Chapter 23 - Isaac
The spring semester started with a gray sky, wet pavement, and students dragging themselves across campus with the same half-dead energy they had at the end of December. Inside my classroom, the air has felt empty in a way I didn’t expect.
One month.
That’s how long it’s been since Jackson sat in his usual seat, pretending not to watch me while I pretended not to watch him back. I never realized how much space he filled in this room until he wasn’t in it anymore.
While I miss him in class and miss our discussions that were sometimes heated as much with their spoken words as with their unspoken ones, that electric current just beneath the surface, it’s better this way. I don’t want him here, not when I get to have him at home instead.
He says he’s not trying to move in, that it’s only temporary, that he doesn’t want to impose. Every time he says he’ll go back to his dad’s eventually, I tell he’s welcome to stay.
Even when what I really want to say is, “Please stay.”
His toothbrush is in the holder next to mine.
His jacket hangs on the hook beside mine.
There’s a half-finished bag of his favorite chips on top of my fridge, and his textbooks are scattered across my coffee table.
He sleeps in my bed every night—on me, against me, curled into me like that’s where he’s belonged all along.
As much as it terrifies me that I’m becoming addicted to something I could so easily lose, I never want to let go of it.
We’ve spent more time talking than anything else.
About what recipes we should cook together.
About some of his favorite stories and some of mine and ones that he’s writing.
About our dynamic in the bedroom, things like limits and what he might like to try.
About us both getting tested and ditching the condoms, which we’ve already done.
About his friends, the loved ones we’ve both lost, what we both want from our futures.
One thing we haven’t talked about again are the emails. About the stranger who told him to go to the bridge that night. However, the knowledge of it all hasn’t faded. It sits in the back of my mind like a bruise I’m afraid to press on.
Someone knew I’d be there. Someone wanted him there too. Someone might’ve watched.
It makes my skin crawl in ways I haven’t let him see.
He seems to have let it go, but after everything I went through with Dylan, I can’t.
By the time I walk up the steps to my house after a long day of lectures, the dread is a quiet hum below everything else. The moment I step inside and hear the faint sound of water boiling in the kettle, it eases.
After hanging up my coat, I head into the kitchen to see Jackson pouring hot water into a mug. He faces me as I set my bag on the counter, smiling in that way that still makes my heart flutter in my chest.
“Nice timing,” he says as he brings the mug over to the island and sets it in front of me. “Tea’s steeping.”
Steam rises from the cup, and I can already smell the familiar aroma of one of my favorite blends—apple and mint.
We’ve developed a kind of routine already.
We leave in the morning at different times and go about our day.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I make it home before him since he has one evening class again.
The other three days of the week, he’s home first, and he usually already has the kettle started by the time I walk through the door.
I’ve told him he doesn’t have to do that. Or the occasional cleaning he does around the house. Or that one time he fixed my wobbling ceiling fan.
But he seems to like doing those things. My boy loves being good and the praise that comes with it.
My boy.
That’s exactly what Jackson is now. Mine.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I place my hand on the nape of his neck and pull him to me, closing the distance between our mouths. I keep the kiss short and relaxed, moving my lips against his for a few seconds before brushing them against the corner of his mouth and whispering, “My good boy.”
He shivers, and I hold him a little longer until they fade out.
“How were classes today?” I ask as I pick up the chain hanging from the mug and gently swirl the infuser around in the water.
“Still not as fun as yours.”
He makes it sound as though he’s only trying to stroke my ego, and I look up to see him grinning from ear to ear. It’s not that he’s lying, more like teasing me that I need the reassurance. Because sometimes I do.
I narrow my eyes. “You sure do know how to go from being a good boy to a brat quickly.”
He shrugs, his grin growing even wider. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Professor.” He takes a seat on the stool across the island. “How were your classes?”
“Not as fun without you there.”
He laughs. “Well played.”
Before I can give into the temptation to drag him out of the kitchen and into the bedroom to punish him a little, I reach into my bag and pull out a small, unwrapped black box.
“I have something for you.”
I slide the box across the counter, and he catches it. He stares down at it then back at me, like he’s trying to decide if he deserves whatever is inside.
“What’s this for?”
“Consider it a ‘you’re here’ gift.”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth before finally giving into his curiosity and opening the lid.
Inside is a stainless steel chain that connects in the front with a single, thick, metallic green O clasp.
“Is this…”
I move around the island, and he turns on the stool so I can stand in front of him between his legs. He stares into my face as I take the chain out of the box and drape it around his neck, securing it with the clasp.
During our many conversations about exploring what kind of dynamic we both wanted, we discussed him wearing a collar.
He was thrilled by the idea and begged me to put one on him then and there.
But…I wasn’t ready. Not because I didn’t want him wearing my collar.
Because I was afraid to hope he’d never take it off. I still am, honestly.
But I want this so fucking badly—I want him so fucking badly—that I’m finally ready to put everything on the line. Even my heart.
No matter what happens now.
Jackson’s hand comes up, his fingertips lightly brushing the cool metal of the clasp where it rests in the hollow of his throat.
“What do you think?”
“I love it,” he says, his eyes shimmering in the warm light of the kitchen. “Thank you, Sir.”
The moment he drops his hand, I hook my finger through the circle clasp and tug on the chain. He gasps when he’s yanked forward, his hands flying to either side of my waist in an attempt to steady himself. I kiss him hard, just a quick press of my mouth to his, his whimper slipping between us.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” I whisper against his lips.
Still holding onto him by the collar, I pull back and grin at the way he’s peering up at me with lust in his heavy-lidded eyes.
“Eventually, we’ll replace this clasp with a lock that only I’ll have a key to.
Make it official that you’re mine forever. That you’re not allowed to leave.”
“I don’t need a collar for that, Isaac. I was always going to stay whether I’m wearing your collar or not. But…”
Maybe one of these days, I’ll stop feeling a weight drop all the way from my throat into the bottom pit of my stomach when there’s any trace of hesitation or doubt in Jackson’s eyes.
But today is not that day.
I swallow hard. “But?”
“We should probably report our relationship before we take that leap,” he says as a slow grin creeps into his face.
I do a really shitty job trying to hide my relief, exhaling a heavy breath of air between us.
His brow creases. “We said we’d wait until some time passed after the semester, so it wouldn’t look like…you know.”
So it wouldn’t look like I crossed a line.
A different kind of dread starts rising up from that dark abyss, and my chest suddenly feels too small to contain it, my heartbeat shoved into my throat to make room for it.
Jackson frowns when I still haven’t said anything. “Does the idea of making it official scare you?”
I tug on his collar again, gentler this time. “Does this feel like that scares me? I put my collar around your neck, sweetheart. I’d say I made things pretty official. I promise I don’t want to hide you.”
“Then what is it?”
My stomach knots. I let go of his collar and take his hand in mine, threading our fingers together. “It’s just…”
I hate bringing up the past with Jackson. The last thing I want to do is give him reason to believe that I’m comparing everything with Dylan to him.
But we said no more secrets.
“After Dylan and I reported our relationship, it was shortly after that we got into that argument and he left.”
“Oh.” Jackson holds onto my hand a little tighter and tilts his head, giving me a small, comforting smile. “This isn’t the same, Isaac. I’m not like him. I’m not running from this no matter what. I’m staying.”
I nod, wanting to believe that with every fiber of my being. But fear is stubborn, and trauma has long claws.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll report our relationship to the university next week.”
His smile grows, and he repeats, “Okay.”
I pull him into my arms, pressing a kiss into his hair in a way I hope feels casual instead of desperate. He melts against me, warm and trusting. I make myself breathe through the fear cresting quietly in my chest, hoping this doesn’t turn into another wound I’m forced to carry around.
I survived losing Dylan. But losing Jackson?
I don’t think I could survive that.
But I let his words play on repeat in my mind, letting them settle over me like a song meant only for us.
This isn’t the same.
He isn’t the same.
I’m not the same.
Because one huge difference?
I’d never give Jackson the opportunity to walk away. I’ll fight for him until my last breath.