Tattooed Soul (Tattooed #3)

PROLOGUE

Fifteen years ago

ROMAN

T: My place, tonight.

T: 10 p.m.

It’s been two years of secret meetups. Two years of nothing but text messages summoning my presence in the cover of darkness. Two years of hiding my relationship and my feelings for a man who refuses to acknowledge what we are, what we have. But, what did I expect, starting an affair with my teacher?

I sigh, looking at my phone. I knew the texts were coming, they always do. Every Friday evening without fail. He sends a text as some kind of Bat-Signal and I come running like the pathetic idiot I have become. I’m so sick of it. I graduated high school a year ago. Terry hasn’t been my teacher for over a year, yet he says we still have to hide. I mean I get it. If anybody found out we dated while I was a senior in high school it would ruin his career but we are so far past that now. Nobody needs to know when it all started. We could say it's new and live our lives out in the open. It’s not like the age gap between us is even that big. He was twenty-three when we met. Fresh out of college and his first teaching job, while I was an out and proud, overly confident seventeen-year-old.

I'll never forget the moment he walked into the class on his first day. Mr. Terrance Hobbs. He looked so nervous facing a bunch of jumped-up teenagers. I felt like Bugs Bunny when he would get those heart eyes popping out of his head. I couldn't take my eyes off him and his tight suit pants. I could tell he was nervous and overwhelmed and I knew he wouldn't have had the same revelation that I just did but I was willing and eager to get the young teacher to notice me.

From that day forward, I was always on time and prepared for class, my hand always in the air asking questions and offering him an encouraging smile every time I caught his eye. Math was never my strong suit so the first chance I got, I stayed behind and asked for help. He gave me this bright smile. Like I had made his day by coming to him and admitting I needed his help. Then again my classmates were assholes and barely gave the guy a break. They were like pack animals who smelled fear and attacked the weakest one in the room. I never saw him as weak though. I could see the quiet confidence in him and I was sure once he settled that he would assert his dominance. I had many, many dreams of him asserting it over me.

Realizing that he maybe needed a little encouragement and positive reinforcement, I asked him to tutor me at lunchtime a few days a week. It seemed like the perfect solution. I really did need help with midterms coming up and I think he needed to be reminded of why he got into teaching in the first place, before the hooligans in class ran him out of his job. It was a win-win for everybody, and if he happened to take notice of my incredible ass at the same time, well who was I to complain.

At first he was all work. Nothing but equations. I tried to sprinkle in questions about his life, but he kept reminding me that we were there to study and not chitchat. But after a while I figured if I opened up maybe he would too. So I told him about being raised by a single mom. How I was always in awe at how she did it with two rambunctious boys. I told him about the pressure I felt to be the best role model for my younger brother, Ryan. I even told him how I came out to my family. Ryan not only accepted it without question but he followed my announcement with a “girls are gross” before going back to his comic books.

That seemed to soften Mr. Hobbs’ edges. He began to confide in me then, about how he too was gay but never felt he could have come out as a kid or even as an adult. He told me about his devout Catholic family and how they would make disparaging remarks about homosexuals going to hell. I could tell how being closeted weighed heavily on him. How exhausted he was, pretending to be straight to everybody who knew him. He loved his family and knew they would disown him if they ever found out. My heart ached for him never getting to be himself, always having to hide. So I told him he didn’t have to pretend with me. That when we were together, alone, he could be himself.

It was at that moment he looked at me, really looked at me, and saw me for what I wanted to be for him. A chance for happiness.

I went to his classroom at lunch every day for weeks and over time we did less and less equations and began to really get to know each other. Our age difference, as small as it was, never factored into our conversations. Neither did the fact he was my teacher. We were just two guys hanging out and bonding over a shared interest in vintage cars. We grew closer naturally over the weeks we spent together and something grew between us. I felt it and I knew Terry felt it too. We both kind of skirted around the growing attraction between us. But with every accidental touch sending shocks through my body I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave in and made the first move.

The matter of time was three days.

Three days of being in his orbit without so much as opening a textbook and simply just basking in his bright smile. I couldn’t stop myself, I knew it was a risk but I had to try, I had to know if he was feeling what I was feeling. I caught up with Terry after school as he was getting into his car, which was a seriously fucking cool midnight blue 1967 Chevrolet Camaro RS. He had talked about his baby so much over the last few weeks that I was momentarily distracted by the beauty of it. When our eyes finally met though, I blushed at the smirk on his face as he watched me admiring his car.

Finding my courage, I handed him a slip of paper before running my hand over the car one more time then backing away. I didn't want to stand there and have him reject me because he felt like he had to. He already seemed nervous that I approached him in the staff parking lot. I was confident if he took my note home he would be more likely to act on the undeniable chemistry between us.

I kept the note short and sweet on the off chance somebody found it. “Invite me over tonight. 10 p.m.” with my phone number underneath. When the text came later that night I'd never moved so fast. It was the best night of my life.

Now, here I am staring at the same text I've been receiving every Friday night for the last two years that once upon a time made my stomach flutter and now it makes it sour. I make my way to Terry’s place, telling myself over and over that this is the last time. At first I was happy to get any part of him. To have him look at me with desire and lust burning in his eyes. The Friday nights we spent together were more than just sex, I never felt like he was using me. We ate together and watched movies. Sometimes we talked for hours and sometimes we didn't talk at all because the silence was just as comforting. We were happy and content just to be in each other's orbit. But only ever for one day.

It’s not enough though, not anymore. He’s still closeted, still pretending in front of his friends and family and still only giving me one day a week to spend with him. I’m his dirty little secret, and it's getting harder and harder to keep lying to my family and friends. It’s not like I can tell them I have a one-night-a-week boyfriend, who they can’t meet or even know his name. So instead I tell them I’m with friends and I tell my friends I’m watching my brother. It's amazing I haven’t been caught out on my lies by now. All of it has been for nothing though. This thing between us started when I promised to be the person that Terry could be himself with and now I'm the one who’s hiding. It's time for me to move on.

As always I use the back door to get in because God forbid if anyone in this neighborhood saw me entering my boyfriend’s house.

It’s unusually dark inside, quiet. A chill runs down my spine. Something feels off. I walk in further and call out.

“Terry, where are you?” I wait a few seconds but there’s no answer. “Is this some kind of a game?” Still no answer.

I switch the light on and freeze. The place is trashed, the furniture flipped, papers scattered all over the floor and broken glass on the table. “What the fuck? TERRY!” I yell again, panic evident in my tone as I start to check the rooms downstairs. Fishing my phone out of my pocket I try calling him. Maybe he isn't even home and has no idea he's been robbed. Maybe he’s already at the police station.

When the call goes to voicemail, I shove my phone back in my pocket then pause. Was… was that a groan? Looking around I grab the baseball bat laying on the floor and run for the stairs taking them two at a time, gripping the railing for better momentum. Reaching the top, I look around trying to figure out where the groaning sound came from. The door to his bedroom is closed. I walk carefully, trying not to make a sound. Turning the knob slowly, I ease into the room. At first sight everything looks normal. Terry is laying on his side on top of the covers, one leg hanging slightly off the bed. He looks like he laid down to have a nap.

“Terry?” I call again, quieter this time, before cautiously getting closer to him. Somewhere outside, police sirens are blaring loudly. Good, one of the neighbors must have called the cops. I try again to call his name but nothing. Walking around the bed I softly push him onto his back. Gasping and immediately jumping back, I drop the bat I was clutching because… holy fuck.

His eyes are swollen shut, there is blood all over his face. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing. Falling to my knees by his head, all I can do is try to comfort him and hope the cops have brought an EMT with them. They’ll be able to help him. I softly brush his blood-soaked hair off his forehead. “It’s okay, T, help is coming, please hang on for me, baby,” I whisper to him, hoping he can hear me, hear my voice and know that he's not alone.

I hear the heavy-booted footsteps rushing into the house as I grab Terry’s hand and hold it in my own. The blood doesn’t bother me, I barely register it anymore. My gaze is focused on his chest to make sure he is still breathing, so I can tell them when they get here that he’s at least breathing even if he isn't conscious. The footsteps are getting closer now, rushing up the stairs. I realize belatedly that I probably should have run to the front door and let them in, or called out so they know where to find Terry but I can’t seem to move, the fear for his life seemingly locking me to the floor.

I was coming here tonight to confront Terry, to tell him I deserve better and that I won’t be his weekly booty call anymore. I was prepared to end things, but I could never have been prepared to see him like this, beaten and bloody and now all I can think about is that I might lose him forever.

A loud bang has me dropping Terry’s hand and snapping my head to the door as I scramble back from his body to give the EMT room to work. Except it's not the paramedics. Three police officers file into the room, guns raised and pointing at… me. I shake my head trying to clear the fog so I can figure out what the fuck is going on.

“Help him,” I beg, my eyes darting back to the bed, a long breath leaving me when I see the EMTs surrounding him. The officers get closer and it’s then I realize they are yelling at me.

“Hands behind your head!”

It's like I’m having an out-of-body experience as the officers lower my face to the carpet and slap cuffs around my wrists. One cop even has a knee braced on my back like I need to be restrained for their safety. “What's going on? I haven’t done anything, this isn't necessary, Sir,” I try to plead with them. I mean I get it, I’m a big guy, they probably think I’ll lose it with the medics working on Terry. The last thing I expect is for the officer on my back to practically growl at me.

“You're under arrest for aggravated assault. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law.”