and swiped at the tears on his face with his free hand.
“Don’t let go of me,” I said. “If you get scared I’ll carry you.”
He was nine, small for his age, I could easily carry him, but he pushed his shoulders back and shook his head.
“No carrying.”
“That’s my boy,” I praised, even as my chest tightened.
Then, we opened the door.
“Cam! Where’s the money?”
“Cameron Hastings! Did you agree with the sentencing?”
“Can you give us an interview, Mr. Hastings?”
“Cam! Over here! Over here! Did you lie for your husband?”
“Is your son okay?”
“Cam! Cam! How is it possible that you don’t know where the missing money is?”
It broke my fucking heart that I didn’t know about the money, or where it’d gone, and that I couldn’t give back what Graeme had stolen. It killed me that people had lost everything, and that somehow I was part of the awful loss they’d experienced. If I’d seen what was happening then maybe I could have done something—stopped him. A blanket of despair settled on my shoulders, and for a second I indulged the hopelessness, before shoving it away. I was going to give Finn a new start, and it didn’t matter about the rest of it—Finn had seen too much, and he needed a safe place where he could learn to be a kid again.
“You fucking asshole!” Simon Frederickson was there, eyes sparking with temper, his lips twisted in a snarl, reaching for me and Finn, and yelling in my face. This wasn’t the first time he’d come at me, but this time I had Finn at my side and I moved to protect him.
“Sir!” Security moved in.
Everything inside me snapped, and I reached out to grip Simon’s arm. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. You have to believe me.”
“I have nothing!” he screamed in my face, and next to me Finn buried himself in my side.
“I wish I could help you.”
“I will make you pay, you fucking lying piece of shit.”
“Sir!” Security bundled him off me, my hold on him ripped away, and then with utter determination I shoved through the crowd. Other security attempted to keep the media away but god knows who else was in this crowd who hated us. I couldn’t breathe until we made it through the barrier which trapped the journalists long enough for us to get to the crossing, over the road, and into McDonald’s. The media followed us, I glanced back to see Simon face down on the sidewalk, the cops there, and I wanted to go back and plead with them to take care of him. He had a family—a wife undergoing cancer treatment, two kids with families of their own, and he had no money. He’d been destroyed more than I was.
Please don’t hurt him. I almost went back.
“Dad?” Finn tugged my sleeve, and that dragged me back from compassion to fear in an instant. I had to keep Finn safe. We took the side door, went through a book store, left via the rear exit, hid in a Starbucks for a few minutes, doubled back on ourselves, and finally I felt we might be free from being followed. Cautiously, I headed for the station, Finn holding my hand, blending in with the tourists, and went straight in with a group to find the lockers, opened the one we’d rented the month before and pulled out our bags. Once inside the bathroom I messed up my styled hair, pulling it down to frame my face, then shoved a scarlet NY beanie on, took off my coat and dumped it on the floor, and then set about helping Finn to reverse his two-sided jacket, adding a matching NY beanie. I changed out of my suit into jeans and a jersey, and then, with Finn watching, I hacked away at the beard I’d let grow long, taking it back to smooth skin as much as I could. All I had in the bags was a couple more change of clothes, all the cash I had left in the world, our passports, and as many of Finn’s baby photos as I could fit.
I don’t know what was in Finn’s bag—I’d let him pack it himself, to take reminders of our old life that would see him through enough until we could go home one day and get more.
Home? It’s not our home anymore.
“You remember what to say if anyone talks to us?” I wrapped the suit and coat in a bundle and pushed it into a plastic bag. I’d drop it with one of the homeless guys outside, surely I could do one more good thing before we vanished.
Finn blinked up at me, his eyes full of tears, but his shoulders were back and determination was written in every line of him. My little man was so brave, even after everything I’d allowed to happen. “I remember. I have to say we’re going to visit family, and I can’t talk to anyone about anything else. Oh, and my name is Finn Bellamy, not Finn Hastings anymore.” He worried at the zipper on his coat and I knew he had something else he wanted to say. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Will people ever stop hating you?”
I thought of all the people searching for someone to blame and turning their gazes on Finn and me. They were right to accuse me of being naïve, they could harass me and call me every name under the sun, but they weren’t touching Finn. I just knew they weren’t going to stop for a long time.
“They will do one day, I’m sure,” I lied, and then patted his head. “Ready for an adventure?”
“I don’t know, Dad, I’m scared.”
My heart cracked and I cradled his face, staring into his dark eyes and wondering what was the best thing to say. I couldn’t exactly say I would never let anything happen to him because I had so let him down, and I couldn’t promise him that everything was going to be okay, because I didn’t know that. So I went with what Finn’s counselor had said—that honesty was the only way to go.
“I’m scared as well.”
His eyes widened, and he grabbed at me. “You are?”
“How about we both pretend we’re not scared, and get on a bus or a train and head away from here?”
He tugged me close for a hug, almost unbalancing me.
“Okay, Dad.”
I hugged him, then bopped his nose and smiled, waiting until he gave me a returning smile, and only after he did was I ready to leave the confines of the bathroom to find a seat on a train or a bus heading anywhere. For better or worse, we had a destination now—San Diego.
One day Finn and I might return to a life in New York, after all it was a big city, but there was something so warm when I thought of heading west to the place I’d been born. All I had in New York was a shit-ton of miserable memories, and a marriage that had gone to hell, catching Finn in its destructive force. I was happy to leave.
We headed out and tried to lose ourselves again, and it was only when we were on the train that I could even think of relaxing a little.
“Hi, is this seat free?” I looked up and all I saw was white hair. My mind made the connection to Simon Frederickson and fear gripped me. My heart raced, but it was just a random guy looking for a seat, that was all. I was losing my shit—seeing phantoms.
“Yeah, sure.”
The man smiled, then sat down and immediately put in ear buds before closing his eyes. Thank goodness he didn’t want to sit and chat because that was the last thing I needed right now.
I just needed time to think. Finn and I could hide out together for a few months, just while I planned a fresh start and got my head straight. Simon wouldn’t know where we were, nor would others like him whom Graeme had wronged. Neither would the media, or the senders of the hate mail that arrived every day, not for a while at least. I hoped we could be anonymous, to give ourselves time.
“Let’s get this adventure started.”
Nick Horner fueled more than one of my private fantasies and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. From his dark hair to his green-hazel eyes, he was my celebrity crush, broad, and strong, with an ass you could bounce a quarter off. And I could wax lyrical for days over his face— his perfect face— with his gorgeous smile, dimples, and cheekbones, and lips just this side of plump and so pink I could almost taste them. He was so sexy he stole my breath, and I wanted him under me, on top of me, in me, me in him, all ways… badly.
Unfortunately, his daughter, Hannah, was in my English class.
Not unfortunate because she was a bad student. Not at all. In fact, she was a shining light in a class full of entitled rich kids at St. Josephs, and I mostly had good things to say about her in among the worries. It was just unfortunate that he was the parent of a child at the school and was off-limits, despite being my idea of perfection.
My lust-filled thoughts had begun when we bonded over pineapple on pizza at the last Queer Straight Alliance fundraising event. Or rather, we hadn’t bonded, but ended up teasing each other. Nick took the stance that it was the worst thing in the world, and I’d told him it was the best kind of pizza. That had been a few months back, when Hannah had only just joined my class, and the pizza-bonding had been a fun way to pass ten minutes, but nothing more. I flirted. I think he kind of flirted back, but I wasn’t sure, and it was never going to go anywhere.
“Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza,” he’d said right by my ear when I wasn’t expecting it. I’d spun around so fast that a mushroom appetizer had flown off my plate and barely missed hitting him in his perfect face.
I think I held up my end of the conversation, but there’d been nothing more than a buzz in my head, until I realized he’d been staring at me with a frown.
Then, I’d lost the plot entirely, made some joke about how we should add a new QSA seminar on how to admit to your horrified family that you liked pineapple on pizza. He’d snorted a laugh then, and it was as if I had a superpower that only worked on him, because I didn’t make people laugh. I was too serious, too intense— I’d heard it all. He’d smiled with me, not at me, and for a second there, with half a shrimp special in my hands, I’d thought I’d seen the ever-present aloofness in him melt away as he stared into my eyes with an intensity I’d never experienced. Then, he’d exited stage left, and I got the feeling I’d done something wrong— that maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that pineapple on pizza was definitely a thing.
We’d met at a couple of other school events after that, and I swear there’d been something there— an indefinable thing that was part attraction, part wariness, and wholly awkward, although it never went past chatting, and always ended with us exchanging handshakes and going our separate ways.
But now, for the first time, I was meeting Nick in an official capacity as Hannah’s teacher at our very first parent-teacher conference of the year, and I was excited, and nervous, and a bit sad that I couldn’t get my flirt on. I had important things to say to him about Hannah, and I needed to stay one hundred percent professional and certainly not imagine Nick Horner naked.
I grabbed a cinnamon roll from my bag— I’d missed any kind of meal break to write reports from yesterday’s parent-teacher meetings but I always carried emergency rations just in case. I even managed to finish the roll because Nick Horner was currently running late, the clock ticking off the minutes as I added a few more notes to my list. I was so lost in the words, brushing cinnamon roll crumbs from the paper as I wrote, that the sharp knock on the door startled the hell out of me.
“Come in,” I called, and a very guilty Nick Horner poked his head around the corner.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he murmured.
That was one of the things I liked about him— despite his money, and his celebrity, he wasn’t entitled and he’d even thought to apologize. This private school, the most expensive in San Diego, wasn’t used to parents who were humble enough to apologize for their tardiness.
“It’s fine, please come in.” I gestured to the selection of chairs.
He took the one opposite me, and I got my first look at the man who took up way too much real estate in my thoughts. He was nothing like I recalled, not bright and engaged, but instead exhausted— his eyes bracketed with lines, his normally bright hazel eyes dull. He wasn’t in a suit, but jeans and a T-shirt, with a ball cap pushing back his dark hair and even though he was a tall man, he was hunched in on himself.
Something wasn’t right.
“Is everything okay?” I know I sounded worried.
“Yeah, of course, and sorry again, I was stuck… just stuck,” he mumbled, then cleared his throat, and wriggled in the chair to sit more upright.
“No worries,” I reassured him.
“It’s been one of those days. Weeks.” He waved off his words, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “So uhm, I’m here for Hannah’s report?”
I opened the file and went through all the usual items, her academic achievements in my English class, which for the main part were exemplary. Nick smiled softly at most of it, but it seemed as if the smile was difficult to hold, and he kept staring at anything but me. He was distracted and I wondered if he was getting enough sleep— or any at all. Maybe, he was deep into a new documentary and working all hours? Who knew? He listened with a sudden burst of interest when I talked about Hannah’s schoolwork, even wanting to know how he could help her at home. Then, for long moments, he zoned out. Was tonight the best time to talk seriously to him?
“I do have some concerns,” I began.
He finally glanced at me. His body language screamed defensive and exhausted, and I hesitated a moment before telling him what I felt because he seemed so damn brittle. I didn’t know what was going on with him, but he wasn’t the Nick I’d met before.
“Concerns? About my Hannah?” He was confused, shocked even.
How did I explain that things weren’t quite right? I’d been teaching for three years at St. Joseph’s now, and with Hannah’s cohort for this semester, but I was still a new teacher and sometimes struggled to explain things I couldn’t back up with black and white test scores and statistics. Hannah shone in verbal reasoning, her intelligence put her at the top of my class, but she lost focus easily, and her homework assignments weren’t consistent. I’d tried talking to her other teachers, but they’d given me the look. The one that said I should understand Hannah’s father was a celebrity, and maybe, I should let sleeping dogs lie in case we lost his donations.
They clearly didn’t know me very well— I was the champion of the underdog, and Hannah was struggling.
“I wanted to ask if everything is okay at home?” I said.
His body language shifted, going from shocked to closed off to frustrated. Maybe that wasn’t the best first question, and I glanced down at my list. Seeing him here had thrown me off-balance, and watching his stress had made me think there was something bigger than just what was happening with Hannah.
“Everything is fine.” He was quick to defend, as if he’d almost expected me to say something and had rehearsed what to say.
My chest tightened at the sudden iciness in the room. “I’m asking because Hannah hasn’t managed to hand in an assignment on time this semester, and I’ve noticed a pattern in her not concentrating in class—”
“You literally just said Hannah is one of your best students,” he interrupted.
“Hannah is one of the most vocal in class, always backing up her comments with thoughtful clarification, but I feel as if her academic progress doesn’t align with my high expectations for her. In a publicly funded school, there are procedures to follow for supporting students, but I’m hitting nothing but brick walls here at St. Joseph’s, and so I’ve gone straight to you, her dad.”
He raised an eyebrow, and I got the feeling he had a low opinion of my expectations and my comment on how the exclusive St. Joseph’s worked. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to convey with his expression, so I forged ahead.
“I feel that, at times, she’s over-engaged in my classroom, almost obsessive, and then appears scattered, so maybe she would benefit from a private assessment for what I feel could be some level of attention deficit.”
“What? Like ADHD?”
“I don’t know exactly—”
“I don’t need people thinking they can tell me what’s best for my kids.”
“Mr. Horner—”
“I know she’s been scattered, but have you thought that maybe it’s your teaching?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a new teacher.”
“No. I’ve been here three years—”
“Which is nothing.”
“I agree, it could be my teaching methods,” I began diplomatically. I’d never said I was the best teacher in the world, but I knew my kids, and this wasn’t about the teaching, at least I didn’t think it was. I was thrown because he didn’t seem to be respecting my opinion, and I’d always had the impression he respected others.
Not that I knew where the impression came from— maybe because I’d seen the documentaries he’d made? Or because he hadn’t laughed me out of his space for liking pineapple on pizza?
“So why have none of her other teachers reached out?”
Great— he was going straight there. “I’m the only one who currently considers there to be an issue.”
“And there you go.” His tone was dead. “I don’t pay thousands to this damn place for one inexperienced teacher to jump to conclusions. She’s tired, having to take the slack for everything because of me— because I’m letting everyone down. Look, she’s working too hard, that’s all.” He left his seat and began to pace, agitation in every line of him. Gone was the smooth guy who didn’t have a hair out of place, in his place was a man who was on edge.
I was at a disadvantage staying in my chair, so I stood and held out a hand to stop him pacing. I didn’t mean to touch him, but he sure as hell walked into my hand and then flinched and stumbled back, only to catch himself and then straighten to his full height, which was a good six inches over mine.
I’m not intimidated. On the other hand, do I need to call security?
“Mr. Horner,” I began in an even tone. “I think we’re talking at cross purposes. I’m not jumping to conclusions, and I care deeply about the success or failure of my students.”
“My daughter is not a failure,” he snapped.
“I shouldn’t have used that word. I never said she was.” I raised a hand again. “Let’s start this again. I’ve been observing Hannah, and her usual group of friends seems to be pulling away, and she’s quiet, less engaged in my class, and in my observations, I wonder if you’ve considered having her evaluated for attention deficit. Girls are infinitely better at masking ADHD than boys, and it’s a wide spectrum that covers a multitude of—”
“We’ve been through a lot.” He was good at interrupting me. “You do know she lost her other dad, right?”
“I know, a few years ago.” I wish I hadn’t said that when I saw the flash of anger in his eyes.
“Are you implying there’s a time limit on grief?”
“No. What?” This conversation was seriously going off the tracks. “I didn’t say anything of the sort, losing a parent will never leave you. I understand that—”
“She’s fine.”
I wished he’d just let me talk. “I thought that—”
He didn’t even wait to hear what I was saying, exiting the room and slamming the door so hard the wall shook.
I stared at the space he’d been taking up as if it had all the answers. Five minutes, that was all that had passed in the aborted meeting, and I’d never witnessed such a range of emotions. I didn’t know how long I stared, but it was long enough to conclude that Nick Horner had lost his shit in a spectacular way. I picked up Hannah’s paperwork and shuffled it into a pile— lost in thought when the door flew open again— and Nick walked back in. He closed the door behind him and leaned there, his chin on his chest.
“Christ,” Nick muttered, then pressed his fingers to his forehead.
“Mr. Horner?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to spark anything weird. There were only maybe five steps between us, and I was close enough to see his wet eyes— it wasn’t fear I was feeling, but compassion. “Nick?”
He winced when I used his name. Had I overstepped? Or was there something else going on?
“Do you have a bathroom?” he asked.
I gestured to the end of the conference room, and he headed that way. I followed him a few steps, wondering if he needed something, confused as hell, and when he didn’t close the door but just splashed water on his face, I waited at the doorway for him to talk.
“Do you need me to get anyone?” I asked.
He turned toward me so fast I took a step back. “ No— I know there’s something going on with Hannah.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest and left a damp spot there. “I know in here that I’m letting her down because I can’t get my head straight, and she’s carrying a load I should be lifting.” He yanked paper towels from the supply and scrubbed his face, then threw them into the trash can. “I came back to apologize, but…” He pressed fingers to his temples and winced.
“Hannah is an exceptional student, and I just want what’s best for her.”
“I know that I’m failing at this, and if people find out how about her, how do you think this will look to them?” he asked tiredly, supporting his weight by gripping the vanity.
Wait? What? He was upset because he didn’t want people to know his daughter was struggling? “Sorry?” I was angry then. I couldn’t help it, and the irrational side of me spilled out all over him. “Are you saying you care more about your media profile than your daughter?”
“No. What?” He looked horrified. “That’s not what I meant. Of course, I don’t think that.”
“Really?”
“No! Yes. You don’t understand. There are people who think they know me and judge me for every goddamn move my family makes.”
His anger slipped, and in its place was a vulnerability so raw that I took a step closer and raised a hand. I didn’t know what I would do, touch him in reassurance, pat him, thump him for shouting at me? God knows, but he was confusing the hell out of me.
“You don’t know what it’s like for everyone to be watching you all the time!” he said and then slumped.
I reached for him, compassion welling inside me, and for a second, he covered my hand with his. As if he recalled something terrible, his eyes widened, and I didn’t understand how we’d gone from him being angry to needing compassion.
“I can listen if you need me to.”
He stared at me in silence, and then placed a warm hand against my left cheek.
“Pineapple,” he murmured. “You threw a mushroom thing at me and made me smile. Your eyes make me think… You’re the only one since Danny that I’ve ever…”
“Huh?”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” The apology was raw.
I raised a hand to cover his. “It’s okay, Mr. Horner.”
“Nick. My name is Nick.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what I’m saying.” He sounded broken, and there was anger there as well, only it seemed directed at himself. “I’m fucking up, and I’m not ready. This is your fault. No, it’s not your fault. It’s on me, and I don’t think I should do this, but I wanted to.”
We stared at each other in silence, and we were so close that if he shifted an inch or two we’d be kissing. I should’ve moved back, but instead he cursed, and the curse came from a place deep inside him, and it dripped with pain. He hauled me into his arms, and we kissed. It was more than just a kiss, it was an all-consuming claiming of each other, and after a moment of panic over what we were doing, I gripped his shirt and gave as good as I got.
I forgot everything but the taste of Nick, and the way he tugged me forwards and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind us and lifting me— lifting me— onto the counter, and insinuating himself between my legs. Both of us hard, the kiss was everything, and desperate to get my hands on him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, lacing my fingers together, and someone whimpered.
Me.
“Please tell me to stop,” he pleaded.
I tightened my grip. “More,” was all I could force out, and we went back at it like kids under the bleachers, all uncoordinated hands and lips.
“You taste of cinnamon,” he blurted as he drew breath.
“Rolls.” I was incoherent as I kissed him again, our tongues tangling, and his hold solid on my back.
Then as quickly as it started, it stopped.
He released me, and stumbled away, his back hitting the wall, and as he wiped his mouth, his eyes widened.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I’m sorry, this should be about Hannah!” He scrunched his hair as if he was going to pull it out from the roots.
“Let’s talk then.”
“It’s too late. It’s too much.” He looked destroyed, “I can’t even look at you.”
Ouch, that hurt, and I felt exposed and disrespected, with my lips still wet from his kisses.
I wanted to shout at him, but before I could say anything, he yanked at the door to leave. I followed him out into the room, but he was heading through the main door, and even though he didn’t slam it, the end of our meeting was final. So many lines had been crossed, and none of what had just happened made any real sense.
Was it worse that I was furious at his denial that anything was wrong with Hannah, or that I just wished he’d come back?
Please come back.
