Chapter 2
two
. . .
“Mr. L, we need to talk.”
Heath looked up from the stack of papers teetering dangerously on his desk and arched an eyebrow. “About?”
The lanky teenager standing opposite his desk held up the paperback Heath had assigned that afternoon. “You want me to read this entire book?”
“That’s generally the point of reading, yes.”
“It’s spring break.”
“I’m aware.”
“You want me to spend spring break reading? Do I look that pathetic?”
Heath knew better than to laugh, but it was damned difficult. “First off, ouch, because it just so happens I’m very excited about all the reading I have planned. Second, it’s an excellent story. I think you’ll enjoy it if you give it a chance.”
The student flipped the pages, and his mouth turned downward into a sour frown. “It looks long and boring.”
“It’s a classic.”
“Okay, so it’s long, boring, and old.”
“Dylan—”
“Mr. Lennox, I’m serious. I’ve got some serious sh—plans this week.”
Heath guessed those plans included a certain upperclassman Dylan had been mooning over for more than a year. While he sympathized with the boy, multi-tasking was a life skill, and if he had to suffer it, so did his students.
“I’m sure you can carve out some time in your busy video game schedule to give it a look,” he said, crossing his arms and sending his eyebrow a notch higher. “Also, if you’d been listening instead of making eyes at the hallway, you’d know you have more than just the break to complete it.”
Dylan flushed, his attention darting back to the very hallway, where a trio of students chatted just outside of the classroom door. He cleared his throat for dramatic emphasis and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I invited him to play co-op last period. We’re getting a league together.”
“And?” Ah, the exciting trepidation of what if? Heath did so envy the na?veté of young love.
“He said, ‘Yeah, sure, whatever.’”
Again, Heath struggled to hold back laughter. “That’s a casual yes in young people speak, I believe?”
“Exactly, which is why—”
Heath held up a hand, and Dylan’s burgeoning smile dropped. “I’m not giving you a pass, Dylan. If anything, I think this assignment rather perfectly fits your situation.”
“I seriously doubt—”
Heath silenced him with a raised finger and a swift tut.
“I have a suggestion for making this atrocious misuse of your free time less painful, if you’d be interested.”
Indecision warred with curiosity, and Dylan looked over at the chatting boys half a dozen times before finally relenting with a brief nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
Heath hid his smile. He’d been teaching a very long time and knew better than to get involved, but his many years of personal experience developing crushes on the wrong people motivated him to break that rule if it might spare the boy some suffering.
He leaned forward and gave the hallway a conspiratory glance. “Casually complain about the assignment while you guys are… doing whatever it is one does in that game you play. He aced it last year, and he’s the sort of guy who would offer to help you out.”
Marcelo was also just as interested in Dylan, if all the return glances were any sign. Of course, even in a place where LGBTQ+ saw acceptance, there was still a need for caution.
“Y’think?”
“I know.”
The grin returned, and Dylan leaned in for a fist bump. “Thanks, Mr. L.”
“Happy to help. Though I hope you realize I now expect you to ace it.”
A groan followed Dylan out into the hall, and this time, Heath set the laughter free. He was still chuckling when Abby, his classroom neighbor and workplace confidante, peered into his room.
“What’s got you giggling?”
“Young love and a flagrant disregard for authority.”
“Dylan?”
“Who else?”
Abby dropped into the chair he kept near his desk with an amused chuff. “God, it could be anyone. Is it me, or is spring fever out of control this year? I might assign a Sierra Simone series just to get these kids’ attentions off one another and on the pages.”
“That would certainly make the next PTA meeting interesting.”
“And you won’t even be here to watch them light my pyre.”
Heath leaned back in his chair and hummed a few bars of The Doors’ “Light My Fire,” which earned him a laugh.
“Are you all packed for your trip?” she asked, and his mirth faded. She’d ripped the disguise from his false indifference to expose the bleeding heart beneath.
“Almost.”
Her nose wrinkled at his quiet reply. “Crap. Forget I brought it up.”
Heath sighed, hoping it would muffle the bubbling of sorrow in his chest. He’d worked diligently over the past two weeks to compartmentalize his feelings, but as grief counselors so often stressed—everyone mourns in their own way and on their own schedule. As always, he was lollygagging.
“I’m excited, I swear,” he lied, feigning a sudden interest in the wall. He was no such thing.
“I know you’re lying,” she said as she stood and squeezed his shoulder. The break between periods was nearly over, and being the absolutely terrible friend she was, Abby planned to leave him a pathetic, introspective mess. “But honey, you deserve to have some fun. Please try to have fun.”
“I will, but—” He started another sigh, then tried for a laugh, and ended up croaking like a toad. Marvelous. “Dammit, Abby. If I’d thought I’d have to keep the damn promise, I’d have negotiated amendments.”
He’d been so sure. Blinded by visions of decadent meals and strolling hand-in-hand along pristine beaches, he’d gone forth with confidence, perhaps even arrogance. He’d declared this to be the moment, going so far as to claim an alignment of stars and planets, as though the universe agreed.
Abby gave his shoulder one more pat before leaving him to pout, and pout he did. It wasn’t fair. The trip hadn’t even been his idea!
All that talk of sinking their toes into soft, white sand while coming up with ridiculous names for the island’s pink flamingos. Marveling—from a safe distance—at sea creatures along the coral-dotted coastline, Christian’s lean, muscular body navigating a kayak through the waves.
He would pull Christian aside and, against the backdrop of the sun setting over the blue-green waters, finally admit his feelings. Finally, confess his desire to take their friendship to the next level—a dream he’d held since college.
Well, dreams were for suckers.
There would be no celebrating with the man of his eternal longing. No, he’d be alone, sequestered in a hut with his books, paperwork, and bugs the size of his head.
Months of meticulous manifestation, all for naught, because Christian was gone. Forever.
“Jesus Christ, Heath. The man went to Europe. He didn’t die.”
“He’s straight, anyway.”
Heath leveled his best glare across the sea of colorful margarita glasses dotting the table at Spin On D, the local bar he and his friends frequented for Friday night bitch sessions in the blue hour, before it changed over to a throbbing hotspot that operated well past Heath’s bedtime.
“He is not straight.”
Manuel wrapped his lips around the oversized straw protruding from the cherry-colored slush in his margarita glass and let his eyebrows respond for him. Andres was less subtle.
“Honey, that man was never going gay for you. You know that, right?”
Heath knew, down deep inside, that if Christian had wanted things between them to escalate, he’d have initiated something during one of the multiple opportunities he’d had over the years.
It was never the right time. That’s what he’d told himself. It was always a terrible time to start something because, work is very stressful, or I’m fresh from a breakup and vulnerable, Christian would never take advantage.
For every scenario there was an excuse, but the truth was that the communication pathway between his head and heart was forever clogged with pipe dreams, feral fantasies, and more half-full glasses than littered their tabletop. That was why he’d wagered everything on this trip.
They would be two single men alone for two weeks in utter paradise—a hideaway voted “Most Romantic” for years running—and it had been Christian’s idea to go there. Why in the hell would he suggest such a thing if he weren’t finally on the same emotional wavelength?
The answer to that would have to wait, because the bastard had run off to Norway with some hifalutin hussy, and wasn’t answering calls or acknowledging messages. The coward.
Heath popped out of his inner monologue at the violent snap of Andres’ fingers in front of his nose.
“Right?” Andres repeated, and both men watched him. Manuel with sympathy, and Andres with indignant resignation.
Of the three of them, only Manuel was formally married, but Andres’ throuple was a nearly identical dynamic structure, just with extra income—and limbs.
They’d both been with their significant others for years, and thus reeked of the sort of serenity that came from no longer worrying if you’re going to die alone. Heath hated and envied them for it.
“He wouldn’t have had to go gay for me, because he’s bi and that’s what bisexual means. You know that, right?” he snapped back.
Manuel averted his eyes, working his drink until it protested with a harsh gurgle, while Andres pursed his lips and sipped his own beverage with the grace of the queen he was.
“You know what bisexual isn’t? Making out with a couple of guys at a frat party some twenty-odd-years ago, then never looking at another man again.”
“The you’re not really bisexual because argument is very trite, Andres. You surprise me.”
Andres’ ice-blue eyes speared Manuel like a cocktail olive, choking off the snicker he’d dared let loose. Heath closed his own mouth on another retort when they snapped back to him.
“Let me tell you what would surprise me,” he said in a tone that left no confusion why all his student reviews included a bevy of adjectives for terrifying. “That man sucking someone’s dick, because he’s never done it, and he doesn’t want to.”
Heath frowned at them both, though it felt more like a pout than he cared to admit. But so what? He was allowed to be sad, dammit. This was not the vacation he’d signed up for.
He’d bubbled with excitement when he’d informed his friends of the invitation. Their skepticism had been blistering and immediate, Manuel worrying his cuticles while Andres openly scoffed.
“You can’t trust that man to show up for dinner fifteen minutes from his townhouse. Do you really believe he won’t weasel out of international travel?”
Heath pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, wishing for a moment that his own drink had alcohol in it.
A good buzz might allow him to forget the pathetic state of his life, or at least find amusement in it.
Oh, who was he kidding? If he drank tonight, he’d just end up red-faced and sloppy, passed out in the bathroom after sobbing like a telenovela actress.
Manuel gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Stop chasing the unattainable, sweetie. This isn’t the fun sort of masochism.”
“The heart asks pleasure first,” Heath answered. Miss Dickinson was always there for him during bouts of melancholy.
“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain,” Andres replied, squeezing Heath’s other arm in an almost believable gesture of sympathy, except his expression dripped of smug.
This was what he got for befriending fellow lit snobs. Also, for consistently picking the perfect man—with the caveat that they be perfect for someone else. Usually someone of the opposite sex.
He couldn’t even blame faulty gaydar, because he knew damn well the men making his heart go pitter-patter didn’t share his interest. He tossed himself bodily into the hopeless infatuations, anyway.
Andres’s gentle squeeze became a pinching vise until Heath pulled away with a squeak.
“You’re going on this vacation,” he said in his no-nonsense, Queen of Hearts tone. “You promised, and unlike that feckless playboy, you keep your word. You will also have a wonderful, relaxing time. Not because you made a promise, but because you deserve it.”
“You really do.” Manuel echoed, giving his hand a fond pat before diving into his refreshed beverage. “Other than visits to your mother, you never take time off. This is overdue.”
“Very overdue,” Andres agreed, his eyes taking on a worrisome sparkle. “You know, of the many times Christian has ghosted you, this one is really in your favor.”
“He hasn’t ghosted me that often,” Heath defended.
Andres ignored him. “You’re single and going to literal paradise. There will doubtless be someone on that island who will be happy to take your mind off things.”
Manuel, ever the dramatic romantic, gasped. “Oh! Imagine if one of the wealthy guests sweeps you off your feet? You could have your own Scandinavian scandal!”
Heath gave an indignant snort. “Did you miss the bits in the brochure where it’s marketed as an ‘exclusive and private couple’s retreat’? Any man there already has a partner, and I am not interested in dangerous liaisons.”
God, that was the last thing he needed, one more dead-end romance to add to the already lengthy list. He’d just be masking the problem, and what was the point of that when he’d be coming home alone in the end?
“A little danger might do you good,” Andres countered, earning a mm-hmm of agreement from Manuel.
“You always play it so safe.”
Heath bristled. “I do not!”
“Of course you do! What’s safer than a straight man?”
“He. Is. Bi.”
“And my Aunt Rose married for love,” Andres drawled, his right eyebrow arched to his hairline.
The woman in question had married seven times, but only divorced once, and self-preservation had kept anyone from investigating her black widow reputation.
Self-preservation and an inheritance of millions, all left to her favorite descendants—of which Andres was in the top five.
“Nevertheless, I am not engaging in any… frivolities. Straight or otherwise,” he said with a huff and an upward jut of his chin.
“Safe,” Andres muttered into the sugared rim of his margarita.
“So safe,” Manuel agreed, with a disappointed sigh.
Heath glared at them both while sucking down the last of his virgin daiquiri, which only added brain freeze to the evening’s frustrations.
To hell with the entire day, and to his supposed friends with their “good intentions.” He’d keep his stupid promise to go on the damn trip, but have fun? Not a chance.